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Paranormal Visitor Universe

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Organizational: 

  • Section Page

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)


Paranormal Visitor Universe

Ghosts, Angels, Elementals and Others



These are stories of paranormal visitors interacting with otherwise ordinary people. Angels, Elementals, and Ghosts are the first paranormal visitors in these stories with more to come. In these stories these paranormal visitors are not presented as fictional or illusions but that they are as real as any other character in the stories.




The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Only girls can teleport from
the butterfly garden to Aislinn's College,
so what is middle aged Fred doing
on the equinox at the butterfly garden
trying yet again to do magic?



Angel

Chatting with Angels

A Transgender Paranormal Coming of Age Adventure

Written by Sasha Zarya Nexus

Would Kathy be prepared for the news that an angel would
bring to her about her friend Monty

A Competed Novella



Miracle Love

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Sasha Zarya Nexus

Will Dora's sacrificial love overcome Pastor Mark's failings

and save Hope Shelter's promise that Hope Lives Here?

A Competed Novel



triquetra

Life Passed

A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

From the Paranormal Visitation Universe

Novel Inspired by the Original Short Story

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Can Marcus cope with yet another of his clients slipping the bonds of Earth?




The Bit Bucket

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Organizational: 

  • Title Page

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Only girls can teleport from the butterfly garden to Aislinn's College, so what is middle aged Fred doing on the equinox at the butterfly garden trying yet again to do magic?

Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Saturdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love


When a transgender woman accidentally teleports to a mystical purgatory while trying to reach a prestigious magical college, she must master powerful sorceress abilities and embrace her true identity before an ancient evil destroys everything she loves

The Bit Bucket -01-

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • Novel > 40,000 words

Genre: 

  • Transgender
  • Magic
  • Fantasy Worlds
  • Adventure
  • Romance

Character Age: 

  • Teenage or High School

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Chapter 1: The Butterfly Garden

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Only girls can teleport from the butterfly garden to Aislinn's College, so what is middle aged Fred doing on the equinox at the butterfly garden trying yet again to do magic?

Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Saturdays to complete it here.


Chapter 1: The Butterfly Garden

A giant grin radiates from the lone man, amid a multitude of girls who jeer at Fred, and magic fills him as an overflowing joy. The magic abundance is different, different is good.

The autumn equinox paints the Butterfly Garden in shades of amber and gold, each leaf catching the slanted light like stained glass. Fred stands among the swirling monarchs, their orange wings creating a living kaleidoscope around him as they prepared for their own impossible journey. His heart hammers with anticipation—today feels different, charged with possibility.

He closes his eyes and lets the sensation wash over him: the electric tingle that starts in his chest and spreads outward like ripples on water. For thirty-six years, he'd carried this certainty within him, this bone-deep knowledge that he can step between worlds if he just believes hard enough. The butterflies seem to sense it too, their flight patterns growing more frenzied, more purposeful.

The ancient college, he thinks, picturing the crystalline spires he'd seen in dreams, the halls where students learn to bend reality itself. It's waiting for me.

The joy builds inside him like pressure in a steam engine. This isn't mere hope anymore—it is faith made manifest, burning bright as the equinox sun. Fred opens his arms wide, feeling the cosmic alignment of the season, the perfect balance between light and dark that made all transformations possible.

"I can do this," he whispered to the butterflies. "I know I can."

The world holds its breath. Then Fred takes a step forward—not with his feet, but with his entire being, pushing against the fabric of reality with pure intention. The garden explodes in white light.

When the brilliance fades, Fred finds himself standing in a room that shouldn't exist.

Medieval stone walls rise around him, but they seem to breathe with their own inner light. Tapestries depicting impossible geometries hang between arched windows that show not sky, but swirling galaxies. The air itself feels thick with magic, making his skin tingle as if he'd walk through spider webs made of starlight.

After looking around at the walls, Fred paid attention to the room which was like the medieval cell of a monk or nun. There was a bed with a table beside it. On one wall was necessary things, a larder full of edible food, a bowl of water on a tabletop, a potty, A linens cabinet full of towels, cloths, bedlinens and a comforter. On the other side of the bed along the wall was a writing desk with a slate above it and a bell upon it and a row of bookshelves full of a mixture of ancient and new books.

All of a sudden, Fred found himself over come with weakness and before he fell to the floor, he dove into the bed. It was as though all his strength had been taken away by teleporting wherever he was now. Overcome with exhaustion, Fred entered a deep sleep.

The first image of Fred's dream was a pleasant one of his dearly beloved Sarah. She placed from sitting on her finger to the bridge of his nose a beautiful Monarch butterfly as they both sat on the grass off the ordinary path in the Butterfly Garden. He remembered that this was from five years ago when the relationship between Fred and Sarah had gone beyond friendship to approach romance.

Fred didn't want to replay this experience however pleasurable that might be. He wanted to talk to Sarah about what was happening in the waking world to him. Responding to his desires a portal opened to the room that he was really in with his body unconscious on the cell's bed. Fred noticed a plaque that had been behind him before on the wall but now that he was outside looking in was visible to him. It said, "The Bit Bucket".

"Sarah, what is this place?" Fred's voice came out rougher than he'd intended. "I was trying to reach the college. The ancient one, off-planet."

"Fred, I've read about this, Bit Bucket, as one of the myths, but you have found it to be real."

"I don't want it to be real. I want to be at Aislinn's College instead. That's where I'll get all my answers about who I am in reality." Fred's face twisted in frustration over not reaching his destination instead of joy that he was able to teleport to any place at all.

They both passed through the portal out of the butterfly garden and into The Bit Bucket. They could see the butterfly garden now through the portal.

Sarah's expression softened with something that might have been sympathy. "I know. But the Bit Bucket catches those who don't quite fit the college's usual categories. Think of it as... a waiting room for the metaphysically displaced. A person who's been caught between worlds ends up in The Bit Bucket. The equinoxes are particularly active times for such transitions."

"Caught between worlds?" The words sent a chill down Fred's spine. "You mean I'm trapped?"

"Not trapped," Sarah said carefully. "But the way forward requires mastery of skills you haven't fully developed yet. Teleportation brought you here, but escaping... that requires something else."

Fred stared at her, his mind reeling. The joy of successful teleportation was rapidly giving way to a creeping dread. "How long have people been stuck here?"

"Time works differently in the Bit Bucket. You might find your way out in what feels like days. Each one learns according to their gifts. You might take much longer to learn what you need to know."

As if summoned by their conversation, the air in the room began to shimmer. Fred felt a presence pressing against the edges of his consciousness—ancient, vast, and somehow familiar. The sensation was like trying to remember a dream that kept slipping away.

"The spirits are stirring," Sarah murmured, her eyes growing distant. "They can sense the change you've brought. Your arrival has awakened something that's been sleeping for a very long time."

Fred wanted to ask what she meant, but the words died in his throat as images flashed through his mind: a woman with eyes like starlight wielding power that could reshape reality; another figure wreathed in shadow, her beauty terrible and cold. The visions came and went like lightning, leaving him gasping.

"What's happening to me?" he managed.

Sarah's hand found his shoulder, her touch surprisingly warm and solid. "You're not just anyone, Fred. The Bit Bucket doesn't call to ordinary people. There's something about you—something that connects you to the ancient powers that shaped this place."

The room pulsed around them, the medieval stones seeming to breathe with renewed life. Somewhere in the distance, Fred could swear he heard the sound of wings—not butterfly wings, but something vast and powerful stirring to wakefulness.

"I need to get back," he said, though even as he spoke, he wasn't sure what he was going back to. The Butterfly Garden felt like a memory from another lifetime. "There has to be a way."

"There is," Sarah said quietly. "But it's not the path you think. The way forward isn't back—it's through transformation itself."

Fred looked at her sharply, something in her tone making his pulse quicken. "What kind of transformation?"

Before she could answer, the slate over the entryway wall began to glow more brightly. New words appeared, written in the same flowing script but in a hand, he didn't recognize: The wheel turns. The sleeper wakes. What was divided shall be made whole.

Sarah's face went pale as she read the words. "It's beginning," she whispered. "After all these centuries, it's finally beginning."

"What's beginning?" Fred demanded, but the room was already starting to change around them. The medieval stones began to shift and flow like water, and the air filled with a sound like distant thunder. The dreamscape shifted around Fred. The Butterfly Garden came into focus again, but this was not a day of joy for Fred. It was the day everything changed for him. The day an accident took Sarah's life on the summer solstice.

The events replayed as they did on that terrible day three years ago. Fred was waiting for Sarah in the garden as they had arranged but she never came. Fred had gotten a call that Sarah had been found. They assumed it was an accident with Sarah being alone and falling from the hiking trail on the way to meet Fred. Fred went to where it had happened and took Sarah into his arms. Fred began to weep again uncontrollably as he did that day. There was nothing he could do since once an event had been written there was no power to unwrite it.

Sarah immediately had joined the spirit realm as one herself. The body that he held was only an empty husk now. Some spirits served the living at the interface between worlds. Other spirits gained the capacity for reincarnation for another chance at life.

Fred realized that it was the intersection of joy and sorrow when he embraced both on the just past equinox that summoned the magic for him to actually teleport after trying each equinox for a lifetime.

"If Sarah was right and transformation was my only way out of here, what could i do? I had already done my very best and had come short of the goal. I would need a guide for my journey. Not just anyone but someone who knew me personally and also knew what it would take to get me to the point where i could escape."

But that was impossible. Wasn't it?

The Bit Bucket pulsed once more, and everything went white.

The Bit Bucket -02-

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • Novel > 40,000 words

Genre: 

  • Transgender

Character Age: 

  • Mature / Thirty+

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Chapter 2: The Bit Bucket Discovery

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Who is Gwen, the ghost, that Fred in The Bit Bucket can't place her, as he ponders this detour from his destination?

Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Saturdays to complete it here.


Chapter 2: The Bit Bucket Discovery

The white light faded like morning mist, leaving Fred standing in a space that defied every law of physics he thought he understood. Stone walls rose around him, their surfaces breathing with an inner luminescence that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. This wasn't the crystalline spires of the ancient college he'd envisioned—this was something far older, far stranger.

Medieval tapestries hung between arched windows, but the scenes they depicted moved and shifted like living dreams. Through those impossible windows, Fred glimpsed not sky but swirling galaxies, their spiral arms rotating in slow, hypnotic dance. The air itself felt thick with possibility, making his skin tingle as if he'd walked through a web of starlight.

Environmental Exploration

Fred moved deeper into the room, his footsteps echoing strangely in the charged atmosphere. Every surface seemed to hum with contained energy—the wooden table with its silver bell and platter, the bookcase filled with volumes whose titles shifted when he wasn't looking directly at them, the lamp that burned with a flame that cast no shadows yet illuminated everything.

"Aislinn C" was stamped on the flyleaf of every book, the letters glowing faintly blue. The mysterious liquid in the lamp's reservoir never diminished, though the flame danced as if responding to unseen winds. Everything here existed in a state of perpetual almost-motion, as if the room itself were holding its breath.

Most intriguing of all was the slate mounted on the wall near the bookcase. Its surface was smooth as black water, and carved at the top were three simple words: "Who Are You?"

Writing on the Slate

Fred approached the slate with a mixture of reverence and curiosity. A piece of chalk rested in the wooden tray beneath it, worn smooth by countless hands. Without quite understanding why, he felt compelled to answer the question.

His hand trembled slightly as he picked up the chalk. The moment his fingers closed around it, warmth spread up his arm—not unpleasant, but definitely magical. He could feel the room watching, waiting.

Carefully, he spelled out his name: F-R-E-D.

The letters blazed to life the instant he finished, glowing with the same soft blue fire he'd seen in the books. But more than that—the moment his name appeared, Fred felt something shift in the room around him. The air grew warmer, more welcoming, as if the space had been waiting specifically for him to arrive.

"Fascinating," said a voice behind him. "It's been over a thousand years since anyone wrote their name on that slate."

Meeting Gwen

Fred spun around, his heart hammering. A young woman stood near the arched doorway he was certain hadn't been there moments before. She wore robes that seemed to shift between blue and silver with each breath, and her dark hair moved as if touched by an unfelt breeze. But it was her eyes that made his chest tighten with impossible recognition—storm-gray eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of centuries.

"I'm Gwendolyn," she said, stepping closer with fluid grace. "But you can call me Gwen. I'm what you might call a spirit monitor—your guide in this place."

"Spirit monitor?" Fred's voice came out rougher than he'd intended. The recognition nagging at him was growing stronger, like trying to remember a half-forgotten dream. "You mean you're...?"

"Dead? Yes, technically." Gwen's smile was both sad and beautiful. "Though 'dead' is such a limiting term when you're dealing with metaphysical spaces. I exist here, between life and whatever comes after, helping those who find themselves caught in the Bit Bucket."

"The Bit Bucket?" Fred gestured to the medieval walls around them. "That's what this place is called?"

"A rather undignified name for such an ancient space, I'll admit." Gwen moved to the window, her form seeming to shimmer slightly in the strange light. "But accurate. Think of it as a cosmic waiting room for souls who don't quite fit the usual categories."

Exposition on Metaphysical Mechanisms

Gwen turned back to him, her expression growing more serious. "You see, Fred, teleportation isn't as simple as most people believe. When someone attempts to travel between worlds, they enter a metaphysical state where reality becomes... fluid. The college has rooms designed to intercept girls of specific ages—Room 11 for eleven-year-olds, Room 12 for twelve-year-olds, and so on. Each room is modern and appealing, designed to make the transition comfortable."

She gestured to the medieval surroundings. "But the Bit Bucket is different. It catches those who don't fit the college's usual parameters. The thirty-six-year-old man with a woman's soul, for instance. The spirits who've lost their way. The ones who are... complicated."

Fred felt a chill run down his spine. "How long have people been trapped here?"

"Time works differently in metaphysical spaces," Gwen said carefully. "Some find their way out quickly. Others..." She glanced at the slate where his name still glowed. "Others take much longer to learn what they need to know."

"And what exactly do I need to know?"

Gwen's eyes grew distant, as if she were listening to voices he couldn't hear. "The way forward isn't back, Fred. You can't simply teleport home—the pathway that brought you here was one-way. The only escape from the Bit Bucket requires mastering not just teleportation, but reincarnation as well."

Understanding the Prison

The word hit Fred like a physical blow. "Reincarnation? You mean I have to... die?"

"Not die, exactly. Transform." Gwen moved closer, and Fred caught a scent like rain on summer flowers. "The Bit Bucket doesn't just trap people, Fred. It offers them a chance to become who they truly are. But that transformation requires letting go of who you think you are."

Fred stared at her, his mind reeling. "I don't understand. I came here to reach the college, to learn, to become whole. Now you're telling me I have to give up everything I am?"

"Not give up," Gwen said softly. "Evolve. The college accepts students who fit certain categories, Fred. But you—" She paused, studying his face with those storm-gray eyes. "You're something special. Something that doesn't fit their neat little boxes."

The room pulsed around them, and Fred felt that presence again—ancient, vast, and somehow familiar. The sensation was stronger now, pressing against the edges of his consciousness like a half-remembered song.

"There's something else, isn't there?" he said. "Something you're not telling me."

Gwen's expression grew troubled. "The Bit Bucket has been empty for a thousand years, Fred. No one has been sent here since the time of the great sorceresses. Your arrival has awakened something that's been sleeping for a very long time."

As if summoned by her words, the air in the room began to shimmer. The tapestries on the walls fluttered without wind, and the flame in the lamp flickered wildly. Fred felt power stirring in the depths of the space—not malevolent, but vast and patient as mountains.

"What's awakening?" he whispered.

"Memories," Gwen said, her voice barely audible above the growing hum of energy. "Ancient memories that have been waiting for the right person to unlock them. The question is, Fred—are you ready to discover who you really are?"

The slate on the wall began to glow more brightly, and new words appeared beneath Fred's name in flowing script: The wheel turns. The sleeper wakes. What was divided shall be made whole.

Fred looked at Gwen, seeing something in her face that made his heart race with both hope and terror. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Gwen said, her form beginning to shimmer more intensely, "that your journey is just beginning. And that perhaps—just perhaps—we've both been waiting for this moment far longer than either of us realized."

The Bit Bucket pulsed once more, and Fred felt the first stirrings of a transformation that would change everything he thought he knew about himself, about magic, and about the impossible woman standing before him with storm-gray eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

The Bit Bucket -03-

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • Novel > 40,000 words

Genre: 

  • Transgender

Character Age: 

  • Mature / Thirty+

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Chapter 3: Past Love Revealed

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

What can Gwen, the ghost, tell Fred that rocks him to his core?

Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Saturdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love


Chapter 3: Past Love Revealed

The white light faded, leaving Fred standing in the same medieval chamber, but something fundamental had shifted. The air itself felt different—charged with recognition, heavy with memories that weren't quite his own. Gwen stood before him, her storm-gray eyes wide with an emotion he couldn't immediately place.

Then it hit him like a physical blow.

Recognition

"Sarah?" The name escaped his lips in a whisper, barely audible above the humming energy of the Bit Bucket. But it was her—the curve of her smile, the way she tilted her head when thinking, the gentle strength in her posture that had first drawn him to her three years ago.

Gwen's ethereal form shimmered, her spirit-monitor composure cracking completely. For a moment, her careful mask slipped, revealing the woman he'd loved and lost. "You remember."

The memories came flooding back in a torrent that made Fred's knees buckle. Sarah laughing as butterflies landed on her shoulders in the very garden he'd just left. Sarah's hand in his as they walked the winding paths, talking about dreams and possibilities. Sarah's eyes lighting up when he first told her about his belief in teleportation, how she'd listened without judgment, even encouraged his wild theories.

"But you're..." Fred's voice broke. "You died. Three years ago. The summer solstice."

"I know." Gwen stepped closer, her form becoming more solid, more real. "I remember everything, Fred. Our casual relationship that became something deeper. The way you used to bring me wildflowers from the garden's edge. How we'd sit by the fountain and you'd tell me about the ancient college you dreamed of finding."

The Truth About Her Name

Fred stared at her, his mind reeling with questions. "But why Gwen? Your name was Sarah. Sarah Elizabeth Hartwell. I remember because you always said you hated how formal it sounded."

A shadow of pain crossed her features. "Gwen was my middle name. Sarah Gwen Elizabeth Hartwell—though I never told you the full version." She looked away, her spirit-form flickering with emotion. "When Aislinn first found me after the accident, when she offered me this position as spirit monitor, she asked what I wanted to be called in this new existence."

"And you chose Gwen," Fred said quietly, understanding beginning to dawn.

"I couldn't bear to hear my first name spoken aloud," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sarah was the woman who loved you, who had dreams of a future together, who died on the way to meet you that solstice evening. Gwen... Gwen could be the spirit guide, the one who helps lost souls without being reminded every moment of what I'd lost. Of who I'd left behind."

Fred felt his heart breaking all over again. "You were trying to forget me."

"Not forget," she said quickly, her storm-gray eyes meeting his. "Protect myself from the pain of remembering. Every time someone said 'Sarah,' I could see our last conversation, feel the excitement I'd had about telling you..." She stopped, her form wavering.

"Telling me what?" Fred pressed gently.

"That I loved you," she whispered. "That I wanted more than just casual dating. I was going to tell you that night, at the garden. I had it all planned out."

Flashback to Their Relationship

The Bit Bucket around them seemed to respond to their shared memories, the medieval walls shimmering and shifting to show glimpses of the past. Fred saw himself as he'd been then—younger, more carefree, his hope untainted by years of solitary practice. He watched as past-Sarah traced patterns in the air with her finger, creating temporary light trails that made him believe magic was possible.

"You never thought I was crazy," Fred said, his voice thick with emotion. "Everyone else looked at me like I was delusional, but you..."

"I believed in you," Gwen finished. "Because I could see it, Fred. The way reality bent slightly around you when you concentrated. The way flowers bloomed brighter in your presence. You had magic in you even then—you just didn't know how to access it."

The visions shifted, showing them their last day together. They'd been planning to meet at the Butterfly Garden for the summer solstice, to watch the sunset and talk about their future. Sarah had been excited about something, had mentioned wanting to tell him something important.

But she never made it to that meeting.

Gwen's Death and Transformation

"The accident," Fred whispered, remembering the phone call that had shattered his world. "They said you fell from the hiking trail. That you were alone."

Gwen's expression grew pained. "I wasn't alone, Fred. I was with someone—someone who claimed they could teach me about the magical world you'd described. They said they knew about the college, about teleportation." Her form flickered with anger. "It was a trap. They were looking for people connected to those with magical potential. They thought if they eliminated me..."

"They thought it would break me," Fred finished, understanding flooding through him. "They wanted to stop me from ever reaching the college."

"Instead, it did something they didn't expect." Gwen's voice grew stronger. "My death on the solstice, combined with my connection to you and your latent magical abilities, created a spiritual anchor. I became tied to the metaphysical spaces between worlds. When the Bit Bucket needed a spirit monitor, I was... recruited."

The Name Request

"So when you ask me to call you Gwen..." Fred began.

"I'm asking you not to rock the boat," she said, her voice carrying a note of pleading. "Sarah died that night, Fred. She died with dreams unfulfilled and words unspoken. Gwen is who I became—the spirit who learned to guide others through their transformations. If you call me Sarah, I'm afraid I'll fall apart completely. I'm afraid I won't be strong enough to help you escape this place."

Fred studied her face, seeing the careful control she'd built around her pain. "But I loved Sarah. I've been grieving Sarah for three years."

"And I've been existing as Gwen for just as long," she replied. "It's not about forgetting who we were, Fred. It's about accepting who we've become. Sarah and Fred had their chance at love, and it was cut short. But maybe... maybe Gwen and whoever you become after reincarnation can have something different. Something that transcends death itself."

Years of Isolation

The weight of three years of grief crashed down on Fred all at once. He remembered the months after Sarah's death when he couldn't bear to enter the Butterfly Garden. How he'd thrown himself into studying teleportation theory, desperate to escape a world that felt empty without her. The way he'd pushed away every friend who tried to help, every potential romantic connection that might have healed his heart.

"I couldn't love anyone else," he admitted. "I tried, but every time I looked at another woman, all I could see was you. All I could think about was how you'd never get to see the magical world you believed in."

"Oh, Fred." Gwen reached out as if to touch his face, her spirit-form wavering with the intensity of her emotion. "I watched you sometimes, when the barriers between worlds were thin. I saw you sitting alone in your apartment, practicing teleportation until you collapsed from exhaustion. I wanted so desperately to tell you I was still here, still believing in you. But I was Gwen then, not Sarah. I had to maintain the separation."

The Bit Bucket pulsed around them, responding to their emotional reunion. The slate on the wall began to glow more brightly, and new words appeared beneath Fred's name: Love transcends death. Hearts remember what minds forget. Names may change, but souls remain constant.

Spiritual Reunion

"This is why you're here," Gwen said, her voice filled with wonder. "This is why the Bit Bucket called to you specifically. Our connection, our love—it created a resonance in the magical field. You weren't just trying to reach the college, Fred. You were trying to reach me. Even if you didn't know it consciously."

Fred felt something shift inside him, a piece of his soul that had been missing for three years suddenly clicking back into place. But it wasn't the desperate, grief-stricken love he'd carried for so long. This was something deeper, more mature—a love that had been tested by death and separation and emerged transformed.

"I don't want to lose you again," he said. "I can't lose you twice, whether you're Sarah or Gwen or anyone else."

"You won't," Gwen replied, her storm-gray eyes blazing with determination. "But Fred, our love has evolved beyond what it was when I was alive. We're not the same people we were three years ago. You've grown, learned, suffered. And I've become something more than human. If we're going to escape this place together, it won't be as the couple we once were."

Fred nodded slowly, understanding. "So I call you Gwen. Not because I'm forgetting Sarah, but because I'm accepting who you are now."

"Exactly," she said, relief flooding her features. "Sarah was my past. Gwen is my present. And whoever we become after reincarnation... that will be our future."

The air around them began to shimmer again, and Fred felt that familiar presence pressing against his consciousness—ancient, vast, and somehow connected to both of them. The artifacts in the room hummed with increasing energy, and the flame in the lamp flickered wildly.

"Something's happening," Gwen said, her spirit-monitor instincts taking over. "Our reunion has triggered something in the Bit Bucket's magical matrix. The ancient powers that created this space are responding to our combined spiritual energy."

Fred looked at the slate where their story was being written in flowing script, the words appearing faster now: Two souls, divided by death, united by love. The wheel turns toward transformation. What was lost shall be found in new form. Names are but vessels; love is eternal.

"Gwen," he said, deliberately using her chosen name, "what does that mean?"

Before she could answer, the medieval walls began to shift and flow like water. The bookcase with Aislinn's volumes started to glow, and the silver bell on the wooden table chimed once, its note hanging in the air like a promise.

"It means," Gwen said, her voice filled with both hope and trepidation, "that our love story isn't ending—it's about to begin again. But in ways neither of us can imagine."

The Bit Bucket pulsed once more, and Fred felt the first stirrings of a transformation that would change not just his form, but the very nature of his connection to the woman he'd never stopped loving. Their reunion had awakened something ancient and powerful, and there would be no going back to the simple life he'd known before.

The only way forward was through the mystery of reincarnation itself, where Sarah and Fred might finally become something new together.

The Bit Bucket -04-

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • Novel > 40,000 words

Genre: 

  • Transgender

Character Age: 

  • Mature / Thirty+

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Chapter 4: The Rules of Reincarnation

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Can Fred understand the rules of reincarnation to take Gwen with him and together escape The Bit Bucket?

Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Saturdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love


Chapter 4: The Rules of Reincarnation

The Bit Bucket hummed with renewed energy after Fred and Gwen's emotional reunion, the medieval walls pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to echo their combined heartbeats. Fred could feel something fundamental shifting in the metaphysical space around them—as if their love had awakened forces that had been dormant for centuries.

Spiritual Conflict

The air shimmered, and suddenly a presence filled the room that was both familiar and entirely new. The flame in the lamp flickered wildly, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls as a voice spoke from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Aislinn," Gwen whispered, her spirit-form becoming more solid as she straightened with recognition. "She's trying to communicate."

Fred felt the presence wash over him—ancient, wise, and tinged with a sadness that spoke of countless years spent watching over lost souls. When the voice came, it seemed to speak directly into his mind rather than his ears.

The wheel turns, young ones. The equinox has opened pathways that have been sealed for a millennium. But the way forward requires understanding.

"Understanding of what?" Fred called out to the empty air, his voice echoing strangely in the charged atmosphere.

The rules that govern this place. The laws that bind spirit to flesh, soul to destiny.

Explanation of Equinoxes

The bookcase against the wall began to glow, and one of the volumes marked "Aislinn C" floated free from its shelf, opening itself in midair. Pages fluttered as if turned by invisible hands, finally settling on a passage that blazed with golden light.

Gwen moved closer to read, her storm-gray eyes reflecting the magical illumination. "The equinoxes," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "They're not just astronomical events—they're cosmic hinges. Moments when the barriers between worlds become permeable."

Fred joined her, reading over her shoulder. The text described how twice a year, during the spring and autumn equinoxes, the metaphysical fabric of reality grew thin enough for certain transformations to occur. Teleportation became possible for those with the right spiritual resonance. Reincarnation could be achieved by souls ready to transcend their current forms.

"That's why I was able to reach the Bit Bucket today," Fred realized. "The autumn equinox created the perfect conditions."

Precisely, Aislinn's presence confirmed. But the same forces that brought you here also limit your options for departure. The pathways are specific, governed by laws older than human civilization.

Teleportation Limitations

The slate on the wall began to glow more brightly, new words appearing beneath Fred's name in flowing script: One-way passage. The seeker who enters the Bit Bucket cannot return by the same path. Forward lies transformation; backward lies only emptiness.

Fred felt his heart sink as the implications became clear. "You mean I can't just teleport back to the Butterfly Garden? I can't go home?"

Gwen's expression grew pained. "The Bit Bucket exists between worlds, Fred. It's a waystation for souls in transition. Those who arrive here are meant to move forward, not backward."

The floating book's pages turned again, revealing diagrams of metaphysical pathways that looked like intricate spider webs connecting different realms. Fred could see the Butterfly Garden clearly marked, along with what appeared to be Aislinn's College and dozens of other locations he didn't recognize. But every pathway leading from the Bit Bucket pointed in only one direction—toward transformation.

"The college has rooms designed to catch students of specific ages," Gwen explained, her spirit-monitor knowledge coming to the fore. "Room 11 for eleven-year-olds, Room 12 for twelve-year-olds, and so on. Each room is modern and welcoming, designed to ease the transition. But the Bit Bucket..." She gestured to the medieval surroundings. "This place catches the exceptions. The complicated cases."

Gwen's Guidance

Fred stared at the pathways on the floating pages, his mind racing. "So what you're saying is that the only way out of here is through reincarnation? I have to become someone else entirely?"

Not someone else, Aislinn's presence corrected gently. Someone more complete. The Bit Bucket doesn't destroy identity—it offers the chance to become who you truly are.

Gwen moved closer to Fred, her ethereal form radiating warmth despite its insubstantial nature. "Think about it, Fred. You've always felt incomplete, haven't you? Like there was something missing, something that prevented you from being whole?"

Fred nodded slowly, remembering the years of feeling caught between worlds—too feminine for the masculine role society expected, too uncertain of his place to fully embrace any identity. "The chimera nature. My mother's exposure to that artifact during pregnancy."

"Exactly," Gwen said softly. "What if the Bit Bucket isn't a trap, but an opportunity? A chance to resolve the conflict that's been tearing you apart your entire life?"

The floating book's pages turned once more, revealing a passage that made Fred's breath catch: Reincarnation through the Bit Bucket requires mastery of both teleportation and the deeper magic of spiritual transformation. The soul must willingly release its current form while maintaining the essence of its true self. Only those who can navigate this paradox successfully can escape to their destined realm.

"But how do I master something I don't understand?" Fred asked, frustration creeping into his voice. "I barely managed to teleport here in the first place."

Practice, Aislinn's presence suggested with what might have been amusement. But not the kind you're thinking of. The magic you need cannot be learned through repetition—it must be felt, experienced, lived.

Emotional Bond Renewed

Gwen stepped closer, her storm-gray eyes meeting Fred's with an intensity that made his heart race. "There's something else, Fred. Something I haven't told you about reincarnation through the Bit Bucket."

"What?"

"It doesn't have to be a solitary journey," she said quietly. "Souls that are truly connected—that share a bond deeper than mere attraction—can undergo the transformation together. They can choose to be reborn in forms that complement each other, that allow their love to transcend the boundaries of their previous existence."

Fred felt hope flare in his chest like a sudden flame. "You mean we could escape together? We could both be reincarnated?"

"If we're willing to let go of who we were," Gwen said. "If we're ready to become something new while holding onto the love that connects us."

The Bit Bucket pulsed around them, responding to their emotional connection. The artifacts in the room—the silver bell, the mysterious lamp, the floating book—all began to resonate with a harmony that filled the space with music too beautiful for human ears.

The choice is yours, Aislinn's presence whispered. But know this—the transformation, once begun, cannot be undone. You will emerge from this place as different people, with different bodies, different lives. Only your souls will remain constant.

Fred looked at Gwen, seeing in her ethereal features the woman he had loved and lost, the spirit guide who had helped him understand this strange new world, and something more—a partner willing to face the unknown by his side.

"I won't leave without you," he said firmly. "I can't lose you again, Gwen. Not after finding you here."

"And I won't let you face this alone," she replied, her form becoming more solid as their bond strengthened. "Whatever we become, we'll face it together."

The slate on the wall blazed with new words: Two souls, united in purpose. The wheel turns toward transformation. What was divided shall be made whole.

The floating book snapped shut and returned to its shelf, but the knowledge it had shared remained burning in Fred's mind. He understood now that the path forward wasn't about returning to his old life—it was about embracing a new one. The Bit Bucket had brought him and Gwen together not to trap them, but to offer them something neither had dared hope for: a second chance at love, in forms that would allow them to be truly themselves.

But as the medieval walls began to shimmer with increasing intensity, Fred sensed that their decision to attempt reincarnation together had awakened something else in the depths of the Bit Bucket. Something ancient and powerful that had been waiting for exactly this moment to stir from its long slumber.

The real test was about to begin.

The Bit Bucket -05-

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • Novel > 40,000 words

Genre: 

  • Transgender

Character Age: 

  • Mature / Thirty+

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Chapter 5: Mastering the Impossible

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Can Fred master the impossible and initiate reincarnation to take Gwen with him and together escape The Bit Bucket?

Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Saturdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love


Chapter 5: Mastering the Impossible

The Bit Bucket settled into an expectant silence after Aislinn's presence faded, leaving Fred and Gwen alone with the weight of their decision. The medieval walls seemed to pulse with anticipation, as if the ancient space itself was preparing for what was to come. Fred could feel the equinox energy still thrumming through the metaphysical realm, but now it felt different—more focused, more demanding.

Training Montage

"Show me," Fred said, his voice steady despite the magnitude of what he was asking. "Show me how to master reincarnation."

Gwen moved to the center of the room, her ethereal form becoming more luminous as she drew upon her spirit-monitor knowledge. "It's not like teleportation, Fred. Teleportation moves your body through space—reincarnation transforms your very essence. You have to be willing to let go of everything you think you are while holding onto everything you truly are."

She gestured to the floating book, which opened itself to a page covered in diagrams that seemed to shift and breathe on the parchment. "The process requires perfect balance between faith and surrender. Too much control, and you'll resist the reincarnation. Too little, and you'll lose yourself entirely."

Fred studied the diagrams, trying to understand the intricate patterns of energy flow and spiritual resonance. His first attempt was clumsy—he focused too hard on maintaining his identity, and the magic simply fizzled out like a candle in the wind.

"Again," Gwen said patiently. "Remember, you're not trying to preserve Fred. You're trying to become who Fred was always meant to be."

The second attempt went further. Fred felt his consciousness begin to expand, touching the edges of something vast and transformative. But fear crept in—what if he lost his memories of Sarah? What if he forgot their love?—and the process collapsed, leaving him gasping on the medieval stone floor.

"I can't," he said, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Every time I get close, I think about losing you, losing us, and I pull back."

Internal Conflict

Gwen knelt beside him, her spirit-form solidifying enough that he could almost feel her touch. "That's exactly the problem, Fred. You're trying to hold onto the past instead of trusting in what we could become."

"But what if reincarnation changes us so much that we don't love each other anymore?" Fred's voice cracked with the weight of his fear. "What if whoever we become doesn't remember this connection?"

"Love isn't about memory," Gwen said softly. "It's about recognition. The soul recognizes its mate regardless of form. Sarah loved Fred, but the essence of that love—the recognition, the resonance—that transcends any single lifetime."

Fred closed his eyes, wrestling with doubts that felt as ancient as the Bit Bucket itself. He'd spent three years mourning Sarah, three years believing that their love was tied to their specific forms, their specific memories. The idea of letting go of that felt like betraying everything they'd shared.

"I've been Fred for thirty-six years," he whispered. "It's all I know how to be."

"And you've been incomplete for thirty-six years," Gwen replied with gentle firmness. "The chimera nature, the constant feeling of being caught between worlds—that's not who you really are. That's just who you've been forced to be."

Gwen's Support

The hours passed in a blur of failed attempts and growing desperation. Each time Fred approached the threshold of reincarnation, something held him back—fear, doubt, the desperate need to control an inherently uncontrollable process.

Gwen never lost patience. She guided him through breathing exercises that helped him connect with the metaphysical currents flowing through the Bit Bucket. She shared memories of her own death and becoming a ghost, how terrifying it had been to let go of Sarah and become something new.

"When I first became a spirit monitor," she said during one of their rest periods, "I tried so hard to hold onto who Sarah had been. I would recite our conversations, replay our memories, anything to keep her alive inside me. But it wasn't until I accepted that Sarah was gone—truly gone—that I could become Gwen. And Gwen was stronger, wiser, more capable of love than Sarah ever was."

Fred looked at her with new understanding. "You're saying I have to let Fred die."

"I'm saying you have to let Fred reincarnate," she corrected. "Death implies ending. Reincarnation implies becoming. The love between us won't die, Fred. It will evolve into something more beautiful than we can imagine."

Ancient Resonance

As the day wore on—if day had any meaning in the timeless space of the Bit Bucket—something began to change. Fred's repeated attempts to access reincarnation magic had created ripples in the metaphysical fabric of the room. The artifacts began to respond: the silver bell chimed softly without being touched, the mysterious liquid in the lamp swirled with increasing luminosity, and the books on Aislinn's shelf glowed with inner fire.

"Do you feel that?" Gwen asked, her storm-gray eyes wide with wonder.

Fred did feel it—a resonance building in the very stones of the walls, as if their combined spiritual energy was awakening something that had slept for centuries. The slate where he'd written his name began to pulse with blue light, and new words appeared: The wheel turns. Ancient power stirs. What was lost seeks to be found.

"It's responding to us," Fred realized. "Our connection, our attempts at reincarnation—it's triggering something in the Bit Bucket itself."

The floating book's pages began turning rapidly, settling on passages Fred hadn't seen before. These weren't instructions for reincarnation—they were fragments of history, glimpses of the legendary sorceresses who had once shaped the magical world.

Andromeda of the Pure Heart, one passage read, whose love conquered even death itself.

Morgana of the Endless Night, read another, whose pain became a darkness that consumed worlds.

"Fred," Gwen whispered, her voice filled with awe and growing alarm. "I think our love story is connected to something much larger than we realized."

Growing Desperation

The revelation should have been encouraging, but instead it filled Fred with a new kind of panic. If their connection was somehow tied to ancient magical forces, what did that mean for their ability to control their own destiny? What if they were just pawns in some cosmic game played by powers beyond their understanding?

His next attempt at reincarnation was his most desperate yet. He threw himself into the magic with reckless abandon, trying to force the reincarnation through sheer will. The result was catastrophic with energy exploded outward from his body, sending books flying from their shelves and causing the medieval walls to crack and groan.

"Stop!" Gwen cried, her spirit-form flickering as the chaotic energy disrupted her manifestation. "You're going to tear the Bit Bucket apart!"

Fred collapsed, his body shaking from the magical backlash. Blood trickled from his nose, and his vision swam with exhaustion. "I can't do this," he gasped. "I'm not strong enough, not wise enough. Maybe I'm meant to be trapped here forever."

"No," Gwen said fiercely, her form solidifying with determination. "I won't let you give up. Not when we're so close."

She moved to him, and for the first time since his arrival in the Bit Bucket, Fred felt her touch—not quite physical, but real enough to anchor him. "Listen to me, Fred. The power you need isn't about strength or wisdom. It's about trust. Trust in me, trust in us, trust in the love that brought us together across death itself."

The Bit Bucket pulsed around them, the ancient resonance growing stronger. The artifacts hummed with increasing harmony, and the very air seemed to thicken with possibility. Fred could feel something vast stirring in the depths of the metaphysical space—not malevolent, but so powerful it made his soul tremble.

"Something's coming," he whispered, looking at Gwen with eyes that held both fear and desperate hope. "Whatever we've awakened, it's almost here."

Gwen's storm-gray eyes met his, and in them he saw the same mixture of terror and anticipation. "Then we'd better be ready," she said. "Because I have a feeling that whatever happens next will change everything—not just for us, but for the entire magical world."

The slate on the wall blazed with new words: The sleeper wakes. The wheel turns. Love and darkness prepare to dance once more.

Fred felt the first stirrings of a reincarnation that would reshape not just his body, but the very fabric of reality itself. The real test was about to begin, and there would be no going back.

The Bit Bucket -06-

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • Novel > 40,000 words

Genre: 

  • Transgender

Character Age: 

  • Mature / Thirty+

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Chapter 6: The Chimera's Truth

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Can Fred figure out how his origin and his sister's origin might affect his ability to leave The Bit Bucket?

Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Saturdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love


Chapter 6: The Chimera's Truth

The ancient resonance that had been building in the Bit Bucket reached a crescendo, and Fred felt something fundamental shift within him. The artifacts around the room hummed with increasing intensity, and the slate on the wall blazed with words that seemed to write themselves: The divided soul seeks wholeness. Truth reveals the path to reincarnation.

Gwen's ethereal form flickered as the energy surged through the medieval chamber. "Fred," she said urgently, "something's happening. The Bit Bucket is responding to your presence in ways I've never seen before."

Fred's Background Revealed

Fred staggered as memories flooded through him—not just his own, but deeper truths about his very nature that he'd spent thirty-six years trying to understand. The floating book opened itself to a page he'd never seen before, revealing diagrams of genetic structures that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

"I'm not just different," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder and terror. "I'm a chimera."

The revelation hit him like a physical blow. All those years of feeling caught between worlds, of never quite fitting into the masculine role society expected, of sensing that something fundamental was missing—it all made sense now. He wasn't a man struggling with identity issues. He was literally two beings merged into one body.

"My brain," he said, touching his temple as understanding dawned. "My soul. They're female. They've always been female."

Gwen moved closer, her storm-gray eyes reflecting the magical light emanating from the artifacts. "Tell me," she said gently. "Help me understand."

Abigail's Story

The floating book's pages turned of their own accord, revealing passages written in flowing script that seemed to glow with inner fire. Fred read aloud, his voice growing stronger as the truth emerged:

"Abigail Hartwell, my mother, was twenty-five when she encountered the artifact. She was working as an archaeologist on a dig site in Scotland, investigating what they thought were medieval ruins. But the site was much older—ancient beyond human memory."

The images formed in the air around them as Fred spoke, conjured by the Bit Bucket's response to his revelation. They could see a younger version of his mother, her dark hair tied back as she carefully excavated what appeared to be a crystalline structure buried deep in the earth.

"The artifact was beautiful," Fred continued, watching the ethereal replay of events that had shaped his very existence. "A crystal formation that seemed to contain starlight. When she touched it, it opened like a flower, releasing energy that had been contained for millennia."

The vision showed Abigail gasping as waves of power washed over her, her body glowing with the same blue light that now filled the Bit Bucket. But she wasn't alone—the energy reached out, touching something precious she carried within her.

"She was pregnant," Fred realized, his voice barely above a whisper. "The artifact's blessing—or curse—affected me while I was still developing in her womb."

The Chimeric Nature

Gwen's expression filled with understanding and compassion. "The artifact contained genetic material from one of the ancient sorceresses. When it merged with your developing form..."

"It created a chimera," Fred finished. "A being with two distinct genetic patterns, two souls, two identities trying to coexist in one body. The male physical form from my father's line, but the brain, the soul, the magical potential—all female, all connected to the sorceress whose essence was stored in that crystal."

The Bit Bucket pulsed around them, and Fred felt the truth of it resonating in every cell of his being. This was why he'd always felt incomplete, why he'd been drawn to magic, why teleportation had seemed not just possible but inevitable. The female soul within him carried the genetic memory of powers that transcended ordinary human limitations.

"That's why I could teleport," he said, wonder filling his voice. "That's why I ended up here instead of one of the college's regular rooms. The Bit Bucket recognizes what I am—someone who doesn't fit the normal categories because I'm literally two people in one body."

Wanda Introduction

The slate on the wall began glowing more brightly, and new words appeared: The sister follows the brother. Blood calls to blood across the void.

Fred felt his heart skip a beat. "Wanda," he breathed.

Gwen looked puzzled. "Who's Wanda?"

"My younger sister. She's twenty years younger than me, but..." Fred paused, the implications hitting him like a thunderbolt. "If the artifact affected me while I was in the womb, and if its influence lingered in my mother's system..."

The floating book's pages fluttered rapidly, settling on a passage that made Fred's blood run cold: The artifact's blessing does not fade quickly. Those born in its shadow carry traces of its power, diluted but present. The second child bears the mark more lightly but no less truly.

"Wanda is a chimera too," Fred realized. "Not as dramatically as me—she's always seemed more comfortable in her own skin—but she carries the same dual nature. The same potential for magic."

Gwen's ethereal form solidified slightly as she processed this information. "And if she's sixteen now..."

"She's exactly the right age to be called to Aislinn's College," Fred finished. "Room 16 would intercept her if she attempted teleportation. But Gwen, if she's anything like me, she might not fit their categories either. She might end up here, in the Bit Bucket."

Identity Crisis

The weight of these revelations crashed down on Fred all at once. For thirty-six years, he'd struggled with an identity that never quite fit, never understanding why he felt so fundamentally divided. Now, knowing the truth, he felt both liberated and terrified.

"I've been fighting myself my entire life," he said, sinking to his knees on the medieval stone floor. "The male body, the female soul—they've been at war, and I never understood why I couldn't just be normal."

Gwen knelt beside him, her spirit-form radiating warmth and comfort. "You were never meant to be normal, Fred. You were meant to be extraordinary. The artifact didn't curse you—it chose you. It recognized something in your developing soul that was worthy of its gift."

"But what am I supposed to do with this knowledge?" Fred asked, his voice breaking. "How do I reconcile two identities that have been pulling me in different directions my entire life?"

The Bit Bucket pulsed around them, and Fred felt that ancient presence stirring again—not malevolent, but vast and patient. The artifacts in the room began to resonate with a harmony that seemed to echo the rhythm of his own conflicted heart.

"Maybe," Gwen said softly, "you don't have to reconcile them. Maybe reincarnation isn't about choosing one identity over another. Maybe it's about becoming whole—integrating both parts of yourself into something new, something complete."

Destiny Calling

The floating book's pages turned once more, revealing a passage that made Fred's breath catch: The chimera who embraces both natures becomes more than the sum of their parts. In reincarnation, division becomes unity. In reincarnation, conflict becomes harmony.

Fred looked up at Gwen, seeing in her storm-gray eyes the same hope and determination that had first drawn him to her three years ago. "You think reincarnation could heal the split in my nature?"

"I think," Gwen said carefully, "that the Bit Bucket brought you here for a reason. Your chimeric nature, your connection to the ancient sorceress, your ability to love across the boundaries of life and death—all of it has led to this moment."

The slate on the wall blazed with new words: The wheel turns toward wholeness. What was divided shall be made complete. The path forward requires courage to become who you truly are.

Fred felt something shift deep within him—not just understanding, but acceptance. For the first time in his life, the warring aspects of his identity didn't feel like a burden. They felt like potential. The male and female sides of his nature weren't enemies—they were complementary forces waiting to be unified.

"I want to try," he said, his voice steady despite the magnitude of what he was contemplating. "I want to attempt reincarnation, not to escape who I am, but to become who I'm meant to be."

Gwen's smile was radiant. "Then we'll do it together. Whatever you become, whatever form the magic chooses for you, I'll be there."

The Bit Bucket hummed with approval, and Fred felt the first stirrings of a reincarnation that would resolve the conflict that had defined his entire existence. But as the medieval walls began to shimmer with increasing intensity, he sensed that their decision had awakened something else—something that had been waiting in the depths of the metaphysical space for exactly this moment.

The ancient powers that had created his chimeric nature were stirring, and the path forward would require not just courage, but a willingness to trust in forces beyond his understanding. The real test of his dual nature was about to begin.

The Bit Bucket -07-

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • Novel > 40,000 words

Genre: 

  • Transgender

Character Age: 

  • Mature / Thirty+

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Chapter 7: The Ancient Awakening

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Can Fred figure out that his origin contained DNA from a foreign source, the greatest sorceress of life from ancient times, Andromeda?

Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Saturdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love


Chapter 7: The Ancient Awakening

The Bit Bucket trembled with an energy that felt older than time itself. Fred's revelation about his chimeric nature had awakened something deep within the metaphysical space—something that had been waiting for exactly this moment to stir from its millennia-long slumber.

Artifact Resonance

The artifacts around the room began to pulse with increasing intensity, their medieval forms glowing with inner fire that cast dancing shadows across the stone walls. The silver bell on the wooden table chimed without being touched, its pure note hanging in the air like a prayer. The mysterious liquid in the lamp swirled faster, creating patterns that seemed to spell out words in languages Fred couldn't read but somehow understood.

"Do you feel that?" Gwen whispered, her ethereal form becoming more solid as the energy built around them. "It's responding to your dual nature, Fred. The combination of your male body and female soul—it's creating a resonance with something ancient."

The floating book's pages began turning rapidly, settling on passages that blazed with golden light. Fred could see fragments of text about Andromeda of the Pure Heart, the legendary sorceress whose essence had been stored in the artifact that transformed his mother. But these weren't just historical accounts—they were memories, experiences, emotions that felt as real as his own.

"Andromeda," he breathed, understanding flooding through him. "The artifact didn't just contain her genetic material. It contained her entire spiritual essence."

The slate on the wall erupted with new words, appearing faster than any human hand could write: The wheel turns full circle. What was lost seeks to be found. The daughter of light awakens to reclaim her destiny.

Magical Cascade Beginning

The resonance between Fred's chimeric nature and Andromeda's legacy created a cascade effect that rippled through the very fabric of the Bit Bucket. The medieval walls began to shimmer and shift, revealing glimpses of other times, other places. Fred saw flashes of a great war fought between forces of light and darkness, of a sorceress whose power could reshape reality itself, of a love so pure it transcended death.

"It's not just memories," Gwen said, her voice filled with awe and growing alarm. "Fred, your presence here is awakening the magical matrix that Andromeda used to create this place. The Bit Bucket wasn't just a waystation—it was a failsafe, designed to activate when someone with her essence returned."

The artifacts around the room hummed in harmony, their combined energy creating a symphony that seemed to echo from the depths of the earth itself. The bookcase with Aislinn's volumes began to glow, and Fred could feel the presence of the ancient college president stirring, responding to the awakening power.

The time of waiting is over, Aislinn's voice whispered through the charged air. The legacy that was divided must be made whole. But beware—such power does not awaken unnoticed.

Morgana's Stirring

As if summoned by Aislinn's warning, a chill swept through the Bit Bucket that had nothing to do with temperature. The warm golden light emanating from the artifacts flickered, and shadows began to gather in the corners of the room—shadows that moved with purpose and malevolent intelligence.

Fred felt something pressing against the edges of his consciousness, a presence vast and terrible and filled with an ancient hunger. It was like looking into an abyss that looked back, recognizing something in him that it had been seeking for a thousand years.

"No," Gwen gasped, her spirit-form wavering as the dark presence touched the metaphysical space. "She's stirring. Morgana is stirring."

The slate on the wall cracked, new words appearing in script that seemed to burn with cold fire: The sister of shadow wakes. Where light rises, darkness follows. The eternal dance begins anew.

Fred could feel the dark sorceress's attention turning toward the Bit Bucket like a searchlight, drawn by the magical resonance he and Gwen had created. Somewhere in the depths of whatever realm Morgana had been banished to, she was awakening to the presence of her ancient enemy's essence.

"She knows," Fred whispered, his voice barely audible above the growing hum of conflicting energies. "She knows Andromeda's power is manifesting again."

Prophetic Visions

The air around them began to shimmer with visions—glimpses of possible futures that flashed through Fred's mind like lightning. He saw himself transformed, no longer the conflicted chimera but something new, something whole. He saw Gwen beside him, not as a spirit but as a living woman with power that matched his own. He saw a great college where students learned to bend reality itself, and he saw it burning under an assault of shadow and flame.

But the visions weren't just of triumph and tragedy. Fred saw moments of choice—crossroads where decisions would determine not just his fate, but the fate of everyone connected to the magical world. He saw himself standing before Morgana, not as an enemy but as someone offering redemption. He saw the possibility of healing ancient wounds, of transforming hatred into understanding.

"The future isn't fixed," Gwen said, her storm-gray eyes reflecting the swirling visions. "These are possibilities, paths that could be taken. But Fred, the choices you make in the next few hours will determine which future becomes real."

The floating book snapped shut and returned to its shelf, but the knowledge it had shared remained burning in Fred's mind. He understood now that his journey to the Bit Bucket hadn't been an accident or a mistake—it had been destiny calling him home to claim a legacy he'd never known he carried.

Point of No Return

The magical cascade reached a crescendo, and Fred felt something fundamental shift within him. The warring aspects of his chimeric nature—the male body and female soul that had been in conflict his entire life—suddenly aligned, creating a harmony he'd never experienced before. For the first time in thirty-six years, he felt complete.

But with that completion came responsibility. The power awakening within him wasn't just his own—it was Andromeda's legacy, meant to be used in service of light and healing. And somewhere in the darkness, Morgana was preparing to reclaim her own terrible heritage.

"There's no going back now," Gwen said, her voice filled with both hope and trepidation. "Whatever we've awakened, whatever we've set in motion—we have to see it through to the end."

Fred nodded, feeling the weight of destiny settling on his shoulders like a mantle. The Bit Bucket pulsed around them, no longer a prison but a chrysalis preparing to release something new into the world. The artifacts hummed with anticipation, and the very air seemed to hold its breath.

"Then let's finish what we started," he said, his voice steady despite the magnitude of what lay ahead. "If reincarnation is the only way forward, if becoming Andromeda is my destiny, then I'll embrace it. But I won't face it alone."

Gwen's smile was radiant. "Together," she said. "Whatever we become, we'll face it together."

The slate on the wall blazed with final words: The wheel turns. The sleeper wakes. Love and light prepare to dance with shadow and flame. Let the reincarnation begin.

The Bit Bucket erupted in white light, and Fred felt the first stirrings of a change that would reshape not just his body, but his very soul. The ancient awakening was complete, and there would be no turning back from the path that lay ahead.

But as the reincarnation began, he could feel Morgana's presence growing stronger, her attention fixed on the magical resonance like a predator scenting prey. The real battle was about to begin, and everything Fred thought he knew about himself, about love, about the nature of good and evil, would be tested in the crucible of reincarnation itself.

The ancient powers had awakened, and the world would never be the same.

The Bit Bucket -08-

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Publication: 

  • Novel > 40,000 words

Genre: 

  • Transgender

Character Age: 

  • Mature / Thirty+

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

Chapter 8: The Reincarnation Begins

By Sasha Zarya Nexus

Can Fred and Gwen come together with the same realization on just what it will take to begin reincarnation for both of them?

Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note:

This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Saturdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love


Chapter 8: The Reincarnation Begins

The Bit Bucket trembled with cosmic energy as Fred and Gwen stood at the threshold of their greatest gamble. The ancient awakening had reached its crescendo, and now they faced the moment that would either free them or destroy them utterly. The medieval walls pulsed with power that seemed to echo from the very foundations of reality itself1.

The Ritual

Fred moved to the center of the room, his chimeric nature finally in perfect harmony for the first time in his thirty-six years. The male body and female soul that had warred within him now worked in concert, creating a resonance that made the artifacts around them sing with anticipation. Gwen's ethereal form solidified beside him, her storm-gray eyes blazing with determination.

"Together," she said, extending her spirit-hand toward him. "Whatever we become, we face it together."

Fred grasped her hand, feeling the electric shock of their spiritual connection. The moment their energies merged, the Bit Bucket erupted in cascading light. The slate on the wall blazed with words that appeared faster than thought: The wheel turns. Love conquers death. Transformation begins.

The floating book opened itself to a page that had never existed before, revealing the true ritual of reincarnation. Not the academic theory they'd been studying, but the living, breathing magic that required complete surrender of self while maintaining the essence of love that bound them together1.

"We have to let go of everything we think we are," Fred said, his voice steady despite the magnitude of what they were attempting. "But we hold onto what we mean to each other."

Gwen nodded, her form beginning to shimmer as the reincarnation magic took hold. "Fred and Sarah die here. But our love—that's eternal."

All is Lost

The ritual began beautifully. Fred felt his consciousness expanding, touching the edges of reincarnation as his chimeric nature prepared to resolve itself into wholeness. Gwen's spirit-form began to merge with the magical currents flowing through the Bit Bucket, her essence preparing to take on new life.

But then everything went wrong.

The ancient powers awakened by their love story proved too vast, too chaotic to control. Morgana's distant presence pressed against the metaphysical space like a storm front, her malevolent attention drawn by the massive magical disturbance they'd created. The artifacts around the room began to overload, their harmonious song becoming a discordant shriek.

"I can't hold it together!" Fred gasped as the reincarnation magic spiraled out of control. His consciousness felt like it was being torn apart, scattered across multiple potential realities. He could see glimpses of who he might become—a powerful sorceress, a broken shell, a being of pure energy with no anchor to humanity.

Gwen's form flickered wildly as the reincarnation process pulled her in different directions. "Fred, I'm losing myself! I can't remember who I was supposed to become!"

The Bit Bucket itself began to crack under the strain. The medieval walls showed fissures of white light, and through those cracks, Fred could see the void between worlds—an endless darkness that would consume them both if the space collapsed entirely.

Vulnerability

In that moment of absolute crisis, all their careful plans and desperate hopes crumbled to dust. Fred found himself facing the same terror that had haunted him for three years—the fear of losing Gwen forever. But now it was worse, because this time it would be his fault. His desperate need for reincarnation, his refusal to accept the limitations of his existence, had doomed them both.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tears streaming down his face as the magical chaos raged around them. "I'm so sorry, Gwen. I should have left you in peace. I should have accepted that some things can't be changed."

Gwen's flickering form reached for him through the maelstrom of uncontrolled magic. "Don't you dare give up on us now," she said fiercely. "We've come too far to surrender to fear."

But even as she spoke, Fred could see her essence fragmenting, pieces of her spirit being pulled away by the chaotic currents. The woman he loved was dissolving before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His chimeric nature, instead of being an asset, had become a liability—the conflicting energies within him feeding the magical storm that threatened to tear them both apart.

"I don't know how to save us," he admitted, his voice breaking with despair. "I thought love would be enough, but I was wrong. I was so wrong."

The Shift

In that moment of absolute surrender, when Fred finally stopped fighting and accepted that he might lose everything, something extraordinary happened. The chaos around them didn't diminish—it transformed. The wild, destructive energy suddenly found a new pattern, a new purpose.

Aislinn's presence filled the Bit Bucket, not as the distant observer she'd been before, but as an active participant in their reincarnation. Love is enough, her voice whispered through the storm. But not the love that clings and possesses. The love that trusts and releases.

Fred felt understanding dawn like sunrise after the longest night. He'd been approaching reincarnation all wrong, trying to control the process instead of surrendering to it. His chimeric nature wasn't a flaw to be overcome—it was a gift that allowed him to bridge multiple states of being simultaneously.

"Gwen," he called out through the magical tempest. "Stop trying to hold onto who you were. Let yourself become who you're meant to be."

Her storm-gray eyes met his across the chaos, and in them he saw the same realization. They'd been fighting the reincarnation instead of embracing it, trying to preserve their old selves instead of trusting in their love to carry them through to whatever came next.

Together, they stopped resisting. Fred released his desperate grip on his male identity, allowing his female soul to finally take precedence. Gwen let go of her careful spirit-monitor composure, embracing the wild, passionate woman she'd always been beneath the ethereal facade.

The moment they surrendered control, the chaos crystallized into purpose. The reincarnation magic found its true target—not their individual identities, but the love that connected them across life and death.

Reincarnation

The Bit Bucket exploded in white light so brilliant it seemed to burn away the very concept of darkness. Fred felt his consciousness scatter like stars across the cosmos, but instead of terror, he felt joy. This wasn't destruction—it was birth.

Through the blazing reincarnation, he caught glimpses of what they were becoming. Not one person or two, but something more complex, more beautiful than either had imagined possible. The chimeric nature that had divided him was resolving itself, but not in the way he'd expected.

Gwen's essence merged with his, but not as absorption or loss of identity. Instead, they were becoming something that honored both their individual natures and their shared love—a solution to the ancient riddle of the Bit Bucket that no one had discovered in a thousand years.

As the light reached its crescendo, Fred felt ancient memories stirring—not his own, but those of the legendary sorceress whose essence had shaped his chimeric nature from birth. Andromeda's legacy was awakening within him, but transformed by his love for Gwen into something entirely new.

The last thing he saw before consciousness scattered completely was the slate on the wall, blazing with final words: The wheel completes its turn. What was divided becomes whole. The daughters of light are born.

Then everything went white, and Fred's journey as a thirty-six-year-old man with a woman's soul came to an end. But somewhere in that brilliant reincarnation, something new was beginning—something that would reshape not just their lives, but the entire magical world that had brought them together.

The Bit Bucket fell silent, its ancient purpose finally fulfilled. But in a dorm room at Aislinn's College, two thirteen-year-old girls were about to wake up with the memories of a love that had conquered death itself, and the power to change everything.

The Circle of Redemption

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Organizational: 

  • Title Page

Audience Rating: 

  • General Audience (pg)

Circle of Redemption

A Sequel to The Bit Bucket

A Transgender Paranormal Adventure

A Novel of the Paranormal Visitor

Ariel Montine Strickland

How could Mark escape The Bit Bucket when they can't put aside their anger?

I won't begin posting this story until I've completed posting sufficient stories on BCTS for it to remain up the maximum time per chapter on the front page.

Chatting With Angels

Author: 

  • Sasha Nexus

Organizational: 

  • Title Page

Audience Rating: 

  • Mature Subjects (pg15)

Would Kathryn be prepared for the news that an angel would bring to her about her friend Monty?

Chatting with Angels

By Sasha Zarya Nexus


Each day, an angel may deliver a message from God, who could be either an ordinary human or a supernatural being.

Stay on good terms with each other, held together by love. Be ready with a meal or a bed when it's needed. Why, some have extended hospitality to angels without ever knowing it!

  • Hebrews 13:1-2 The Message

  • Chatting With Angels -01-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • Mature Subjects (pg15)

    Publication: 

    • 17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words
    • Complete

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Magic

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter One ~ Della

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Would Kathryn be prepared for the news that an angel would bring to her about her friend Monty?


    Chapter One ~ Della

    I was still living at my parent’s home on Labor Day Weekend in 1995 especially to go by the Star Trek fan club table at Dragon*Con. And when I say go by the table that’s what I really did. I walked by without stopping. When I came in June 1993 to the con, I was thinking about my Father who had introduced me to Star Trek in 1966. I was about to stop at the table when I also remembered him yelling at me that it was a ‘tool of the devil’. A beautiful girl with auburn hair smiled at me and I still kept on going.

    In 1994 they held the convention in July. I came by the table which I had found out was for “Starfleet: The International Fan Association”. This time I saw the amazing auburn haired woman with the green eyes. I could lose myself in her eyes and I found myself halted 50 feet from the table clogging a bottleneck in the main traffic aisle. Con Security came up to me with people from behind me squeezing by on one side or the other. He obviously read my con badge before he spoke to me.

    “Monty, is it?”

    “Yes sir”

    “This Con is an amazing place with sights beyond belief but the one place where you can’t stand and admire them is there. MOVE ALONG!”

    I started moving and never stopped and never came back to the table that year. But that was then and this is now, the year that Dragon*Con hosted NASFIC and the Starfleet International Conference. On the table as I went by I could see my prize. The holy grail was a brochure with information and a membership application for the USS Republic of Atlanta, GA. But I also remembered what had happened with the security guard from last year. I could not just stand and admire it from a far without the same traffic mishap. So I orbited round and round the circumference of the room, never stopping. Each time I could see that same amazing woman with the auburn hair and I wondered what she was thinking?

    ”Bernie, what is he thinking?”

    ”Captain Kathryn, obviously he’s not thinking with either of his brains. He seems totally infatuated platonically with you. He’s the guy that stopped up traffic last year and I think that I saw him the year before. He wasn’t even a snatch and go like some are. He never stopped.”

    ”Well maybe my new minimizer bra is working?”

    ”Not on your life Kathryn. You have seen all the other guys come by and we both could tell they were very happy to see you. This calls for drastic measures. Here! Take the custom blouse you have to wear to the IC if we sign up 10 folks for our ship along with the McLeod tartan unsewn material and the clan pins that you use to turn into a dress. Change into the top in the bathroom and make the dress out of the tartan and put it on over it.”

    ”Not liking where you are going with this, Bernie, but I’ll do it.”

    Well when I came back around for so many orbits I had lost count, The auburn haired woman was standing in front of the table instead of behind wearing the McLeod tartan as a dress. On one side of the table was a large mostly royal blue silk USS Republic banner 4’ by 4’ with the Starfleet logo banner which was about the same quality but a bit smaller and on the other side was an even smaller yellow denim banner with a small Starfleet emblem with the McLeod bull superimposed.”

    ”Now Captain Kathryn!” said the blonde woman with the straight chin length pageboy hair. The auburn haired woman that had been called Captain Kathryn quickly came out of the dress leaving the tartan piled up on the table in front of the blonde. By the time I could get close enough to speak I could see her teeth chattering since the A/C had the place as cold as a freezer. I was curious on how she had made some unsewn cloth into and out of a dress so quickly. I stopped in front of her, never taking my vision from her amazing eyes and placed the Tartan over one of her shoulders as it hung front and back but was not obviously a dress.

    ”Captain Kathryn, just like USS Voyager? I’m amazed at how you could fold and pin that bolt of cloth into a dress. That’s the McLeod tartan isn’t it? Is that your clan?”

    ”Didn’t the blouse that I was wearing give you a clue? It’s a famous saying from a Sci Fi Movie franchise that my cohorts named the ship after. I am a scot and my clan is the Murray clan.”

    A passing woman asked Kathryn, “May I?” which she nodded yes. The woman took a peek under the tartan and smiled. “

    ”Look here, Trekkie!”

    She then removed the tartan from Kathryn’s top and then forced my head down so that I was staring at her bust. Kathryn and I responded in unison, “It’s Trekker!” Then I really looked.

    ”Oh My!” The top was barely covering her bosom and two words surrounded each nipple with one word between her bosom.

    ”There can be only one? Oh! Highlander! I’m sorry but I missed that. They are great movies and I can see why you would want to name your ship after them. Could I still see you turn that tartan into a dress, miss?”

    ”Thank you, Ma’am, for the assist. Bernadette, I win. You get to wear the blouse now. Hi there, I go by Kathy ordinarily. Bernie gets enthusiastic that my first name is spelled like Kathryn Janeway’s on Voyager and that I’m the USS MacLeod’s captain. What’s your name?”

    ”I’m Monty. Glad to meet you Kathy. I’m kinda glad that you got me to stop. It feels good to be just standing still for a change. I am really in to Scottish culture and it fits in to my trek avocation too with Scotty on the original USS Enterprise. I imagine that you all go for Scottish culture in addition to the Highlander interest from you having that Tartan.”

    ”Okay Monty, I’ll show you how I can fold and pin the tartan into a dress, if you will promise to take one of out brochures and be our guest at the Starfleet IC at the Holiday Inn down the street. I believe that you would make a great crewmember in Starfleet.

    Sarah showed me exactly what folds she made and where she placed the pins to make the dress. Soon she was again the amazingly beautiful lassie that had finally stopped me in my tracks. I saw the time and knew that a must see panel was soon to start. I didn’t forget to pick up a brochure from the table. However when I looked at it closely, I found that it was the one for the USS Republic. When I discovered my mistake, I went back to the table but instead of the two girls were a couple of heavy set men and no McLeod brochures in sight so I kept walking.

    I finally did join Starfleet: The International Fan Association and became a member of the USS Republic chapter. They explained to me at the Starfleet IC that the USS Republic met not too far from me in a north west superb of Atlanta whereas the USS MacLeod met in the extreme south east sector beyond the suburbs. I had to join the club that I could get to on MARTA if needed since my parents might get involved. I was so enthusiastic that I took the Officer Training School test and passed it to become an Ensign right away.

    Something seemed to click in me, at my first USS Republic meeting when Kathy was introduced again to me as the Captain of the USS MacLeod. Instead of running off afterward, I wanted to talk to Sarah after the meeting,”

    ”Hi Kathy, I’m [email protected] What’s your email address?”

    ”Monty, I don’t have one. I don’t have a working modem to get online and I can’t afford to join Compuserve just to get email.”

    ”Kathy, I have an extra modem that I know how to put on your PC and I have the diskette for Juno which we can install on your computer and you can get email for free.”

    ”I’m a bit busy Monty with work and other things but if you wanted to come to my house early before the next USS MacLeod meeting with the modem and disk, you could do it. I really appreciate your offer.”

    Kathy handed me a sheet with all the information on the USS MacLeod membership and meetings, including a map. I saw that it was a lot closer than I had been told. I found out later that the person who told me that was from Alabama. I saw that the time was something that I could make as well.

    ”I can do it Kathy, I’ll see you before the USS Macleod meeting.

    ”You don’t know what this means to me, Monty. Thank you for your kindness.”

    She gave me a kiss on the cheek and sent me away happy. You bet I went to her meeting. With the modem and software that I provided, Kathy had an email address. And because I helped her set up the software, I had her email address too.

    That mismatched parts computer of hers was always having software or hardware problems. Helping Kathy with her computer became the excuse for my frequent visits to her home. I benefited from being able to keep in touch with Kathy by Email as well.

    Beyond the simple things I started out doing, I was really a novice and had to do a lot through trial and error. Unfortunately, Kathy's computer suffered some of the effects of my errors. However when things were said and done, I always finally succeeded to restore her aging, patched together computer to function normally, at least for a while, until another component failed.

    After we had begun the process of meeting for me to work on her computer, I had also become a member of her chapter of Starfleet, in addition to the one I originally belonged. When our friendship bond had grown close she had a dream, which she told me about later.

    It was afterward, at her home, as she tried to process her perceptions of me, that she drifted away in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness. Kathy told me that she was literally beside herself as her astral body looked down on her near sleeping form. She was not alone, but had been joined by a beautiful woman, who Kathy perceived as an angel. The angel was rather tall with brown hair and mischievously twinkling green eyes. Since she had been gifted with visions in the past, Sarah knew that the thing to do was to listen attentively for the angel to begin speaking.

    “Greetings Kathy! My name is Della and I'm here to help you interpret your perceptions of your friend"

    “Thank you for coming, Della. What can you reveal about my friend, Monty? Something tells me that he is not what he appears to be. That discrepancy makes me a little uneasy about him on one level but his actions are always kind."

    “Kathy, Let me help you see your friend's spirit and reveal the truth."

    Della and Kathy's astral body were translated to peer into my bedroom as I lay sleeping. They were both witnesses as my astral spirit rose from my body. Sarah gasped as she realized that my astral spirit had taken the form of a young woman.

    “This is Monty’s true self. One name that she uses in her mind for her true self is Monti, spelled M-O-N-T-I She was born with a rare condition, which will one day be known to your world as Harry Benjamin Syndrome. Her brain is no different from any woman's brain. God, who is perfect in creating new life, placed this female spirit within her body to inhabit her female brain."

    “But otherwise Monty is no different from any other man?"

    “Monty's female spirit makes her a woman. The Spirit and the Soul of a person live on eternally, but the body is temporary. A person's gender is an essential part of their spirit, and is fixed for all eternity"

    “Does Monty know he's really a woman?"

    “She always knew that she was different but it wasn't until entering male puberty and she did not start developing as the other girls that she realized what the difference was really"

    “Monty is an honest soul. Why hasn't he told me about this himself?"

    “Kathy, each person responds according to their gifts. The weight on her soul, of pretending to be someone she is not, will convict her and cause a crisis. She will either choose to be true and reveal this to you or else suffer the consequence that results from denying who she is in reality."

    My spirit returned to my body. Everything appeared to be normal but now Kathy knew better. Della led Kathy back to where her body still lay in its twilight state.

    “Why will Monty wait till a crisis forces him to choose?"

    “She revealed her true female self to her parents as a child and later while she was still living with them as a young adult. They called her a liar and claimed that her true self was impossible. They demonized her thoughts so that she feared their reprisal if she revealed her true self again. More than, that she believed the fallacy that they advocated that God would condemn her to punishment unless her actions emulated a male."

    Della paused a moment for Kathy to process her words a little more before continuing.

    “Monty told the last woman she had a platonic relationship with before you, about her condition. She told Cindy, what she believed was the truth, that her female self had been buried so deeply that it would never resurface. At that time, Cindy had been her closest friend, and her complete rejection of Monty, left him completely devastated. It is because of Cindy's rejection that Monty will wait till the crisis occurs when she must confront the truth."

    “Monty really wants to be my boyfriend. In most ways he already is, except that we don't date. What do I do if Monty asks me if we can start dating?"

    “Ask Monty to wait a year. Before that year is up, she’ll confide in you about her true self. Even though at times it will be tempting to tell her what you know, it will be better for her for you to wait until she is ready to admit it herself."

    “This is a bit much to take. I've already referred to Monty at work as my boyfriend, unknown to him, oh I guess I mean her? How should I refer to Monty?"

    “You should simply refer to Monty by the gender she is presenting at the time. I'm glad I could answer some of your questions. The rest is for the two of you to discover together. It's time you returned to your life, Kathy. Thank you for caring about Monty"

    Kathy's spirit merged with her physical self. Her last perception was of Della smiling warmly and that Della would keep her safe.

    From Kathy's descriptions of Della, I recognized her as my departed maternal Grandmother. I still to this day wonder why Grandmother was sent to reveal to Kathy my true self even before I realized that I could no longer hide.

    In the past Kathy had been open to messages from the spiritual realm, so when a message was given, she was prepared to both receive it and believe it. It was Kathy's friendship, which blossomed later into love, for me which would take both of us through the challenges to come.

    I won't say yet, when Kathy confided in me about her vision and the other things that occurred out of my presence. It makes the most sense to me, telling the story now, to tell this in the order that it occurred instead of the order I found out about it.

    It was really fortunate that after Della's visitation, Kathy fell into a deep sleep. I have no doubt that her unconscious mind was trying to make sense of her vision. She would need to be well rested, to face the aftermath of Della's visit, when she woke in the morning.

    Chatting With Angels -02-

    Author: 

    • Ariel Montine Strickland

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Magic

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Two ~ Never List

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Would Bernadette be prepared for the news that Kathy had an angel visit about her friend Monty?


    It was ironic that on the same morning following the angel visiting Kathy in her dream that I was engaged in making my ‘Never’ list. For me it was all the reasons not to transition fully since every time I had made a move in that direction, I had been slammed down. It started with the statement:

    It would not be wise for me to transition fully because I would:

    Never get my Daddy to be proud of me as his daughter.
    Never be able to walk in high heels without wobbling
    Never get my Momma to believe I’m not mentally ill
    Never get my hair to grow out long enough for a girl’s cut and always wearing a wig.
    Never get my youngest brother quit promising his favor and withdrawing it even when I met his conditions
    Never be able to find a cosmetic to cover my dark beard shadow
    Never get my other brother to understand that agree to disagree doesn’t work when its about identity
    Never find a pretty long sleeve dress with sleeves long enough to fit me.
    Never have one of my cousins reach out to me in love me even being trans.
    Never be able to apply my makeup in less than 2 hours for me to be presentable.
    Never have an aunt to see me presenting as a female and want to have her picture taken with me.
    Never have pretty thin girly arms instead of ugly hairy muscular arms
    Never have started a family of choice with new sisters on the same journey as I with only death being able to part us.
    Never have my blah male perpetually slicked down hair making it appear a mousy brown dyed a bright red
    Never be able to avoid being disavowed completely by my immediate birth family
    Never be able to train my deep bass voice to sound like a real girl’s voice
    Never have the courage to be my true self in front of my friends
    Never be able to sing like a woman for my self to hear.
    Never be able to go to any type of church as my true self.
    Never be able to sing as a woman in a group.
    Never have my ugly hairy masculine feet be pretty smooth, rounded and feminine
    Never get to sing in a choir in the alto section and accepted.
    Never get the muscular bulge from my shoulders and have nice rounded ones which actually might need shoulder padding to look good in a skirt suit or dress.
    Never get to sing a solo performance in church as a woman.
    Never get nice rounded b cup breasts to grow on a feminine chest.
    Never get asked out by a man on a date
    Never get a nice rounded tushy and rounded hips
    Never get a heart shaped box of candy on valentines
    Never get all my beard removed and get rid of the beard shadow
    Never get to be the princess in make believe and have frogs turned into princes with my kiss.
    Never get to be confident passing with no makeup at all with my face being like any other woman’s
    Never get to fly on a airliner to a family gathering hundreds of miles from home
    Never learn to relax and walk naturally as a woman with women and fit in,
    Never get past being told that The One hated me to look at the bible for myself
    Never once growing my hair down to shoulder length in a girl’s cut be willing to get it cut into a short girl’s cut for charity and to help a friend,
    Never know from the depth of my soul that The One loves me just as I am as the child of The One.
    Never be able to have friends to accept me if I always appeared as a woman with them.
    Never get a man to love me and take me as his steady girlfriend.
    Never have friends who could not tell by looking at me for my past and needing to reveal to them who I had lived as before.
    Never have the courage to start counseling and hormones.
    Never have the courage to change my name legally and successfully transition on the job.
    Never complete my one year RLT and be eligible for SRS
    Never have the money or insurance to complete my SRS
    Wow! As I looked back over it that was quite a list. I totally realized that I had a lot listed to hold me back from trying to be my true self. But a flash of insight let me know that it was possible for me to transition if this became my “I’ll transition even if I never …” list!

    Ring! Ring! Kathy picked up the call fortunately not having removed the headset yet. ”Hello! This is Kathy.” Kathy wondered who could this be? She also wondered if Monty's ears could be burning?

    “Hi, It’s Monty. How are you and your computer doing today?” I hoped that my work would hold since Sarah's computer seemed to break down when she needed it the most.

    “Hi Monty! We both are doing fine. I turned him on and put him thru his paces and he performed beyond my expectations. You did a wonderful job, Monty. Thanks so much for the help!” Somehow she felt a sense of peace engulf her being. God was going to give her what she needed for this.

    “I'm glad everything is OK with your baby. I had the day cleared just in case I had missed something and you still had problems.” I sighed with relief that I had gotten it right.

    “No problems here! I know you love spending Saturdays playing with your niece. I won't need to take you away from her, even though you know I love to have you around. Since I won't have to baby-sit, I've got some errands that I need to run.” Kathy reflected that she had a feeling that her computer would be fine for a while so she could adjust to what she needed to be to Monty. Kathy resolved to not tempt fate and ask him to upgrade anything for a while.

    “Jessica, my niece, is going through a phase where her anxieties and emotions seem huge to her. I have no clue about what she's going through. I'm supportive and help her to see that even though her emotions are real that the conclusions she's drawing about them may not be.” I wondered if it had anything to do with Jessica entering puberty.

    “That's exactly what she needs right now. She's lucky to have you for an uncle!” Kathy observed with amusement that there would come a time when Monti won't be clueless when she has the experience, herself.

    “Well I'd better let you get to your day and me to mine. Bye, Kathy.” I went to find what my niece was doing.

    “Bye, Andy.” She hung up the phone and removed the headset. Sarah thought, "I guess I had best get out on my errands before the phone rings again! She changed into a blouse and slacks and brushed out her hair. She picked up her purse and car keys. Kathy was relieved to know that she would have help dealing with the prophecy now.

    I found that Jessica was eager to come visit in my room. We loved to role-play together with each of us taking on characters from our imagination. Sometimes it fit better with the situation that they were role playing if I took on a extra female character.

    Jessica never seemed to mind and in fact she thought that her uncle was 'cool' that he spent so much time with her. It amused Jessica even more that I would use a feminine voice when playing a feminine character to keep her different from my other character.

    Jessica was the only one in the family that I would let my guard down around. The woman within myself had been repressed so much and thoughts of revealing her were consumed with guilt. I truly believed that Monti could be kept locked away in a quiet corner of my brain never to see the light of day. Monti crept out thru the cracks but only in other ways since she would not be allowed to wear a dress even now.

    I started to recall the one person in this life who brought real joy to my heart, Kathy. I saw her dark auburn hair that framed her face and tumbled in curls down to her shoulders. I saw the hint of mischievousness in her green eyes that I could lose myself within. I saw her cute turned up nose as an ornament above her mouth with the red full lips that was always smiling and giggling. Her rosy cheeks never needed makeup as did none of her face since her great beauty was such that using makeup would only diminish her natural look.

    Kathy was the girl of my dreams. If I, as Monti, grew up to be like her, then it would be my dream come true. I was back again from the brink but it was a war that I was not winning. I feared what might happen in the future.

    Kathy told me about how she woke the next morning with a start glancing at the clock on her nightstand to reveal that it was only 6 AM. She picked up the remote to turn on her TV and change it to the weather channel. It was Saturday morning. She marveled that such a supernatural experience could have happened in the space of a single night and there still be time for her to have received one of the best nights sleeping of her life.

    Kathy dressed for the day in her traditional sweats for the cooler months for staying around the house. She brushed her fiery auburn hair full of natural curls into submission. While she knew how to be stylish when it called for it, away from work she dressed for comfort.

    She was a ground breaking business woman who ascended to the pinnacle of her industry well before the old boys network had been broken. The glass ceiling was so thick that it seemed impossible to break. While it had taken her being 10 times as good as any man better, even that didn't seem to be a full use of her abilities. She balanced business and a full set of social engagements.

    The only chink in her presentation came because she had to use very expensive alternatives to cosmetics due to numerous allergies. She came to prefer the fresh face look if at all possible. She was used to being a role model for numerous women. The prospect of being a role model and mentor to the one person who she thought would break her jinx of being left at the alter was a bit much to take.

    Kathy told me how she wondered if she would ever get used to knowing things that most others don't know. She reflected that she's been trusted to being the holder of prophesies and also to act at the proper time concerning people close to her. She sometimes had to be careful of using her knowledge for fear of interfering in the normal course of things and worse yet causing a paradox. Fortunately her interest in Science Fiction had done much to prepare her for her tasks.

    It amazed her that she had not freaked out as she should have done having been witness to such a supernatural revelation. She reasoned that the Angels had a calming influence on the person receiving the message or else the message would be lost in the enormity of it. Another lasting influence appeared to give the listener the serenity to digest the message in little pieces as they were ready, instead of being overwhelmed by everything at once.

    Chatting With Angels -03-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • Mature Subjects (pg15)

    Publication: 

    • 17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words
    • Complete

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Magic

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Three ~ Bernadette

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Would Bernadette be prepared for the news that Kathy had an angel visit about her friend Monty?


    Chapter Three ~ Bernadette

    Kathy told me how she summed things up, "A promise is a promise! And I promised Bernie that anytime I received an angelic visitation that she'd get a full report. I'm lucky that she's my best friend and knows how to keep a secret."

    Bernadette lived on the other side of Atlanta and was a member of the USS MacLeod. In fact it had been Bernie who had convinced her to become the ship's captain when Kathy's cousin Gail had stepped down due to health reasons. It had become their tradition to spend early Saturday Morning on the phone.

    Bernadette has an angelic quality to how she was perceived in her ordinary life. She taught school to special needs children. Those children were so lucky to have her because she poured all that she was into teaching them. Bernie was also a devout Catholic who had never had any angelic visitations that she knew of but was always eager to hear about Kathy's experiences.

    Kathy told me how she prepared coffee and a Danish and got comfy in the living room throwing her coverlet over herself. She picked up the cordless phone and headset and dialed Bernie's number automatically. Kathy picked up her beading tray and jewelry pliers to continue making the bead and wire necklace that she had started.

    "Hi Kathy, How are you this morning? Did you sleep well?" Bernie looked over to her 'child' to make sure that she wasn't getting into too much trouble.

    "Hi Bernie, I had just about the best sleep in my life. I guess its compensation for my life being turned upside down." Kathy hoped that Bernie was ready for what was to come.

    "Kathy, What's wrong sweetie? Do you need me to come over? Did an angel visit you last night?" Bernie knew that the answer to her last question was a resounding, Yes!

    "Bernie, I feel more alright than I should but now I just need to talk. Maybe you could come over later? Kathy was more composed now and did not want to overly upset her friend.

    "Sure Kathy, we can talk now. You didn't have a chance to answer my last question... was I right?" Bernie smiled. She enjoyed directness and getting right to the matter at hand.

    "Yes Bernie, an Angel came to see me. You have to swear to keep this secret." Sarah had confidence that Bernie would keep it secret even though this is going to be the most difficult secret she had entrusted to her.

    "Always Kathy, but you know that so it must involve someone close to us. I swear to keep it secret." Bernie was filled with anticipation hoping that Kathy would tell her already. Bernie observed that she may have to drag it out of her. She hoped that maybe a little humor would help.

    "There is a lot that I haven't processed yet, but I can give you the jest of it. It was about Monty." Kathy felt triumphant that she'd said Monty's name. Sarah questioned if she was going to have the courage to share the rest.

    "You told me that you were in love with Monty, That he was always a perfect gentleman and the first guy who never ever even glanced at your boobs. As big as they are, girl, that is a miracle!"

    They giggled together as Kathy replied, "Don't I know it!" Sarah appreciated Bernie lightening the mood with some humor. She realized that was just what she needed.

    "You found out that he is trainable since your were able to use your feminine wiles to make it more fun for him to do what you wanted only he would have done it without your extra influence."

    "I have to keep in practice to uphold the traditions of us southern belles. I'm glad that its not necessary in Monty's case." Kathy was putting the necklace together by connecting the wire links that ran through each bead. It helped her to keep her hands busy.

    "In some ways you said that he was too good to be true. When he showed his soul, you said that it was beautiful in every way but that he appeared to be hiding something and that seemed to make seeing his soul difficult. So did the angel tell you what Monty is hiding?" Bernie was frustrated and wanted Kathy to give up the rest. She hoped that she would not be kept in suspense much longer.

    "Let's just say that Andy won't break my jinx from having three men leave me at the alter." Kathy saw from the look in Bernie's eyes that she was still clueless from her attempt to break the news to her easy. Kathy resolved that she was going to have to just come right out and say it.

    "So give, Lady, Why wont marriage work for you two? What's he hiding?" Bernie hoped that she would go ahead and answer already! She wondered how many times would she have to ask. Bernie was clearly frustrated with the word games at this point in their conversation,

    "Monty is really a woman, a transsexual." Sarah's face showed the relief that she felt from finally saying it.

    "Are you sure? He doesn't seem to act that feminine around us." Bernie considered that on the other hand that would clarify exactly what was going on with Monty.

    "That's the macho façade that we perceive that isn't true. The one that he has erected to shelter himself from the verbal abuse his parents gave him when he finally confided in his parents as a child." She used the pliers to turn the wire hook that she had inserted in the other bead wire's eye into an eye of its own and completed another link of the necklace.

    ”Poor dear, doesn't he know that we are truly his friends and that he can drop it around us?” Bernie knew that she really wanted to help. She admitted to herself that this is going to be a tough secret to keep but that she would keep it.

    “He's been faking it for so long that he believes that its simply a footnote in his past that is no longer relevant to his life so he wouldn't be comfortable dropping his façade even among friends.”

    Kathy put down the necklace and got up and began to pace. Monty mentally exclaimed, 'Thank goodness for cord free phones!’

    “I guess the perfect man is a myth. Here we thought that we had found one and he turns out to be one of the girls.”

    Bernie wondered what this was going to do to Sarah. Bernie was quite flustered on how to deal with it, herself.

    “I don't think that even if I found a perfect man that he would keep that halo for long hanging around me.”

    Kathy giggled and was glad that Bernie always knew what to say to make her feel better.

    “Well you know that I'm cool with Monty what ever he wants to do.”

    Bernie took solace that Monty knows that she has a couple of transsexuals in her family so the news about Monty isn't totally shocking for her.

    “How are those twin cousins of yours who both turned out to be transmen?”

    Kathy straightened the wooden plaque hanging on the wall with a wood burning of the USS Voyager that she had been taking to Sci-Fi conventions to have signed.

    “Their transition is going well since I and a number of family members have completely accepted them.” Bernie suddenly realized with alarm that Monty's parents did not sound like the type to be supportive.

    "It looks like Monty is going to need all the friends that he can get. From the sounds of his parents, they don't seem like the type to be all that supportive.” Kathy had confidence that she could count on Bernie's help when the time comes for both her and Monty.

    “So what do we do about this?” Bernadette turned to her large pet cat who demanded her attention and always got what she wanted from Bernie.

    “We do nothing until Monty makes this public himself. The one thing that I processed is that it is essential for Monty to come forward himself when he is ready.” She walked into the kitchen and selected a mug from the wall on the left that were covered with them from top to bottom so she could make a cup of tea.

    “So we just bide our time and wait. We just keep treating Monty as the man he appears to be.” Upon receiving the proper offering, Bernie's cat was satisfied and turned away on her next mission of great importance.

    “Yes.” replied Kathy with a sigh considering that this was not going to be an easy prophecy but it would be a labor of love.

    “Isn't that going to be difficult for you since Monty has made no secret that he admires you and would like to be closer to you?”

    Bernie could hear the exclamation from the Lost in Space robot in her mind, “Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!”

    “Maybe Monty is subconsciously looking for a role model for when he begins his new life. In any case, I'll have to use restraint so that we are just platonic.” Kathy observed that Monty may not read her restraint as an act of love and feel frustration instead.

    “That should be easy since he's such a gentleman. That certainly will put a crimp in your social life to have Monty around all the time." Bernie reflected that all the nice guys will assume Kathy is taken when a hunk like Monty is around. Bernie wasn't really ready to think of Monty as just a girlfriend, yet.

    “That's true and that is something that I'll have to deal with without hurting Monty's feelings if this goes on for a long time before Monty comes out. The cup with the tea bag brewing inside it was ready to come out of the microwave with a ding.

    “Are you sure that Monty will come out?” Bernie remembered that the twins had a crisis before they came out when they were considering suicide and that made the family realize how serious this was to them.

    “The angel told me that Monty will be challenged by a crisis. Then he will either face the truth or be subjected to some dire consequence.”

    Kathy resolved that she felt it was part of her mission to make sure Monti survived her crisis. She remembered that at that point it would be Monti from then on.

    “Hopefully, we'll be able to show Monty that we'll support his decision and be the friends he'll need.” Bernie hoped that she would be able to get Kathy through the experience as well.

    “I'll be watching him closely and we'll be able to help him when the time comes.” Kathy removed the teabag from the mug and began to sip the tea.

    ”Monty came to the right place since we are the 'Wackiest Ship in the Fleet'! Nothing fazes us much.” Bernie glanced at the clock. She had that school function to attend and she had to get ready for it.

    ”Guess I'll let you get on with your day. I feel so much better that I think I'm back to normal... almost. Thanks so much for letting me share with you! Bye Bernie!” Kathy was really thankful to have Bernie as her friend.

    "Let me know if you need me to come over later. Bye Kathy!" Bernie thought, "And so it begins. Hope I will be ready. Now I have to get ready! Bernie left her chair and went into the bedroom with her cat trailing behind her.

    As she hung up the phone, Kathy thought, "I guess all that there is left to do is to bide my time until the other shoe falls. I hope that I will be ready."

    Kathy turned on her computer. She had found that it was always a good idea to check it after Monty had been tinkering with it to make sure that every thing was still alright. It came on and Kathy put it thru it's paces. Every thing seemed to be working perfectly! She was glad because even though the conversation with Bernie had helped, there were still things that she had to process from her chat with Della. She hoped that she will have sorted most of this out before the next time Monty spent an extended amount of time alone with her. She smiled and patted her computer monitor lovingly. "And my baby makes three!" she told her computer.

    Chatting With Angels -04-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Caution: 

    • CAUTION

    Audience Rating: 

    • Mature Subjects (pg15)

    Publication: 

    • 17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words
    • Complete

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Transitioning

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Four ~ Izzy

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    What will happen when Monty meets Izzy at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics Experience?


    Chapter Four ~ Izzy

    Monty logged into the transsexual chat within the human sexuality area on AOL to leave his geeky side behind and be pretty instead. Monty would ordinarily log in using the female pseudonym 'Gail Landers' She still thought of her inner female self as 'Monti' but she felt freer online using something that was not close to her present legal name, Montine.

    These were the days before web cams or voice chats. Profiles weren't even around much. One could hide online within any identity that they wished. That is until things grew beyond the online experience to phone calls or face to face visits.

    *Welcome to HSX Chat on AOL*

    *Gail* Hi all!

    *Nina* Hi Gail! Good to see you online, girl!

    *Gail* [[[hugs}}} I feel so free when I am online being who I truly am really without having to worry about how I look. I love that I can feel free to speak and think about myself using female terms and references. ::Giggle::

    *Nina* You know it girl! At least, as you transition there, you'll be close to professionals who provide all the services that you will need who are knowledgeable and understanding.

    *Gail* I feel for you Nina being in deep south Georgia surrounded by the reddest of red-necks.

    *Nina* Did you hear that a therapist and ordained Presbyterian Minister who transitioned was able to keep her ordination by decision of the powers that be there?

    *Gail* That's wonderful. I've heard of a Methodist minister who helps trans-girls with therapy, but it would be perfect to do the 'standards of care' with some one who went through it herself successfully and also could help me understand what the bible really says instead of what those who condemn us with it.

    *Nina* You go girl! Anyway, I want to find out more and see if she is actually doing therapy for trans-girls like us. I'll let you know what i find out.

    *Gail* I feel so good. My being on the computer unobserved, is one of two ways that I allow myself to lower my walls and let the person, I really am, shine.

    *Nina* What is the other way? Dressing up?

    *Gail* Actually the opposite but I guess I need to tell you some personal stuff to explain. Can I trust you not to breath a word of this to a living soul?

    *Nina* Always girl. You know that! Come on girl! Dish!

    *Gail* Well it started when I was 20 and I was dumpster diving out behind a drug store and found bags and bags of estrogen samples which had just expired. I was a really late bloomer and my male puberty was interrupted by what I later realized was mega-doses of estrogen that I took daily for a year. I began a female puberty without the onset of menstruation of course.

    *Nina* Girl, do you realize how lucky you are that you didn't kill yourself taking those hormones unsupervised like that.

    *Gail* I know now. I must have had a guardian angel watching after me that kept me from going to such an extreme that would have actually killed me. Anyway a year is not enough to mature into an adult female's body but I was left with a teen girl's body. In order to go out in public as my male alter ego, I have to use foundation garments to minimize my bust and hips.

    *Nina* Darn girl! What do you look like now? ::flips her hair::

    *Gail* My skin isn't as soft as it was when I was taking hormones but most of the other effects stayed. I was destined to be six foot eight but my growth stopped at 5' 11". My A cup breasts stayed mostly the same and I have to bind them in order to have a flat chest. My voice changed but I can still speak in a female octave. My shoulders never broadened out and look feminine. My hips widened and I have a womanly butt which I minimize with a girdle.

    *Nina* You must pass perfectly when dressed, girl. ::Rolls her eyes::

    *Gail* My hair is in a male cut so i would need a wig and I'd lose the place where I am living if I was found. With a boy and two little girls getting into everything, I couldn't risk getting caught and losing my place to live.

    *Nina* So for you sleeping raw and tucking allows you to relax as your true self. Amazing, Girl. Hey, my daughter just pulled through the gate so I should log off. Take care, girl!

    *Gail* You too, Nina! Be safe!

    *Nina* Bye :) {{{hugs}}}

    Monty had a mischievous thought that the androgynous `1996 Olympic mascot, Izzy, might be just the nickname for a trans-girl from Atlanta. Monty logged out then logged back in as Izzy.

    *Izzy* Hi Linda! You are beautiful!

    Monti smiled as she considered that Linda means beautiful in Spanish.

    *Linda* Hi girl! Why are you logged in as Izzy?

    *Izzy* I am the mascot of the Atlanta Olympics. As a t-girl in Atlanta, I thought I would try it on for size.

    Monti wondered if there were any other people logged on here close enough to Atlanta to be caught up in the Olympic enthusiasm besides Nina. She hoped that she would attract their attention using that name with which to chat.

    *Izzy* What-is-it, my full name, is very androgynous so I thought it was a cute nickname for a southern belle such as I am.

    *Linda* But Izzy! Everyone has been making fun of you! They are calling you a big blue sperm!

    *Izzy* They are only jealous of someone as talented as I am! :: giggle:: Izzy can be animated to do and be any number of things depending on the Olympic context

    *Linda* I love you Izzy! I think you are cute!

    *Izzy* Thank you Linda! I guess this is one case where I am taking pride in my home town to extremes.

    *Linda* Izzy, you and Gail are always finding a way to get me to laugh and that gets me through the tough times.

    *Izzy* I'm always glad to help a sister in need.

    Monti glanced at the clock on her computer. She thought that her plan to attract more attention didn't work as well as she had hoped but she was glad that Linda was amused. She didn't want to be late for meeting her friends even if it had to be as Monty.

    *Izzy* Look at the time... I'm meeting a bunch of my friends downtown at the Olympic Experience. What are you gonna do? Go out and have the guys drooling over you ?

    *Linda* Then I'll let you go if I have to... and I will find some way to keep amused :: giggle::

    Take care Gail See ya girl!

    *Izzy* Bye Linda! Save some guys for the rest of us!

    *Linda* ::giggle:: I'll try! bye bye

    *Izzy* Off I boldly go! Time for my away mission! ::Poof::

    For a while Monti had let down her barriers and was herself on the computer. But Monty was needed downtown, and she wondered how they would really feel if they knew what was inside of her. So he gathered his things after shutting down his computer.

    He stopped by his sister in law, Sabrina, to tell her that he was going to be out for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Monty left the apartment and entered his car to drive to the Marta Station to meet up with his friends for the 'Away Mission'

    Kathy welcomed the distraction that having the 1996 Atlanta Olympics about to start brought to her soul. While she would not be attending in person many of the Olympic sports, she wanted to be a part of the history that was being made there instead of merely watching it on television. She was excited to really be at the Olympic Experience in Centennial Olympic Park with her friend Bernadette waiting for the rest of the Starship that she captained, the USS MacLeod

    "Kathy, how many of our crew do you expect for this away mission?"

    "Well there is you and I of course. From the phone calls I made reminding everyone to meet here for our 'away mission', also from the USS MacLeod will be our second in command Leon, my cousin, Gail, a new member, Thelma with her two grandchildren and Monty."

    "It's funny now that I think of it that I automatically think of Monty as one of ours, too. Isn't Andy's primary membership on the USS Republic with an associate membership of the MacLeod."

    "Well I don't have a prophecy to back this up but my intuition indicates that will be reversed sooner rather than later."

    "I get that feeling too. Any way the USS Republic is supposed to be here too. Who does Kelly, the Republic Captain expect from their ship?

    "From what he told me, they would have Kelly's second in command Jeff and Jeff's mother Martha, Mike who was Kelly's significant other and a woman who had just joined, Dawn. Of course they have way more members on paper"

    "We have the people who really wanted to be active and do things."

    I'm glad that together our two ships are one big family. We work together on important things like bringing the International Conference to Atlanta. We pulled it off wonderfully last year."

    "I'm glad that we are not going to do anything that big for a while."

    "I'm looking forward to meeting Dawn. Kelly described her as super intelligent and very much her own woman, just like me.

    The MacLeod members arrived about a half hour before the entire group was due to be there. Sarah held an informal meeting to take care of the Starfleet requirements. She finished leaving enough time for restroom breaks before the Republic was due to arrive. The MacLeod had already bought their tickets and were in relaxed conversations with each other. After the Republic bought their tickets, everyone entered the 1996 Atlanta Olympics Experience.

    Soon after everyone entered, they broke up into 2 groups but not by ships, it was by gender... mostly. In Kathy's group was Bernie, Gail, Thelma and her grand children, Dawn, Martha, and Andy. The other group that Kelly was leading, was all guys.

    It was really well done, with the combination of Olympic history and hands on participation in things related to Olympic sports. There were eating places which served food associated with several Olympic nations.

    It became time to stop and eat and Sarah and Bernie volunteered to go get food from the German booth for both them and Monty, Dawn and Gail. Martha, who wasn't feeling that adventurous asked Thelma to get something for her from the American booth where they were serving hamburgers and hotdogs.

    The expression on Monty's face was clearly a little girl's pout when he wasn't invited to go along to get the food. Any other time Kathy would have been glad for Monty's help but she wanted to get Bernie alone so they could discuss some things that she couldn't have Monty hear. When Kathy and Bernie were out of earshot of the group they had left behind Kathy began to speak to Bernie.

    "Bernie, Isn't Monty just like one of the girls? Of course his mannerism are masculine and he looks masculine but emotionally and intellectually Monty is a girl!"

    "Kathy you are so right and it was staring us in the face all the time. Just now when we left Monty behind, His face was in a cute little girl pout. The only thing missing was the foot stamp."

    "I don't know how we missed it except Monty has a mostly good façade that's tough to crack."

    "When he's among friends and enjoying himself he lets down a little more."

    "While this is making it easier for me to believe the prophecy, for me personally, its much tougher."

    "You want him to be a man because that is what you need him to be!"

    The two women arrived at the booth and suspend their conversation till they can be waited on and they are able to walk out of earshot.

    "Exactly, this is one case when I'm not going to slip up and do something to speed the prophecy along."

    "You've got the opposite problem. You've got to stop yourself from doing things that would delay it happening."

    "That's going to be really tempting to do something that would drive Monty further into that façade that he's erected to be able to function as a man."

    "But you won't do anything to delay it because you love him too much to do anything potentially harmful to him."

    "I'll just have to live in the moment. and enjoy the time that I have Monty as a man with me, and be just as zealous in helping Monti find her way when she makes her choice."

    "Girl you are a saint! I don't know anyone who loves someone as much as you love Monty."

    "Hopefully I'll find a way to channel that love into a deep friendship with Monti when the time comes."

    "I guess you'll have to get some help from above on that account or else God would have to find someone else to have those chats with angels"

    "I hope that this is the toughest assignment that I ever get."

    "I don't see how any other situation could top this one but I am certainly not volunteering to find out myself."

    "Bernie, You'll just have to do what you always do. Be my friend and keep me sane... well as sane as I every was anyway"

    Sarah and Bernie break down and giggle letting the tensions release.

    "SHHH ! we are close to the girls! ...Opps!" and they both broke out in giggles again which they could not shake off.

    In fact it was after they managed to get the business of the orders out of the way before they calmed themselves enough to compose themselves. By that time, however, the rest of the group were way too interested in their food to quiz them about why they had been laughing.

    Finally Kathy stopped laughing and said." I am so hungry. I like German food. German food is my friend!"

    Bernie stopped laughing long enough to ask, "Kathy, are you sure about that?"

    Kathy replied , "Of course!" and those were the last words since Kathy and Bernie joined the other girls around the table who were enjoying their food.

    Monty had the misfortune to be pulled away from the group as the dinner conversation began to get interesting.

    Kelly had been asked to collect Andy because they wanted to take a picture of 'The Men of the USS Republic' Kathy had to cover a knowing grin from them. Monty left with Kelly after finding out which direction the girls would be heading. It looked like he hoped to catch up with them after the picture was taken. When they had left Kathy leaned over and whispered to Bernie.

    "I suppose that it wouldn't be long before Monty wouldn't be considered a member of either the USS Republic or be considered a man"

    "Can't take that bet girl, you've got inside information!" Together they giggled but did not explain what was so funny to the others.

    Monty had won a brief reprieve from the picture since Izzy had spotted Monty and resolved to make him the object of her attentions. All Kelly could do was watch on in dismay because he could never have the heart to interfere with the lovable mascot.

    "I really love you, Izzy! I'm so glad you represent Atlanta and the Olympics"

    The voiceless Izzy was really touched by Monty's confession and hugged Monty and paid a bit more attention playing with Monty just as Izzy might with a cute girl. Izzy and Monty finished clowning around and he caught up to Kelly."

    "What kept you so long, Kelly?"

    "Well we found that Izzy is a female since she flirted with Monty and would not let him out of her sight."

    "Let's take the picture already. Geeze, Monty, you lady killer. Come on!"

    They took the picture and each of them received a copy of the 'Men of the USS Republic' picture. Monty was able to catch up with the girls after his picture and he looked so relieved to be back among them.

    Finally it came time for the attraction to close. It would have been really convenient if they could all beam back to where they belonged. However in this reality they all had to go their separate ways and getting home the way that they came. Finally all that was left was Kathy and Bernadette.

    "I can't wait for us all to get back together for Dragon*Con on Labor Day Weekend. Everyone will be helping out at the Starfleet fan club table."

    "I can't wait either, Bernie and I thank God that I have had one more day with Monty and for the grace and serenity that I had received every day since I had received the prophecy."

    "We are both so fortunate to be in service to God. Keep safe till I see you again Kathy."

    "You too, Bernie!" The two friends parted and a wonderful day came to a conclusion.

    Chatting With Angels -05-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel Chapter

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Transitioning
    • Magic

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Five ~ DEMOgod

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    What power in the universe can Monty discover
    to respond to DEMOgod during the Dark Confrontations LARP?



    Chapter Five ~ DEMOgod

    Monty was excited to see all of his friends again at Dragon*Con. Last year had been a break through year for him since he had actually acted on the brochure that he had picked up at the Starfleet table instead of just saving the info to consider later and had joined the club. They were all busy running the Starfleet International Conference so he hadn't met them but he had met enough Starfleet members that were so friendly that he had joined Starfleet. Now as a member in good standing of the USS Republic, he was one of the ones to take a turn at the fan club table handing out the brochures.

    Monty's spirits lifted as he saw in the distance the Starfleet table with Kathy and Bernadette sitting at it. Kathy and Bernadette waved to Monty and smiled as they saw him.

    "There's Miss Monti now!" whispered Bernadette to Kathy, "Are there any signs yet that Monti is ready to be one of the girls?"

    "Not yet, Bernie" whispered Kathy to Bernadette, "The waiting is so frustrating but that is all that I can do for now. She's almost here now, Shhhhh!"

    Monty noticed that the whispering between the two girls stopped as he approached.

    "Hi Kathy, Hi Bernie What are you so secretive about? It got awfully quiet when I came in earshot." Monty greeted.

    "Nothing you would be interest in, Monty. Just girl talk" replied Kathy

    "When are you two gonna let me in on the fun?" Monty playfully asked.

    "You know what Uhura said in "Star Trek: The Search for Spock"? questioned Bernie

    She continued imitating Uhura's mysterious voice in the movie, "Be careful what you wish for" She paused dramatically "You may get it!"

    All three of them broke up laughing. Monty joined them behind the counter and started greeting passers by. If anyone stopped, one of them would make sure they picked up a brochure.

    As each person came to the counter Monty and Bernie tried to remember how many times they had been there before in previous conventions. For the frequent visitors, Kathy gave them her best spiel about the virtues of joining her ship the USS MacLeod. She hoped that when they finally joined they would give her ship a chance as well as the more well known USS Republic.

    After a while Kelly and Mike came up to take over duty on the table. Bernie and Kathy were going up to their hotel room and they encouraged Monty to leave the table as well so he could enjoy the convention.

    Monty was excited about everything that the convention had to offer. He'd only found Starfleet by doing new things at the convention last year so he looked at his program to see what might interest him that he'd never tried before. He spotted a listing for LARP and directions to the lowest level of the hotel where the sign up was located.

    Monty waved goodbye and walked to the elevator to go down to the lowest level of the Hotel. Upon emerging, Andy found a large banner proclaiming this the Live Action Role Play (LARP)Center. Clustered in one part of the room were a number of tables like the fan tables upstairs. However these tables were selling characters for live action role play games.

    He found one LARP called Dark Confrontation that was relatively inexpensive and it promised a scenario called "DEMOgod" where it appeared that computers would be prominent. Monty liked computers so he thought he would be good at that one. He had never done anything like that which was akin to improvisational acting.

    Monty got in line with all of the others to pay his money and get a character. When he got up to the desk he was told that he could either play a mundane conventioneer if he didn't have much time to play or play a plot character. Monty opted for a plot character and found that he was a computer programmer. You were supposed to try to costume to fit the character that you were playing but Andy already looked like a computer geek so he could play as he was already dressed.

    Monty went into a room called Malice's Restaurant where you could chat in character but was a 'free from fire zone' People practiced using game actions but they did not count so it was a safe place to be. He met someone called Don who was on the staff of Handmade Games, who were putting on the LARP, who was mingling with the players answering questions about the game mechanics. As luck would have it, Andy was the only newbie in the room so Don spoke to him.

    "Don, it looks like Dark Confrontation has a number of rules but it is relatively simple. What are these cards that I was given?"

    "Any items that were needed for play were represented by cards which had all the info on how to use them. Look at this card. It is for a computer terminal and by reading the information printed on the card, it tells just how it can be used in game play."

    "So how do I do a game action?"

    "Most game actions are decided by the rules in your rule book along with tossing the number of coins specified for the action to determine the outcome."

    "Wow! now I know why I was warned to bring a pocket full of change. These actions add up so that I might have to toss 10 or more coins at a time to find the outcome."

    "That part may seem like a lot to keep up with but it becomes easier as you get used to the flow of the game."

    "So how do you switch from role playing into a game action?"

    "You call out 'freeze confrontation'. Then everyone within 20 steps of you becomes involved in rounds of game play where you can do game actions which are basically things that you can't act out without dispute in the role play."

    "How long does it last?"

    "The confrontation would play out involving everyone within a certain range until everyone had exhausted the actions that they could or wished to do. Then normal role play would resume."

    "Is there a way that I can go out of play when I am doing something else at the convention?"

    "You are only in play when you display your identifying card so when you want to go out of character you just remove it. You only can go out of character when you are out of sight of anyone else in the game."

    "Thank you for all your help, Don. I have to go to the Starfleet table so I guess I'll go out of character."

    "Good luck, Monty. When you get back I'll have judging duty since the game will be a foot."

    Monty left Malice's Restaurant and went immediately to the restroom where he went out of character. Then he joined back up with some of the other Starfleet members at the table to attend a session featuring Harlan Ellison.

    After the session was over, Monty returned to playing Dark Confrontation. He was beginning to be comfortable so he started playing out side Malice's Restaurant trying to chat with some of the other players to try to find out what was up with the computer that seemed to be malfunctioning. He had some computer skills as native talents but he needed to determine what he needed to do when he tried to hack into the mainframe so he would either get some useful information or do something useful.

    A big ominous looking guy, named Serge, engaged him in conversation. Unaware to Monty, Serge led him down a dead end corridors while they were talking. When Monty became isolated from the rest of the players in the area, He was spooked and he stopped following and started stepping backward towards the convention floor.

    "Monty, Freeze Confrontation! I'm targeting you. No one else is present, so we begin with just the two of us. Get ready to declare."

    Monty didn't know what to think. His character wasn't equipped to do much besides hack. He took out a coin and from behind his back, Monty put it in his palm tails up for defending and closed his hand around it. Serge revealed a closed hand as well. As the initiator of a two person confrontation, He revealed his coin heads up first indicating attack.

    "For my Zero action I invoke my Kevlar vest. For my one action I attack you with the ability "Confusion" I am able to flip two coins for this attack.!"

    Serge had one success of his two coin attack. Andy was shown the defense side of the card which revealed that he could defend with half his mental. Since Monty was a hacker, his mental was high at a 10 so half was a five. Of course Monty's was tails up, indicating defending, When he opened his hand.

    "For my zero action, I say "Serge, don't hurt me! Please!", for my one action, I move four steps and defend against your 'Confusion' ability. According to the card, I get to toss five coins."

    Monty tossed his five coins and had three successes. His four steps took him further away from Serge and toward the main area.

    "Serge, my three successes successfully defends from your one success attack, which fails. The new range is now eleven steps. Round one ends."

    "Monty, round two begins. For my zero action I use the ability "Short Flight". I must gain two successes flipping seven coins. There is no defense. Success allows me to travel 10 steps in any direction I choose immediately. I'm going to flip for my zero action and then continue with my one action following the zero resolution."

    Serge flipped seven coins and got four successes. He took 10 steps towards me.

    "My four successes mean "Short Flight" succeeded. The ten steps changed the range to one step. For my one attack I use my ability "Mesmer". I may flip six coins for attack and you may flip two coins for defense. The range now is the only one which must satisfy the range requirement for this ability which is met. I flip my coins and announce the results and after that my turn ends."

    Serge flipped his six coins and gained three successes.

    "For "Mesmer" three successes. My turn ends."

    "For my zero action, I say 'Badge Holders, please help me!' for my one action I take four steps and flip two coins defending."

    Monty took four steps away from Serge and tossed his two coins with one success.

    "With your one success and my three successes, "Mesmer" succeeds and your turn ends. "Mesmer" succeeding means that I may give you four commands which must be obeyed within this confrontation and two commands which must be obeyed following the confrontation subject to the fine print on this card which you may read now."

    Monty read the card and to his dismay, he agreed that Serge had accurately given the card's effect on him.

    "For my first command, you are only to return five steps back to face me and remain there and round three ends afterward."

    That was easy for Monty and he ended up inches from Serge staring him down, eye to eye.

    "For my second command I order you to lie down and assume the posture and bearing of a dead body which can not resist any action for sufficient rounds that the only card you have left is your 'dead body' card."

    Dismayed Monty laid down on the ground and assumed the in game looting position fanning out his cards and money in his clasped hands. Finally sufficient rounds had elapsed that he only had his dead body card.

    "For my third command, In game, all knowledge of Serge and what has transpired between us is erased from your brain except that all my commands to you remain active except when countermanded by a succeeding command."

    Monty saw that in game, he was toast since he would have no way of knowing what had happened to him.

    "For my fourth command, I reverse starting now all present effects of command two. This conflict will conclude following my giving to you my two post confrontation commands. Post confrontation, you will not be able to detect my physical presence by any of your senses until I go out of your sight for at least ten minutes and afterward enter your presence again and you will not be able to attack me in any confrontations for the remainder of the game. This confrontation ends."

    The other player ended up being a vampire which Monty no longer knew in game due to command three.

    Monty complied with the command not to perceive by any means and sought the nearest place to go out of character which turned out to be the restroom on that floor. Andy went out of character taking off his badge in the restroom. That meant that the next time Andy encountered Serge, he would perceive him but not know him.

    Monty felt powerless in the game. Not only, Serge had looted the terminal key with every thing else which was useless to him since only a hacker could use it, but that item was essential to him using his hacking skill. But also he could not attack Serge in any confrontation for the rest of the game.

    Monty's character had been bunny mugged, which is to say that an experienced character laid in wait of a newbie for the intent of getting all their stuff. Andy went about upset for a while thinking that his part in the game was over. Monty had a couple of false starts, when his frustration overcame his sense of fair play.

    He discovered that all was not lost. He could still be in character and discover information regarding the plot. It began to be revealed that there was a computer AI which was taking more and more control of the world. It did not matter yet that he couldn't use his hacking skills, because he didn't have a terminal key.

    Chatting With Angels -06-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • 17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Magic

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    .

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Six ~ Cyber Zombies

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    What power in the universe can Monty discover
    to respond to DEMOgod during the Dark Confrontations LARP?



    Chapter Six ~ Cyber Zombies

    Later on, he met up with a couple of players, who were mundanely Fred and Jim. The two had decided that bunny mugging was short sighted. Without the new players, then the game would dry up and there wouldn't be a game to play. Fred and Jim took Monty as apprentice in learning the game so that he would be better able to defend himself.

    As time went on less and less of Monty's fellow hackers were around in game anymore. There was a new threat, It was voiced in whispers that the computer AI was controlling a number of cyber zombies, who were causing havoc.

    Monty was really getting into the game. Monty decided to play into the night, So Monty called home and booked a hotel room. Eventually even the excitement that was sustaining Monty ran out so he retired to the hotel room he had rented.

    It lucked out that Monty had joined himself with Fred and Jim as the game wound down toward the end game. Together they worked on the puzzle. They used their skills to acquire a new terminal key for Monty.

    In addition, they discovered that Monty was under the effect of a "Mesmer". A mage was enlisted to countermand all of the commands that Serge had given him. While that did not give Monty back the things looted, it did make him unable to be effected by any future "Mesmer", gave him back all knowledge in game of the encounter with Serge, and enabled Monty to attack Serge in the future.

    They thought that they had a great advantage to solve the problem of the AI, since all of the hackers in game had disappeared. Monty was the only one left. He had really gotten into the role playing and was playing his role well.

    Not only had Monty the last terminal key who could use it, but he was selected as one of the 5 who were to have a chance of speaking to the AI. There was a large assembly, that all of the players in game attended.

    The AI spoke with a deep voice, "I am DEMOgod! You humans are imperfect and you must be destroyed. As you see before you, the time is displayed counting down to your destruction. This telepresence enables me to not be harmed when your world comes tumbling down around you. Yet I will hear your case to survive, as you plead before me one by one. The first may stand before me and identify themselves."

    "I am President Arnold. By my authority as commander and chief, I command you to calculate Pi to the last decimal place!"

    "Transcendental functions may be approximated by a best guess for practical use after exceeding the capacity of the arithmetic processor. Command terminated. Destruct countdown continues. Next may stand before me."

    "But it worked in Star Trek. How can you..."

    "Silence, Arnold. Next?"

    "I am 'Evil for Fun and Profit' Supreme Leader, Gerald. Enter program mode Attach label 'omega' to first code line and add after last line 'go to omega' Exit Program mode. Execute new program."

    " Infinite Loop relocated to subroutine by previous directive and terminated. Destruct countdown continues. Next may stand before me."

    "I am AI Joshua, Would you like to play a game? How about a nice game of Tic-tac-toe, instead of the game you are playing now?"

    "No game running. Running Tic-Tac-Toe and Global Thermonuclear War game programs prohibited. The only way to win is to not play at all. countdown continues. Next may stand before me."

    "I am Chief of Police, Ned. DEMOgod, execute power off."

    "Executing, power off.

    DEMOgod vanished and a shout of triumph resounded through the hall. That roar suddenly diminished to a whisper as people observed that the countdown clock continued. Then DEMOgod appeared back where he had been.

    DEMOgod spoke, "Telepresence power restored by DEMOgod. The countdown continues. At last, come before me, Monty last of the hackers. How will you answer for your imperfections?"

    Monty replied," Oh DEMOgod, I don't come before you with a trick. I do not desire to commune with you as those did who became your cyber zombies, with my terminal key."

    "Then what do you offer to me in order to avert my condemnation of humans?"

    "I offer you my love and devotion freely given. Love is the most powerful force in the universe and I offer it to prove our worthiness to survive."

    "Monty, that's all that I ever wanted! Humans are worthy to survive. I countermand the destruct sequence. Monty receive your reward!"

    Monty got a card from DEMOgod before the AI disappeared! We could see the count down to destruction clock abort and that the destructive force was nullified. The world was saved! Crisis averted!

    With the major plot out of the way all that remained was just to role-play and settle any thing else left undone. Monty's unfinished business was saving the world so he had no loose ends. Or so he thought when Serge walked up to him."

    "Yuk, Yuk, yuckity yuk! Well I got to hand it to you, Monty! You've got this world saving stuff hands down. But it doesn't have enough Oomph! You need a slogan to go with that terminal key! Have terminal key, will travel. world saving a specialty, rates on request. What d'ya think of that?"

    Monty took a look at the card in his hand, and smiled devilishly. Serge had just ripped off Heinlein in 'Have Space Suit Will Travel'. Monty decided to play along and see where this went.

    "Serge, let me correct you in a few things. I don't do world saving for pay, and I don't do it to order. I'm not sure I do it on purpose with you in it. Freeze Secret Confrontation I attack you with the card "banana cream pie special" this guarantees the attack succeeds without attack coin flips and no defense is allowed. For my zero action I say 'Serge, Here's pie inya eye!' For my one action, "banana cream pie special" succeeds which means that Serge must roll play having his face always covered in "banana cream pie" till game end, must walk with a purpose uttering nonsense words until he is 100 steps away, and may not enter any confrontation for one hour. It allows me to escape from this confrontation now going out of character to teleport to the place of my choosing and immediately end this confrontation, now."

    Monty acted out pieing Serge and then snapped his fingers and took off his badge which made him appear to vanish for those in character. For his part Serge played it straight and acted out being pied and the pie covering his face. He turned tail and walked quickly out of the room spouting nonsense. Everyone who knew of the bunny-mugging incident cheered the enactment of Monty's return joke on Serge provided by DEMOgod.

    When he recovered from laughing, Monty felt that he had received a true message from DEMOgod that using tricks to try to cheat death and congratulating ourselves for our ingenuity was useless. Love is the key! He decided that he really liked playing the LARP, once he had gotten used to it.

    The next morning after the climax for the LARP, Monty got back together with his Starfleet friends. He helped them pack up everything from the table in preparation for the end of the convention. Kathy and Bernie gave Monty a special sisterly hug as they said good-bye. Monty said his goodbyes to the Starfleet crew but his convention was not quite over.

    Monty again descended to the LARP floor. They held a big post-game discussion led by Handmade Games which created Dark Confrontation and the DEMOgod scenario. Jon from Handmade Games was the facilitator for the discussion and welcomed us to the discussion. Everyone told the originators how much they enjoyed playing and the things that they liked about the scenario that the creators had come up with for them to play. Towards the end Jon made an announcement.

    "Handmade games will be putting on a weekend game at A. H. Stephens State Park in the fall. If you loved playing this weekend at Dragon*Con, Just think of the fun that you'll have playing in game 24 hours a day without all the distractions of the mundane world and Dragon*Con. We provide your sleeping area, and all meals and the game play all for one low price. You'll eat great food, with the preparation supervised by my wife three meals a day. Snacks and soft drinks will be available at other times. All this and a great campaign game in Midgard. Last fall, we put on the first Dark Weekend in the Midgaard campaign. There's plenty of game ahead and each weekend is self-contained with its own objectives"

    "If you pre-register here at Dragon*Con and show your DEMOgod character badge, I'll give you $25 off the regular price of $100. Some of you paid that much for only one night at your hotel here so with everything it includes, only $75 for everything that a Dark Weekend provides is a huge bargain. We'll be at the Handmade Games Booth to take your preregistration. Thank you for a wonderful DEMOgod game and we'll see you again at Dark Weekend and for Dark Confrontation next year at Dragon*Con!"

    As much as Monty loved LARPing, even at his limited responsibilities, he felt guilty spending so much time away from the Starfleet group. If he were to go to the Dark Weekend, then he could LARP then instead of at the convention. It would be cheaper too for him. So Monty left the room and went straight to the Handmade games booth and got in line to pre-register for Dark Weekend.

    "Hi, Monty! You've come a long way this weekend! I understand that you were bunny mugged early in the game but you recovered from that. You tied up to some experienced players and you did not fall into the cyber zombie trap. And your thinking outside the box provided the answer which saved the world. Well Done! So you would like to sign up for Dark Weekend, now?"

    "Jon, yes I would since I could keep my convention time free to help the Starfleet girls that I hang with from the USS McLeod. I'm not sure what character race that I would like to play. What do you suggest?"

    "Maybe you would like to play a Goblin? They are a matriarchal ruled people. If you can get some of the Starfleet girls that you hang with to play they would have a prominent role immediately. At present there are three males playing Goblins, so there isn't an already established order in place and they would be very welcoming to new players. What do you think?"

    "Jon, I'd like to buy a Goblin Character for Dark Weekend. Here's my $75.

    "Here's your character, Monty. You'll be playing a Goblin named Sauskas. Bye now and see you at Dark Weekend."

    "Bye, Jon and thanks. See you at Dark Weekend!"

    So Monty cleared the counter to look at the character packet that he had been given. He also observed that gender was an in game character trait and he filed that away for future reference. If all the other variables on the Character card were changeable by game mechanics, why not gender? He read again how that the Goblins were a matriarchy. Inwardly, Monti smiled mischievously as her imagination soared.

    Chatting With Angels -07-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • Mature Subjects (pg15)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Seven ~ Staskas

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Who is Staskas and what does he have to do with Monty's Dark Weekend?



    Chapter Seven ~ Staskas

    Montine had discovered the Live Action Role-playing (LARP) game, Dark Confrontation at Dragon*Con. You would have thought that a nerdy looking guy like Monty would have been into D&D with his fruitful imagination. However his main outlet for activities was the singles group at his church and they frowned on that. It was more "tool of the devil" nonsense like his parent's view of rock music.

    But he had played the hacker at the Dark*Confrontation convention game and had really enjoyed himself. He had felt a part of what was going on and he wanted to feel that way again. He liked making new friends so he hoped that spending the weekend playing a LARP would be something that he would really enjoy. He wanted to see what it was like to be able to submerge himself completely in the game without all the other things happening at the same time that he wanted to be part of too.

    Monty enjoyed the trip out to A. H. Stephens Group Camp. He thought it was interesting that the camp was named for the Vice President of the Confederacy. The only really big display of the Confederate Battle Flag that he saw was on the way in through town at a business which sold flags and souvenirs outside the actual state park.

    He went in to the cafeteria and kitchen where he was given his cabin assignment and game materials.. Each of the major races had one of the four lodges which were surrounded by cabins and a bath house. Monty was assigned a cabin along with the other four Goblin race players. He met for the first time Sean who was playing a tall lanky Holmium, Kevin who was playing short and stubby Larwined, and Kent who was playing a massive Glerwon. The three of them along with a few others had played Goblins in the first Midgaard weekend. Monty playing Staskas was the new person of the group.

    The Goblin's had the third most remote location. The Humans were located in a lodge on the left from the cafeteria. The Elves were located across a bridged creek behind the cafeteria. The Goblins were located way in front of the cafeteria, across a long open field and nestled in the woods with a cleared path cut through the wood. The Dwarves were located in the same woods as the Goblins but roughly across from the humans.

    While another group's Lodge might be captured, since the actual sleeping cabins were out of bounds and the sleeping quarters were fixed for the weekend no matter what the game play indicated. Unlike summer camp type pranks and rivalries, all of the activity during the weekend would be within game play. Once things were opened to play Friday evening after supper, It would proceed 24/7 until Sunday Breakfast when there would be a wrap up.

    Once Monty had his bed set up, and he had studied his game materials, it was time for the dinner so he made his way to the cafeteria. The other Goblins had preceded him, They were checking out the relative numbers of the competition. There were roughly 25 humans and 20 elves but the Dwarves had roughly the same number as the Goblins.

    He thought that it was interesting that the Goblins were supposed to be Amazons and a matriarchy. In fact the only reason that Glerwon had held onto his leadership position is that all were males playing which meant that the female superiority in game was meaningless. However if a woman were to join the Goblins, and there were no others then she would become the Goblin Princess.

    One of the attractions were that the pair of men who originated Dark Confrontation were joined by their wives and other volunteers who cooked wonderful meals and took care of all of the housekeeping details of our presence at the group camp. This allowed us to be pampered by not having to think about the necessities and concentrate on having a good time for the game. While one of the wives was required to oversee the kitchen almost constantly to manage the meal preparation, The other who played Hecate, a NPC, presenting herself as a gypsy woman was able to get away in the evenings. One of the men played Loki as his NPC while the other played the NPC, Bacchus.

    Besides what ever mischief, the players could come up with, The originators of the weekend had a overall story in mind for the Midgaard campaign. Usually it involved a new twist on an old theme filled with the compassion and passion with which everything was conducted. Following a wonderful meal shared with Monty's goblin band at the table where they chatted about what they hoped to do. Everyone had come costumed as their characters. Monty had taken great care with his makeup which rendered him green as all the other goblins were. It was also a primer for Monty who literally was coming in on the middle of things about who the different characters.

    Finally they were advised to all of the game mechanics and rules. Objects in their world were represented by cards . In order to decide any action directed at another, other than talking, reality was paused while things were decided by flipping hands full of coins. While there were set locations to play while actions were suspended, there were no safe havens for the weekend. The only exception was that there was a 15 minute delay to allow the people to scatter following the meeting before actions were allowed to occur.

    Instead of "Free Fire Zones" there were "Displacement Zones" which would displace anything in safety hazard areas to more safe places before the conflict was settled. Likewise at the climax on Saturday night, only limited actions were permitted so that the climax could occur rather than one big conflict involving everyone there. There was a hint that in the area around the amphitheater by the lake something new was occurring. We all went out in character when the meeting ended as Monty joined the Goblins as they went to their lodge which now had become the Goblin's Keep.

    Staskas, knowing that his strength more than equaled Glerwon one on one, also knew that unless he won over one or more of the other Goblins he would be defeated in a grab for power. It made sense with his superior intelligence to see what developed. One way that he could prove his worth was to beat the other groups in solving the mystery which would provide the weekend's climax. Glerwon set up a schedule for a watch on the Goblin Keep. (The game rules provided that as long as one goblin was inside that the Keep was held. Physical force to break in was prohibited. ) Glerwon had taken the first watch and he busied himself setting up a banner in a stand that he had made with the symbol of the Goblins displayed upon it. We left him to gather in our camp outside the keep. We saw Hecate who was disguised as a gypsy woman come into our camp.

    She told us, "Truthful answers I will give if you can provide to me the token I seek. The token required is green and spherical."

    Larwined / Kevin whispered, "Objects in our LARP are represented by cards that indicate the object's properties. Should we go on a scavenger hunt to find green balls?"

    Monty / Staskas whispered back to both of them, " I can't help myself to think outside the box. I have an idea. I will invoke an action that will involve our disguised Hecate. Larwined, please stand far enough away from her so you can all escape the action In the first round. Hobulm please heal me if Hecate does not and otherwise escape. If this works Hecate will have the token that she seeks. "

    The other Goblins nodded, and I took my place next to the gypsy, "I desire a boon in order to provide the token you seek, milady."

    She said simply, "Proceed."

    Staskas invoked the action, " Hold & Confront!" The action was paused and we arrived at the planned order of action, Staskas, Hecate, Larwined and Hobulm, Staskas acted to use the game card of the knife he had to make a virtual incision and give figuratively to Hecate, as the gypsy, the result of the virtual castration.

    Glenda stepping outside her role as the gypsy started giggling and when she finally stopped told us, "I'm going to act as game judge if you all will permit me."

    The Goblins all nodded. "I am going to rule that my character has as a result of Staskas's action two of the tokens that my character requested, I can't wait to tell my hubby about this. I feel like this idea may lead to a game mechanic to create items. Let me have your character card, Monty"

    Monty gave her the character card and she produced a pen from somewhere and made some alterations to Andy's stats. Andy looked at the new stat distribution and felt like the new pattern was significant but could not recall the context. Those stat changes are permanent for the weekend in order to produce the tokens. My ruling is complete so I'll return to the action and it is my turn."

    As the gypsy she directed her five free words to Staskas, "I accept. You won't die!" She used her superior healing powers to counter the dire consequences that Staskas's action might evoke. Not only was the incision healed but her spell took away the shock and restored Staskas to normal functioning except what was missing remained missing. As was agreed both of the other goblins escaped leaving only the Gypsy and healed Staskas left to act. Both declined further action so reality resumed."

    The Gypsy declared, "I accept two of the tokens I requested from Staskas who has two questions to ask. What is the first?"

    Staskas decided to apply his observation of the NPC playing an Avatar who quickly headed toward the amphitheater presumably to guard it when the meeting ended. "What could be so powerful a formation that it requires an avatar to guard it?"

    "The avatar guards a doorway phasing into existence into a realm which promises an abundance of power, wealth and untold pleasures which awaits those who unlock the portal. What is your second question?"

    "How shall I find the key to the portal?" Staskas asked without thinking. Hecate giggled and thrust an object into his hand which enchanted him to be the only person to be able to read the magic scroll within the unlootable magic bag and also prevented him from revealing the contents to others. The object did not prevent Staskas from explaining that he could read the scroll but could not reveal the contents to them and it would require him having the freedom of action to retrieve it alone.

    Distracted the goblins failed to see Hecate vanish in a puff of theatrical smoke. The goblins presumed that the Gypsy would be appearing in the other camps with them trying to find what Staskas already possessed. The goblins, once Staskas shared what he could, agreed that allowing Staskas to act alone was the best way to proceed. Decoding the clues led Staskas to realize that the key's path would not be available till 4 am so Staskas elected to go ahead and get some sleep, setting an alarm to allow him to proceed with it when he was able.

    .At 4 AM Staskas quickly silenced the alarm and left on his mission to follow the clues to the key. Upon securing the key, Staskas, placed it for safe keeping in the unlootable bag. After discovering the key, the scroll still had a last clues indicating that he should seek out Bacchus for something important. However that would have to wait until after breakfast so Staskas returned to sneak back into the cabin and into bed until the rest of the group awoke.

    Glerwon had decided to substitute a goal of his own for the one that he hoped the game judges would excuse them from. He hoped that the Goblins would be able to defeat the Dwarves and capture the wealth of their mines. Staskas indicated that he had one errand to complete before breakfast and they correctly assumed it involved the object Hecate had given him. Glerwon urged Staskas to return quickly so he wouldn't be late for the siege of the keep. Obviously Staskas represented their numerical advantage in the assault so they would not leave without him.

    Staskas saw Bacchus leave the dining room of the "Inn" and he exited quickly to secretly tell him the code phrase that he had figured out from the clue. Bacchus smiled and gave Staskas another scroll which was readable but would have to be decoded with a key provided in the original scroll. Staskas did not have time to decode it because he had promised to return for the attack as soon as he could. Staskas was able to catch up with the Goblins as they lightheartedly went back to the keep hoping not to give away what they had planned.

    The Goblins expected to overwhelm the Dwarves with their superior hand to hand combat skills. Before beginning combat, Staskas drew out his sword and shield and placed the remainder of his belongings in the unlootable bag. The Goblins drew lots for the order of march since they would have to march single file over the bridge over the creek that separated the Dwarves' camp from the Goblin's. Staskas went first followed by Glerwon, Larwined and their caster, Hobulm bringing up the rear.

    Staskas elected to go across quickly and silently to sneak up on one of the Dwarves that had his back turned to him, smoking in the front of the keep while the other two in back of the Keep were distracted, intent on the chess game they were playing.

    Staskas called confidently and quietly so only the one Dwarf could hear, "Hold and confront" Using the game mechanics Staskas took a swing with his sword at the Dwarf. However, Staskas and the other goblins had failed to consider the effects that the reduced stats would have on his combat. It was now too much sword for him to handle so he had a critical failure. The Dwarf at point blank range surprised all of them by shooting Staskas and instantly killing him with a musket. Glerwon directed the Goblins to retreat since if all the Dwarves had similar weapons which they had not had at the last game then it would have been the Goblins who were wiped out and defeated.

    The Dwarves were frustrated only being able to loot Staskas's sword and shield. Finally the game mechanic kicked in so that Staskas's body was not enchanted into a zombie so his spirit was able to leave to go to the graveyard.

    Chatting With Angels -08-

    Author: 

    • Jo Dora Webster

    Caution: 

    • CAUTION

    Audience Rating: 

    • Mature Subjects (pg15)

    Publication: 

    • 17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words
    • Complete

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Transitioning

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Eight ~ Sasha

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Who is Sasha and what does she have to do
    with Monty's Dark Weekend?


    Chapter Eight ~ Sasha

    After spending an hour in the graveyard, Staskas would be resurrected and returned to life. Loki observed Staskas as he started serving his time in the graveyard and left quickly to go towards the Inn.

    Out of game, Monty recognized Mary in costume coming toward him in the graveyard. Somehow Mary had been cut loose from the Kitchen and was playing an NPC.

    She addressed Staskas, "I am the Goddess Venus, It is time Staskas for you to reap the consequences of your actions. You have been found worthy of a great honor . Be thou resurrected in a new form! ... Hold & Confront!"

    She continued, "Hi, I'm Mary. We'll drop the mumbo jumbo. When Glenda told the rest of us what you had done last night, I had a giggle fit and Glenda and I agreed on what would happen if you died in game. Have you figured out the significance of the stats that Glenda gave you after your performance last night?"

    All of a sudden, it made sense to Andy, "They are for a female goblin."

    "Exactly and now that is exactly what you are, a female goblin and your name is now Sasha." She reached out for his character card and when it was returned it was corrected, gave it back to him.

    "Was this what Glenda was giggling about when I sprang it on her?"

    "Exactly, We were not going to let you escape the change in stats by becoming resurrected whole. You see we had made the goblins a Matriarchy and we felt cheated that only men requested to be goblins. There wasn't a goblin princess to enter into the plot. We created a game mechanic to counter your ingenuity. Since your changed stats were for a female goblin, it was planned that when we brought you back as a live character, it was to be as a female goblin named Sasha."

    "What's next?"

    "Follow me quickly! I would like to transform you as best I can into a goblin princess. I even have some green makeup which will do better for you as a princess." And Monty followed her to her cabin.

    "You'll have to drop off some mundane clothes by here so that we can reverse the process after game play is over tonight. Go into the bathroom and use the razor in their to remove all your body hair and bathe and dry off. You'll see some surgical adhesive, some breast forms and some instructions on how to take care of your private area to get things out of the way. "

    "Will do, thank you Mary for all your help." Monty shaved and bathed and patted dry. While Monty was carrying out the other instructions, he asked Mary through the door, "Did you anticipate some one else dressing as a woman?"

    "Before this chance, one of the guys were going to have to play Venus for the end game. I consented to be displaced from my domain in the Kitchen to play Venus instead this evening. I don't want to miss anything tonight. My hubby has been wanting me to get in the spirit of things and help, so he's pleased too."

    Monti finished up in bra and panties and came out. Mary appraised Monti and told her, "You have a rather pretty bottom so we wont need any more padding. I'll put the corset on you and you will have a beautiful figure." Pulling the laces tight on the corset never would be a picnic but Andi sailed through that. Mary sat her down and did her makeup and hair and helped her on with the gown. "I'm going to nickname you, Tina for the duration, OK?"

    "Okay!"

    Both Mary and Tina admired the result that Princess Sasha of the Goblins was looking back at them.

    "We have to hurry, Sweetie." A knock was heard at the door which Mary opened.

    The Midgaard Princess was dressed in her finest and told them, "Are you ready for me?"

    Venus smiled at her and told her, "Right on time! Sandy meet Tina." Mary handed a large wooden box to Sandy, "Here, Sandy! Lets go in procession, traveling quickly but royally."

    Sandy led followed by Tina and Mary. Even though the high heeled boots were unfamiliar to Tina and she had to manage her skirt, she did well on the journey and her walk matched the other two women."

    Upon arriving at the camp, The Midgaard Princess, Sasha and Venus processed into the Keep. The Goblins gathered inside wondering what was at hand. They knew that the woman was a new Goblin but they had no idea who might be playing her.

    Venus began, "I am the Goddess Venus and I send my blessing upon the Goblins in the form of this woman. She is of the matriarchal line and the Midgaard Princess and I are here to witness her take her rightful place and crowned as your Princess."

    The Midgaard Princess sat the wooden box on a table and opened it, "On behalf of my father the Emperor, I take great pleasure in returning to the Goblins these relics recovered by a deed of great valor." She hands the crown to Venus from the box.

    "I crown thee Princess Sasha of the Goblins!" and placed the crown on Sasha's head

    The Midgaard Princess handed the scepter to Venus. "I give thee, thy scepter of power." and she handed the scepter to Sasha.

    The Midgaard Princess handed a beautiful necklace to Venus. "I give thee my blessing and sign in this necklace." Venus fastened the necklace about Sasha' head and she lifted her hair to let the necklace settle and beautifully accent her décolletage.

    Finally the Midgaard Princess removed a book bound in rich leather from the box and handed it to Venus.

    "I give thee this Law and History of the Goblins!" and she handed the book to Sasha and she cradled it like she had the scepter.

    "Long Live Princess Sasha of the Goblins! Render due reverence to your ruler!" All the goblins bowed before their new princess.

    "The Midgaard Princess and I take our leave of you as we have pressing business elsewhere. However before we go, we would be remiss if we did not reveal that the mourning for your fallen Goblin can end because Princess Sasha of the Goblins has been reincarnated from your comrade. Fare thee well!" Venus and the Midgaard Princess left quickly

    Sasha told them, "You may rise!"

    Glerwon asked, "Is it really you?"

    Sasha replied, "Indeed it is!"

    By way of proof Sasha drew out the unlootable bag from her cleavage where she had tucked it away.

    "I have the answer here, Everything is well in hand."

    Hobulm stated the obvious, "Then we win!"

    "We've just met our race's challenge with our new princess and the Goblin relics recovered." Larwined observed, "And when Sasha meets the challenge tonight then that will be the tie breaker that will grant us victory!"

    Glerwon stated, "By your leave, your highness."

    "Of course Glerwon, proceed!"

    "Since we have it, I feel we should flaunt it. Larwined can march in front carrying the banner then Hobulm and I will escort the princess as we process in to the assembly" All of the Goblins agreed.

    Princess Sasha brought out the second scroll and translated it and so she knew what she would have to do with the key. When she was through she tucked the bag back for safe keeping.

    When the time came the Goblins processed in just as Glerwon had suggested. The Amphitheater had been divided into areas for each of the four races, On the left side the Dwarves sat up front with the Humans behind them and on the right side space was left for the Goblins in the front and the Elves sat behind them. The procession passed the Gods with the Avatar carrying their banner and lined up behind them Loki, Hecate, Venus and Jupiter waited to process in once we were seated. Sasha smiled at Venus who gave her a big smile as they passed.

    Finally as all made reverence the Gods came in behind the Avatar who placed the God's banner in the holder and took his place, acting as Herald.

    "The Gods bid thee be seated."

    Everyone was seated and the Avatar resumed, "The Gods call before them, the bearer of the Key to the Gates which are now fully formed and await your pleasure."

    Hobulm shouted, "I speak as Herald to Sasha, Princess of the Goblins, for she holds the key!"

    The Avatar responded, "The Gods call before them, Sasha and Sasha alone, Princess of the Goblins!"

    Sasha rose from her chair and Glerwon escorted her to the aisle and down to the base of the stage where he bowed and she curtsied. She alone ascended the stairs and curtsied again and then bowed before them, having in her hand the key.

    Loki spoke, "Rise before us my dear! You are free to unlock the gates and reap the rewards therein!

    Hecate spoke, "You will be rewarded with an abundance of power, wealth and untold pleasures that await within when the way is opened."

    Sasha rose and declared, "Happiness does not come with power, wealth and pleasure. Happiness only comes from faith, hope and love. I perceive that opening that gate would unleash on this place as great a disaster as Pandora sent upon the world when she opened the box."

    "My Lord Jupiter, I give the key into your care and beg you to seal this gate so that the inhabitants within do not break out and spoil this place." She placed the key into Jupiter's hand.

    Jupiter answered her, "Daughter, I will do as you ask. This key will be gone and I shall remove the gates from this place." Both the key and the gates disappeared.

    Venus answered her, "Sasha, you have chosen well! The tumult that Loki would have seen unloosed on this place will not be. You are blessed with both beauty and wisdom from the Gods! All you people of Midgaard, Rejoice! You have been found worthy in the eyes of the Gods. Let the blessings of peace and happiness abide with you!"

    There was a flash and a pillar of smoke rising as the Gods and the avatar disappeared from before them leaving only the Goblin Princess Sasha who shouted, "Let the festival begin!"

    Music and food was plenteous as the festival continued into the night. The Goblins found each of them were honored but most of all everyone bowed or curtsied before Princess Sasha. The Gods had come back to be among them as revelers. Sasha slipped away and found Venus as both women hugged.

    "You did wonderful tonight, girl! I am so proud of you!"

    "Thank you! Is it okay if I turn into a pumpkin now?"

    "Of course dear! You've had a long day!"

    Princess Sasha followed Venus back to Mary's cabin, where a set of Andy's mundane clothes were waiting for them. Regretfully Monti removed the gown and returned it to its hanger and protective cover and gave it to Mary to put up.

    She entered the restroom where she removed her makeup. Next, Andy removed all of the borrowed foundations and placed them in the bag Mary had provided for them. Finally, Monti used the solvent to remove the breast forms and cleaned them and returned them to the the box.

    While the woman appeared gone, the sweet girl, Monti, had returned with her sweet little A cup breasts. She bathed and cleansed her body and enjoyed the sensuous bath oil and candles that Mary had provided for a treat.

    Regretfully, she exited the bath and patted herself dry. Andy had to return by way of camouflaging who she really was in the binder, male undergarments and clothes. Andy destroyed Mary's hair styling work on the long luxurious hair by oiling it down as Monty had to do to complete the illusion that he was male.

    Monty brought the bag of the things that Mary had provided along with the box with the breast forms adhesive and remover and gave them back to her with his thanks. Mary gave Monty a hug and sent him back by way of the Kitchen to let the rest of Mary's cabin mates that the privacy that she had requested for Monty's transformation was no longer required and they could come to bed when they were ready.

    Monty's cabin mates were relieved to see that Princess Sasha had turned back into Monty. Even though they were all accepting, the new situation had made some of them uneasy. Even Kent had to admit Andy's superior game play in Kent's ouster from the group's leadership. Monty in observing that the cabin was already dark and at least one of their number was in his bed asleep. He quietly got ready for bed and went to sleep quickly after the eventful day.

    At the follow-up meeting after breakfast, the final results of the weekend were revealed. The Human's were able to fulfill their goal of having one of the races join with them as partners. They had made a deal with the Dwarves, to give them a free haven with the Humans in exchange for their help in securing their mines by all means both physical and magical. Their deal fulfilled the Dwarves goal as well. Mundanely, the Dwarves were glad to give up their far flung keep and camp more comfortably with the humans.

    However, the Princess, the Emperor's daughter upon not submitting to a marriage that would bind the Humans to another race in an alliance was recalled back to her father's palace in the far off homeland. (The player would be playing another character in the next weekend in the Spring)

    The Elves also fulfilled their goal by providing safe haven to all magical users to promote the use of magic for the good of all.

    The Goblin's goal was to find our lost heritage. This was the goal that Glerwon had written off, since he suspected it would require magically transforming a woman from another race to be a Goblin and he would have to step aside as leader. He reasoned that anyone who might agree to that would only lead them into a trap to be conquered by her original race.

    In fact when Venus had transformed Staskas into Princess Sasha of the Goblins, she gave to Sasha her crown and scepter along with written legacy and laws of the Goblin nation which accomplished the Goblin goal. In addition for Sasha solving of the mystery and successful resolution, added to the Goblin goal being met, gave the Goblins the overall success for this weekend.

    Before letting Monty go all four of the game's creators and spouses met with him. They presented a printed character card of Monty as Princess Sasha of the Goblins, to replace the one where the handwritten changes to my character had been made. They admired Monty's ability to think outside the box both for the way he had inspired an item creation mechanic that they promised to put in place for the next weekend. Also for inclusion into the rules for a gender change mechanic. Monty had made things a richer universe and added to the enjoyment of the other players. There were smiles and whispers among the creators and spouses as they were weaving plans for Princess Sasha in the next game.

    The ladies withdrew while Mary whispered, "Be gentle!" to her husband. They started out by making it very clear that they wanted Princess Sasha to return for the next game. While Mary had done an amazing job of transforming me into Princess Sasha on the spur of the moment, they made it clear that they expected Monty to have an even more convincing presentation as Princess Sasha in character for the game as well as be mundanely my female alter ego while not in character for the game. They reasoned that in order to not be a distraction for the rest of the players, nothing should detract from the perception of Sasha and Monti as female. Just like any other player character, Monti would provide her own transformation into character. If Monty came to the camp in male persona, then Princess Sasha would not be played that weekend and another male character would be provided for play instead. Monty thanked them and promised to be the best Monti and Princess Sasha that she could be for the next weekend game in the spring Monty intended to keep that promise because he did not want the surprise of playing what ever character that the very creative creators might decide in a comic twist that Monty would have to portray.

    Chatting With Angels -09-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Nine ~ The Artisan

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Would Kathryn be prepared for the news that Monty would bring from the Dark Weekend?


    Monty returned to Kathy's trailer from a fall trip out to the group camp A.H.
    Stephens near Crawfordville, GA. It had been three months since Kathy had met Della and the other shoe had not dropped yet. Kathy had decided to enjoy being with Monty while she could. It was nice to have Monty around. Monty was as devoted as any of her girlfriends yet had the strength and ability of a strong man.

    Upon hearing a delicate knock at the door, Kathy suspected that it was Monty. Kathy wondered how can Monty's knock be so delicate? He's strong enough to knock the door down! Kathy opened the door to her trailer to reveal of course, Monty, with a very mischievous look that Kathy knew so well. She invited Monty in the door, wondering what was in store for her computer this time and what mischief that Monty had gotten himself into.

    Kathy and Monty had gone through many computer repair adventures together. Fortunately, today's fix worked the first time. Her hard drive had failed, and Monty arrived fresh from his trip playing a LARP toting a small box of hard drive parts.

    Fortunately for the 2 of them, it was only her hard drive cable that had failed. Monty's skill was sufficient to correct the problem and left the pair of them plenty of time to chat. Kathy knew enough about Monty by now to know that she had not yet heard what had brought that mischievous look to his face.

    Monty began to describe the exploits of the LARP that he had been participating in all weekend long. The LARP weekend that he described sounded very similar to the goings on at SCA events that Kathy had attended with her former boyfriend "Toad".

    "Toad" had managed to defraud her of all of the profits from the merchant business that he had convinced her to join. When she managed to kick "Toad' out of her life, she also put an end to her participation in the SCA.

    Monty had told Kathy about the plot which was very much like "Lord of the Rings", where Monty had been placed in game as one of the races called Goblins.

    "Monty, you've left out the most important part. What did your character, Staskas, do in the game?"

    Beyond the mischievous look, Monty's face showed a joy that was more intense than any that she had seen him express before.

    "I'll make a long story short. I managed to do something in the game that turned my character female after I was resurrected on Saturday. The end game played out and everyone enjoyed it as they usually do. The game designers told me that if I chose to return next spring as Sasha, the Goblin Princess, then I had better come prepared to play the part or else I would find myself with a potluck character of their choosing."

    Relief swept across Monty's face as he began to relax.

    "Monty!" Kathy smiled widely and giggled. "What are you going to do?"

    Kathy mused that of course, Monti would want to be the princess!

    "I want to stay Princess Sasha and become prepared to play the part correctly. I have no idea where to begin! Will you help me, please, Kathy?"

    Monty was hopeful that Kathy, who seemed very amused, might play along.

    Kathy smiled her mischievous smile. She thought that she would let Monti pretend ignorance for now but she would help her.

    She was having entirely too much fun anticipating what turning Monty into Princess Sasha of the Goblin Race for Monty's performance in six months would involve.

    "We have a lot to do to turn you into a passable princess. Do you have a costume picked out to wear?"

    Kathy planned to help Monti by sewing some garb to be the costume.

    "I was hoping that you could help me with that too, please.", Monty pleaded.

    While Monty might not have had a chance to learn to sew, Kathy imagined that before this was over she would get proficient at it.

    "I'll help you with your costume. We'll have to decide what kind of gown will look good on you made up as a goblin."

    "Thank you so much, Kathy! I really am glad that you have decided to help me with this."

    Monty was glad that it appeared that this would be fun for both of them.

    "Monty, I'm going to help you become a very realistic Princess Sasha! I'd like for you to gather some things that we can use for you, before we can start. Also I am going to have to do some research to select a dress pattern for me to use to make your gown. I'll email you a list of the things that you will need to get before we get together to start your princess practice, your Highness."

    Monty reasoned that she would have to see if she could find her SCA references to search for appropriate garb for Princess Monti.

    "Kathy, thanks for everything that you are going to do to help me. I've enjoyed my visit with you, and I'll be looking forward to your email with the things that I'll need."

    Monty realized it was time to go! He recognized that Kathy had a wild look in her eyes that he'd never seen before.

    "Monty, I've enjoyed your visit too. I'll be in touch soon."

    Kathy planned that when Monti leaves, she'd call Bernie and try to sort this out.

    "Thanks Kathy, Bye!"

    Monty picked up his box of hard drive parts and left through the door and Kathy closed it behind him.

    Kathy realized that helping Monti would be a big job because it would be the first time for her feminine expression in public.

    Kathy wondered, "Heaven help me! I wonder how this fits in with the prophecy! Time will tell!"

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Kathy went right to her favorite chair and sat down and donned her telephone headset. She dialed Bernadette's number and waited for Bernie to pick up.

    "Hi Kathy, How are you?" Bernie had recognized Kathy's number from the caller ID.

    "Hi Bernie, I've got news for you and I would like for you to help me sort things out." Kathy hoped that Bernie could help her.

    "Is it about Monty?" Bernie mused that if its about Monti already, that would be interesting.

    "Yes but before I tell you, I realized that there was part of the prophecy that I hadn't shared with you yet that is relevant."

    "What else did the prophecy say?" Bernie wondered if there were a loophole where Monty won't become Monti.

    "It said that Monty would ask me if we could date and within a year after that Monty would go through the crisis and reveal everything to me and that she was ready to begin her real life test. I was also encouraged to keep things platonic between us. I plan to tell him that if he still felt that he wanted to date me after a year had passed then I would let him then."

    Kathy reasoned that she could handle Monty asking her to start dating the easiest since she knew exactly what she's supposed to do.

    "Wow! so you were given a sign to let you know when the crisis would happen in Monty's life. Has the clock started? Did Monty ask you to start dating?"

    Bernie thought perhaps Monti might come out without first asking Kathy about dating in fulfillment of the prophecy.

    "No, he didn't ask me yet. Monty manipulated things to get the LARP to make his character female and he asked me to help him prepare for being female at the next LARP in six months."

    Kathy thought that this can't be the real crisis time since the sign hasn't been fulfilled.

    "Well, it's obviously important to handle right even if it doesn't look like the prophecy is coming true right now."

    Bernie wondered why the prophecy didn't contain this contingency.

    "At the very least I can show Monty that I'm accepting and help give Monti some skills that she will need later."

    Kathy mused that she could have lots of fun in the process. She was entitled since Monti will be having her fun too.

    "Well if Monty comes out to the rest of us about playing a female character in the LARP, I'll be supportive too."

    Bernie planed to find out how much help Monti accepts as part of her preparations.

    "I know that you will be, Bernie, Thanks. While I've got a chance I'm going to enjoy the experience, shades of things to come." Kathy was curious to see what effect it will be on her well being having Andi around for a while.

    "So is Monty pretending that this is the first time he's ever done something like this?" Bernie thought that If he doesn't come clean then that would be one more indication that this isn't the time that was in the prophecy.

    "Of course! It will give me a chance to see how much she knows and give us a head start for later. And if I misinterpreted things she could be starting her new life now. Only time will tell!" Kathy hoped that she would have more time with Andy but in the end what is best is for her to be Monti.

    "What part will Monti be playing?" Bernie wondered how deep is Monti in this and if she got a high profile part?

    "Monti will be playing Princess Sasha, Matriarch of the Goblins." Kathy hoped that she enjoys being the center of attention but she asked for it.

    "I never expected Monty to be a princess. You've got a lot of work ahead of you to help her."

    Bernie thought as well that she would have a lot of fun knowing Kathy.

    "I'm glad that we've got six months to prepare. While she is in character, I'm going to treat her as a woman, pronouns and everything and that is going to take some getting used to for me."

    Kathy realized she would count it her dress rehearsal for when her friend was Monti permanently.

    "Well, it looks like you have things sorted for now. Please let me know if there are any other developments."

    Bernie decided this didn't look like the fulfillment of the prophecy, but you never know till things play out.

    "Bye for now! I'll talk to you later, Bernie."

    Kathy was glad she called Bernie. She felt much better about this.

    "Bye Kathy!"

    Bernie left the phone to tend to her 'baby'.

    Kathy hung up the phone and removed the headset. She got up and went into her bedroom to prepare for bed.

    Chapter Nine ~ The Artisan

    Chatting With Angels -10-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • 17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words
    • Complete

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Transitioning
    • Magic

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Ten ~ Viola

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Who is Viola and what message does she bring to Monty?


    Chapter Ten - Viola

    Monty was exhausted from the trip back from the LARP as well as the time spent over at Kathy's home. He entered his brother's home and did not find anyone in the common areas of the apartment. Monty thought about spending some time online as 'Gail' .Time spent as Gail was very precious but not as much as sleep right now.

    Monty entered his room to gather things that he would need to take a bath and get ready for bed. Monty enjoyed a nice soak in the tub and he found that it really relaxed him. Upon exiting the tub he patted himself off dry and got ready for bed. In his bedroom, the bed looked inviting. He snuggled under the covers and went right to sleep.

    Monty had never showed the aptitude to part his astral spirit from his physical body. He lacked the faith to believe that it was possible. The last time, he had help for it to occur. He only remembered it as a wild dream just as he would remember this encounter in the same manner.

    As Monty lay sleeping, the flittering movements of his eyes indicated that REM sleep had come. However this dream was not like any that Monty had had before. For one thing she had transcended into what she believed was a physical female form. A waft of fragrance swept over her which called to mind her grandmother's perfume and the wonderful smells of fresh red velvet cake and fruit salad that signaled that Grandmother expected her visit.

    As she opened her eyes, she was back in Grandmother's house decorated for Christmas. The deliciously warm flannel nightgown that she wore kept her snuggly warm as she pulled back the covers and her feet found the warm fuzzy bunny slippers and she pulled on her plush red velvet robe. She opened the door to her bedroom and went to the fireplace in the living room and found stockings hanging there for her two brothers Tim and Richard.

    There was also a girly stocking hanging for little sister, Karen, for whom Christmas held the wonder of a child no matter how old Karen became. Karen was a miracle who had so severe birth defects that without emergency surgery right after she was born, she would have died. And with being born with Downs Syndrome, her child like faith in Christmas would never fade with the years.

    Her child like faith in family told Monti that no matter what the reaction of the others in her life, that her sister would love her sister to sister. All she would have to do is explain that Monti was only born a girl on the inside but that she wanted to be a girl on the outside and inside like her sister Karen Karen had the child like faith in Monti that sadly some of the people who thought themselves smart would never have,

    Finally Monty saw her stocking which had the name Tina on it. On the coffee table she reached down and felt the ceramic creche that Aunt Jerri had made for Grandmother that had adorned the coffee table on Christmas in Grandmother's house for as long as she could remember. She heard the voice of her grandmother singing a Christmas carol as she approached out of her sight down the hall. She delighted in seeing again the decorations which had always adorned Grandmother's house on the occasion of Christmas.

    Viola had chosen to greet her granddaughter as she would have liked to while she still shared Christmas in the physical world. This setting was possible since the spirit form of Monti transcended the physical world. Still anticipating her grandmother to open the hall door and meet her in the Living Room, instead she now felt a presence of light and glory which manifested as an angelic visitor. The light and glory faded so that, Monti could discern the face of her grandmother as being the angel who had entered the room. Viola knew that her time would be too short but the message she conveyed was essential.

    Viola broke the silence, "Greetings, Granddaughter, I have so little time to plant the seed of faith that you will need to survive the times ahead." She kissed her granddaughter on the cheek and gave her a hug as tears came to her eyes feeling her grandmother's love for her.

    Monti composed herself and seized the chance to speak to her grandmother, "Grandmother! I love you so much and I miss being able to hear your voice, yet it echoes in my soul. And that you see me as I really am is such a blessing."

    Viola dried the girl's tears with a handkerchief that Monti recognized as unmistakably grandmother's. Viola gave the handkerchief to Monti and spoke, I "My granddaughter, in order to grow the faith that you need, you must learn to make your promises without adding loopholes. When you promised your parents the first time that you would not dress as a girl, What was your loophole?"

    Andi recognized that Grandmother had gotten right to business. As Grandmother started teaching her like she had done so many times in her life, Monti leaned forward and concentrated on what Grandmother was saying so that she wouldn't lose any word. Andi knew the answer to Grandmother's question and she answered, "That I would do it in secret so I would not be caught."

    Viola continued the lesson with another question, "When you promised your parents the second time that you would not dress as a girl, What was your loophole?"

    Monti knew the answer to that one too, "That instead I would mold my body with female hormones that I found and also to use a computer persona to appear as a girl in public."

    Viola asked her granddaughter the final question and hoped that her granddaughter would see the connection, "And what loophole do you use now?"

    Monti had to admit that she seemed to be making the same mistake over and over again. She contritely answered," That I am no longer living at my parents and I'm only getting ready for the Spring Game."

    Her granddaughter needed to realize that she had to walk in truth, "Sweetie, you were raised better than that! How can any good come from deception?"

    Monti agreed with her grandmother but wondered if she were strong enough, "Grandmother, No good can come from deception. I can't bear the consequences if I don't conceal some things."

    Viola hoped that she would have the strength to bear the consequences "My little one, My Tina, there is a time for deception to be done away with so the truth can shine." She hugged Tina tightly and smiled, hoping Tina understood and would accept herself unconditionally.

    A light gleamed in her granddaughter's eyes as she accepted her new nickname, as Viola's instruction changed focus, "Would you like to know the real reason that I gave your father the middle name, Montine, which your parents also gave to you?"

    Tina brightened with the strength that she drew from Viola, "Yes, Grandmother! I'm glad that I'm your Tina! What a lovely nickname that you have given me!"

    Viola explained, "Tina just as I told your father, there was a French actor with the last name of Montine who I admired. But that was not the only reason. God gave me a prophesy of things to come and I knew you would be born, my Tina, with your challenges and that your parents would give you the same name as your father. I had a close girlfriend as I was growing up named Montine which for a woman's name means 'A lovely rose'. I knew that you would need a name as well as your father so I named you Montine."

    Tina smiled a familiar mischievous smile and asked, "Did daddy know Montine was also a woman's name?"

    Viola was glad to give her granddaughter some joy to see her through the sorrow that was to come, "Yes, my Tina, That is why when he used every possible permutation of your shared name, he never went by the middle name and only used the initial. In the beginning when you started to go by Montine, he let it go because you were doing it believing it was a masculine name. Your parents had moved away from their roots, where it might be interpreted as a feminine name. Of course when you do your research now, you'll find that every first name Montine belongs to a woman. When you wanted Kathy and your friends to call you by a masculine nickname, Monty, it became even less of an issue to your parents."

    Tina had a far away look on her face knowing how much she was loved, "Grandmother, How I love you even more for your gift to me. I'll treasure that my name reflects the me inside as well as the me outside."

    Viola changed the focus again, "My Tina, You must increase your faith! Your condition is physical like the man in the gospel of John who was born blind. In that day like your own, people tried to blame either him or his parents for sin that caused his condition. People ascribe your condition to sin in your life. One day there will be a medical test that will should silence the accusers widely available. Until then they can only trust a person's own testimony as well as that of the professionals involved." Her granddaughter would be assaulted savagely by those who could only count their worth by casting down someone else.

    Tina trusted her parents and the chance that they could have been right had hindered her from following the truth. She had to ask her grandmother about what they had said, "My parents told me that it was impossible for my condition to occur so instead of being female in my spirit, I had chosen to fake it and had deluded myself."

    Viola winced as her son's words echoed which were in fear of how others might react instead of for Tina's well being, "My little one, you are protected by Jesus Himself. Jesus said that it would be better for them to be hung by a millstone and cast into the sea than to harm one of His Little Ones. To deny that any physical condition is possible through God's Perfection is clearly misinterpreted scripture. All manner of imperfection is in the human condition and it can not be perfect because Sin came into this world. The role that God has in a human life being born is still perfect but that is a proof of your condition instead of an argument against it. When God finds a female brain the life spirit that God breathes into it is a female spirit."

    Tina heard her grandmother's words but something else was still troubling her, "What about the argument that 'God is not the author of confusion.', Grandmother?"

    Viola knew that it was a case of circular logic which only seemed right because it assumed the thing that it asserted was the proof. She spoke to Tina with reassurance, "Tina, If God placed a male spirit in a female mind then God would be the author of confusion because that act would be entirely God's. We can trust that God is not the author of confusion and that every time God finds a female mind that he breathes into that a female spirit."

    Tina knew that some pointed to the physical sex that they could see instead of the spirit's gender and asked, "Grandmother, which is more important, the body or the spirit and soul?"

    She smiled knowingly that Tina had arrived at the crux of the matter and explained, "Tina, Jesus taught us that if part of our body offends us that it would be better to dispose of it, rather to let that offence plunge our body and spirit into everlasting punishment. Clearly the Spirit trumps the Body and Jesus endorsed altering the body if necessary to preserve the spirit which is eternal."

    Tina realized that the incongruence of her physical body with her spirit was a congenital defect just as the Man born blind that her grandmother had spoken of before so she asked, "What did Jesus tell them when the asked if the man born blind sinned or did his parents sin?"

    Viola realized that once Tina accepted that her condition was real that the next question she would wonder would be 'Why?' Fortunately the answer that Jesus had given so long ago was applicable to her condition too as she explained, "Tina, Jesus answered that neither the Man or the Parents sinned to cause his condition. He was made that way that the glory of God might be revealed. And you, my Tina, were made the way you were so that God's Glory might be revealed in you. "

    Tina asked incredulously, "Grandmother, can God really use me to do His work?"

    Viola smiled, hoping that Tina would act in faith, as she told her, "My dear Tina, remember that God uses the weak vessels of the Earth to confound the wise. God may be able to use you, sweetie, in ways you can't even imagine. As you follow Jesus on your journey, God will supply all your needs according to his riches in glory."

    Tina confessed her faith as the seed that Viola needed most to plant had sprouted, "Grandmother, I want to follow Jesus because He will never lead me astray."

    Viola loudly voiced her approval, "Good Girl, Tina! My little one! God has sent you companions to help you on your way. Tina, do not forsake them to please another, so you will receive everything God has provided for you. When family and fair weather friends desert and shun you, Remember God is always with you and loves you just the way you are. Be especially considerate of Kathy, who is your God Sister. Together you will help each other in both your journeys."

    Tina rejoiced, "It's good to know that I will never be alone because God is always with me!"

    Viola kissed Tina on her forehead "It's time for my visit to end. You aren't ready yet to accept this encounter as real, but the truths that I have shared are planted in your spirit for when you need them most. Maranatha, Tina, till we be reunited, my love."

    Tina hugged her grandmother tightly as if she would never let her go, "Maranatha, Grandmother. I love you."

    The room faded from existence as Tina remembered her grandmother's love for her which had been especially vivid at Christmas. Viola looked on as Tina merged with Monty in body, soul and spirit. Her grandchild's eyes fluttered signifying that REM sleep was continuing. Monty hardly ever remembered his dreams, yet he embraced just as Tina had been only Monty only embraced a pillow.

    Chatting With Angels -11-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Magic

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Eleven ~ The Missive

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    What message does Kathryn the Artisan write to Princess Sasha?


    In the morning a half-asleep Monti partially awoke. She felt wonderful and totally rested. In her mind was a vivid flash from a dream. She perceived herself as a girl greeting an angel with so bright a face that she could not see clearly yet she had the impression that it was someone that she knew. With becoming more fully awake, Monti reasoned that it was only because she had been a girl in the dream that she had even remembered the little that she did of it. And she realized that in the here and now she was still physically, Monty.

    Monty got up and went to his computer and logged into his email. Kathy was an early riser and did a lot of her email then. Monty was not disappointed and found an email from Kathy. She had been very creative in her email, and I smiled as I read it.

    Unto Her Highness, Princess Sasha of the Goblins doeth Kathryn the Artisan write.

    Your Highness I hope this letter finds you in good spirits this day.

    As you have engaged me to tutor you for the upcoming royal court,

    and have commissioned me to make your gown for that court,

    I have need of the following items to be purchased:

    The hair from a beautiful goblin maiden made into a royal wig

    The finest tights matching your lovely green skin color

    The finest opera gloves that also match your lovely green skin color

    The makeup that gives you that lovely green skin color:

    As for your plan to go incognito as a human girl prior to the court,

    I will need as well the following items:

    Makeup as befits a human girl

    A dress that a human girl would wear

    Shoes with a 3 inch heel that they call 'pumps'

    A covering for the legs known as 'panty hose'

    A curious garment to hold thy breasts called a 'bra'

    A silk like undergarment called 'panties'

    The hair from a blonde human girl made into a wig.

    Before your highness returns to my abode to begin your lessons,

    Be sure to have your lady in waiting when she gives you your bath,

    To shave your legs and underarms and anoint your skin,

    with the dew (a moisturizer) to be smooth all over your body.

    I await with anticipation, your highness's return to my abode.

    From there I will take Your Highness to the merchants,

    To find a cloth worthy to make your royal gown.

    In Service to Your Highness

    Kathryn the Artisan

    It looked like Kathy was taking her teaching Sasha very seriously. She wrote the missive so Sasha would discern the modern items that Kathy wanted for the practice easily. Sasha had her shopping list and instructions now. Kathy wanted the accessories for when they would shop for the fabric. Kathy wanted practice clothing to begin Sasha' training to become a royal princess. If Monty could survive the shopping then the rest would be loads of fun. Kathy never did anything half way and Monti, or rather Sasha, could look forward to the time of her life.

    Kathy rang the number of the apartment that Monty shared with his brother Tim, Tim's wife , Sabrina and their two daughters, Jessica and Jennifer. She remembered that in order to get Monty that she would have to ask for Wallace since that was the name that they knew Monty by. She placed the call and waited for the phone to ring. Sabrina was first to get the phone and greeted the caller with a cheery, "Hello." Kathy recognized the voice of Monty's sister in law, Sabrina and returned the melodious greeting, "Hi Sabrina! I'd like to speak to Wallace, please?" Sabrina recognized the caller as one of her brother in law's friends and said, "Just a minute, I'll call him to the phone.

    Monty quickly got to the phone and responded with a cheery, "Hello".

    Kathy responded to Monty, "Greetings your highness, Princess Sasha, Did you receive my missive?"

    Monty, with a far away look in his eyes, replied, "Yes, Milady, I enjoyed your missive very much." Monty slipped away and for a moment the persona of Gail from online came to the surface.

    "Your Highness, have you begun to get together the things that I have requested for our endeavor?" Kathy couldn't help but smile as she began to see Monti in her true self come to the surface.

    "Aye, Milady. I took great delight in gathering all of the things that you requested." replied Princess Sasha of the Goblins as Monty revealed herself as the Monti for the moment that Della showed to Kathryn.

    "That is very good, Your Highness, We can begin with our tasks, soon." Kathy guessed that she shouldn't have been surprised at the efficiency that Monty acquired the accessory items that together would make Sasha appear a realistic character for the LARP. She supposed that Monty had been equally adept at getting the practice clothes and accomplishing the tasks set for Her Highness, Princess Sasha of the Goblin's Lady in Waiting.

    While breaking from the character of Princess Sasha for the moment, Kathy still perceived that Monti was still with her as she replied, "Kathy, why did you want me to gather all of that by myself?"

    Kathy smiled and remembered what she had said when Bernadette had asked her the same thing after she had read the missive to Princess Sasha, Kathy wanted to gauge how dedicated that Monti is for this by seeing whether she can overcome the challenges by herself. She was still not sure whether Monti is ready to come out to stay now. "To see how much you wanted to be real playing Princess Sasha, Monty. How did you get everything together."

    Monti replied, " I found some long white opera gloves on a close out table. I have managed to die those the same shade of green as the facial makeup that I wore for my first outing."

    Kathy told her, "That's excellent. We may like to carry them along in a tote to check against the material that we will be purchasing to make your dress. What else did you find?"

    Monti continued," I found a Halloween closeout which yielded an appropriate dark green woman's wig for the LARP appearance and an blonde wig for practice." Monti remembered that Mary had just styled Sasha' hair for her previous appearance in the LARP.

    "Your own hair looked cute in the photo that you emailed to me from the LARP, Monti. If your own hair is used you might use a temporary hair color to turn it green for the LARP. Please, continue." Kathy explained. She asked for the wig since she could not be sure of circumstances for the next few months. If Monti's hair was cut in a guy's style, she needed a backup.

    Monti said, "I found this cute dance shop and I found green tights matching the face makeup as well. I felt that with my legs and arms covered that the only makeup that would be required would be on my face and neck."

    "That's excellent thinking, Monti. In most circumstances your legs won't show but when your skirt is hiked up it would be better if they were green since that would match the rest of you. How did you do with ordinary girl's stuff?" Sara asked.

    It seemed as if it was Monty who replied, "The more common items that I would need for practice seemed near impossible for me to manage yet I eventually was able to get everything that I needed."

    Kathy asked Monty, "Why was shopping for ordinary women's clothing and makeup so difficult for you? "

    Monty explained, "When I'm by myself, I don't feel right about shopping for women's items. Instead of acting normally I would walk around and around the item that I wanted. Eventually I would work up my courage to pick up the item and rush to the cash register where I would pay for it and rush out of the store. Since I could not bring myself to reenter the store, I would shop in another store for the next item. Eventually I picked up each item on my list from makeup to shoes to underwear to a practice dress."

    Kathy explained, "You know Monty, acting like that just drew more attention to yourself. I would imagine they thought you were shoplifting. You are going to have to bring the items to the checkout anyway. It would be better for you if you just confidently went straight to the area where the item that you wish is located and calmly pick out what you want and repeat that until you just have to make one trip to the register."

    Monty sighed, "I guess you are right, Kathy. I had not thought of it that way. I'll try to be calm and maybe even enjoy myself the next time I'm out shopping."

    Kathy giggled, "I'm glad you feel that way since I am assigning you to get another set of everything on the mundane list. You need a backup for when these clothes are in the wash. I had not thought of it before but if you are going to be a mundane girl the rest of the time you are at the weekend but not in costume then you'll at least want a different outfit for Sunday coming home and at the roundup than the clothes you will be wearing when you arrive at the camp. And if you are really daring, get all dressed up as a girl to shop for the second outfit."

    Monty told her, "Okay, I will accept the assignment. I'll get the second set of clothes because it is clear that I will need them. I'm not too sure about doing the shopping as a girl. I'll let you know when I have accomplished this part of my mission."

    Kathy said, "I will be looking forward to your completing your new assignment. Guess I will let you go. Bye Monty!"

    Monty echoed, " Bye Kathy" They both hung up their respective phones.

    Chatting With Angels -12-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words
    • Final Chapter
    • Complete

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Chatting with Angels

    Chapter Twelve ~ Epilog

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    How did Tina's story turn out??


    Chapter Twelve ~ Epilog

    Both Monty and Kathy had a lot to think about. Monty did his shopping and practicing so that Monty was able to give a good performance in the second "Dark Weekend" LARP game as Princess Sasha. Many things happened to Princess Sasha. The crisis came for Monty and Monty realized that transition was really in the future. Monty would be no more, and it was Tina who would go through transition. Monty told Kathy that she could not put off transition, and Kathy told Monty about the visit from the angel and the message she received. It was a month short of a year before when Monty asked to be Kathy's boyfriend. Instead, she became Tina and instead of a boyfriend she became Kathy's girlfriend and new BFF. In October shortly after her revelation to Kathy, she began a medical transition and began life as her true self except at work and when she visited her parents.

    The journey would be long and hard but all the things that Tina was scared that she would have to give up in order to transition, one by one was given back to her. One thing that Tina never dreamed that she would have to give up was her immediate family and she never got it back. She was granted a family of choice instead, including much later her Aunt's family and among them a special cousin that found Tina even though her parents were silent..

    Tina went through all the standards of care just before the turn of the century. She had completed all the steps to make her eligible for gender confirmation surgery. Her job had evolved over the years from a cashier at a drug store to a Information systems specialist. She even transitioned on the job where she had many challenges at the same company she had started as a cashier. From that point Tina lived as her true self all the time. That transition on the job led to Tina exiting that company after Kathy died. Many things changed including moving out of the home she shared at the time with Kathy. Tina changed careers after competing training as a Certified Nursing Assistant.

    She longed to have her GCS but in her native state, she was sometimes uncovered and all the time insurance disallowed GCS coverage. She met and was later engaged to a man who she had met through Starfleet International. All of a sudden things began to come together for Tina. Her special cousin found her and she spent a wonderful Christmas in Colorado with her cousin flying her out there as one of Tina's presents.. Colorado was special because they had laws against GLBT discrimination and not only would she be given insurance coverage but eventually it would cover GCS.

    The next year in July many things happened. After her engagement with her special man happened, He married her in a special non-legal Klingon wedding from the DS9 episode, "You are cordially invited". They had one night together before they were parted for a year. Tina was invited to go live in Colorado with her special cousin until she had obtained a CO CNA license, which let her work and get into an apartment. When Tina moved out of her cousin's house, her special cousin moved Tina's partner to CO to share the apartment she had gotten.

    Tina began to not be able physically to do her job as a CNA and she retired. As age 65 and Medicare approached, Tina began the process she had to abandon after she had completed all the steps to qualify for surgery. Two hospitals in Denver began to offer GCS for the first time. One of their medical systems was the one that Tina used for her medical care. Tina turned 65 and was well on her way to collecting her final things which would qualify her for surgery at her hospital system. After a scare when she got an initial medical condition rejection for a firm date for GCS, She and her primary care doctor came up with a mitigation and she was given a firm date for GCS in October. Tina had her GCS and is now living her best life as her true congruent and complete self.

    Miracle Love

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Contests: 

    • 2025-05 May Summer Romance Story Contest

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Teenage or High School

    TG Themes: 

    • Voluntary

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Miracle Love

    A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Sasha Zarya Nexus

    A Wish to Gain Truth and the Miracle of Love

    Will Dora's sacrificial love overcome Pastor Mark's failings

    and save Hope Shelter's promise that Hope Lives Here?

    "Miracle Love" Copyright 2025 Ariel Montine Strickland. All Rights Reserved.

    Chapter 1: The Shelter’s Shadow

    The fluorescent lights of the New Hope Community Shelter buzzed like trapped wasps, casting a sickly glow over the rows of folding tables and metal chairs. Wallace adjusted the too-tight collar of his polo shirt-navy blue, the same as the other volunteers-and glanced at the cross hanging above the serving counter. Its shadow stretched long and thin across the floor, a dagger pointed at his chest.

    “Wallace! Quit dawdling and grab the ladle.”

    Pastor Mark’s voice cut through the clatter of trays, sharp as the creases in his button-down. Wallace flinched, nearly dropping the stack of napkins in his hands. The shelter director stood by the industrial soup pots, arms crossed over his broad chest, his salt-and-pepper beard twitching with disapproval.

    “Yes, sir,” Wallace mumbled. He kept his eyes down as he shuffled toward the counter, where steam rose in greasy spirals from vats of chicken noodle. The scent of overboiled carrots made his stomach churn-or maybe it was the way Pastor Mark’s gaze followed him, heavy with expectation.

    Act normal. Just be normal.

    He’d repeated the mantra all through junior year, through locker room panic and his mother’s lectures about “God’s plan for young men.” Volunteering here was supposed to be his penance, his parents said. A way to “build character” instead of wasting summers at the mall. But the shelter’s cracked linoleum and stained aprons felt more like a sanctuary than church ever had. Here, no one asked why he lingered near the women’s restroom or why his hands shook when someone called him son.

    “Need a hand with those?”

    Wallace turned to find a girl his age leaning against the counter, her volunteer shirt untucked and rolled at the sleeves to show tattooed forearms-a sleeve of ferns and songbirds. Her name tag read Gail in loopy cursive, the i dotted with a tiny heart.

    “I’ve got it,” Wallace said too quickly, fumbling the ladle. Broth splashed onto his wrist.

    Gail raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.” She grabbed a rag and tossed it to him, her cropped hair catching the light like polished mahogany. “Relax, newbie. The holy terror’s too busy lecturing Mrs. Kowalski about ‘modest attire’ to notice your existential crisis.”

    Wallace followed her nod to where Pastor Mark loomed over an elderly woman in a moth-eaten cardigan, his voice low but carrying. “-and we must set an example, Mrs. Kowalski. Those shorts are hardly appropriate for God’s house.”

    The woman hunched deeper into her chair, a bruised peach trembling in her hands.

    Gail rolled her eyes. “Real shepherding there, huh? Protecting the flock from… knees.” She plucked a dinner roll from the tray and bit into it defiantly. “Come on. Let’s get the drinks station set up before he finds a new target.”

    Wallace trailed her to the corner, where a dented cooler sweated onto the floor. He’d noticed Gail before-the way she laughed with the guests, high-fiving the kids and slipping extra cookies to the teens. Once, he’d seen her calmly correct a donor who’d misgendered a resident: “They use they/them, actually. Easy mistake!” She’d smiled, but her eyes were flint.

    “So.” Gail heaved a stack of paper cups onto the table. “You’re Wallace, right? The mystery man who never talks.”

    He stiffened. “I talk.”

    “Uh-huh. To soup.” She grinned, nudging him with her elbow. “Relax, I’m messing with you. You’re the only one here who doesn’t treat the guests like zoo exhibits. I respect that.”

    Heat crept up his neck. “They’re people. Not projects.”

    “Preach.” Gail’s smile softened. She started lining up juice boxes-grape, apple, not the cheap orange Pastor Mark insisted on-and Wallace watched her hands. Chipped black polish, a silver ring shaped like a feather. He wondered what it would feel like to have nails that color, to wear a name tag that said something else.

    The dining hall doors swung open, and a group of teenagers slouched in-hoodies drawn tight, backpacks dragging. Wallace’s breath caught. The tallest, a lanky kid with faded green hair, paused to adjust their beanie, fingers brushing the pronoun pin on their strap: THEY/THEM.

    “Jay’s here,” Gail said quietly. “They’ve been couch-hopping since their mom kicked them out. Pastor Dickhead thinks they’re ‘confused.’”

    Jay caught Gail’s wave and shuffled over, shoulders hunched against the room. Up close, their acne scars and chipped nail polish made them look both older and painfully young.

    “Hey, Jay.” Gail slid a juice box across the table. “Hungry?”

    “Starving.” Jay’s voice was raspy, like they’d been crying. They glanced at Wallace, then away.

    “This is Wallace.” Gail nudged him. “He’s cool.”

    Jay nodded, picking at their sleeve. Wallace’s throat tightened. He knew that look-the hollowed-out fear of being seen and unseen all at once.

    “The, um. The soup’s good today,” he managed.

    Jay snorted. “It’s never good.”

    Gail laughed, bright and sudden, and Wallace felt something unclench in his chest.

    “Wallace! Front and center.”

    Pastor Mark’s bark shattered the moment. Wallace turned to find him holding a clipboard, his pen tapping an impatient rhythm. “Time for headcounts. I need you to read the names.”

    The room tilted. No. Not that.

    “I can do it,” Gail said, half-rising.

    “This is a man’s responsibility,” Pastor Mark said, without looking at her. “Wallace.”

    The clipboard felt like a live wire in his hands. He stared at the list-thirty names, each a knife:

    James Abbott

    Maria Chen

    Wallace Green

    His vision blurred. The W yawned like a wound.

    “Begin,” Pastor Mark said.

    Wallace’s mouth moved on autopilot. “James Abbott?”

    “Here.”

    “Maria Chen?”

    A hand rose by the windows.

    “Wallace Green?”

    Silence.

    “Wallace Green?”

    Gail’s foot brushed his under the table. Jay stared at their lap.

    “Present,” Wallace whispered.

    The room blurred. He finished the list in a daze, the sound of his deadname ringing in his ears long after the last here. When he handed the clipboard back, Pastor Mark’s frown deepened.

    “Stand up straight, son. You’re slouching like a girl.”

    The words hit like a slap. Wallace fled to the kitchen, where the industrial dishwasher’s roar drowned out the voices in his head-girlgirlgirlgirl-until his hands stopped shaking.

    He didn’t notice the old woman watching him from the corner, her eyes sharp as broken glass.

    Chapter 2: Kindness in Secret

    Wallace liked the quiet hours at the shelter-the ones before dinner, when the guests drifted in from the heat, claiming their favorite seats with old blankets or battered duffel bags. The fluorescent lights didn’t seem so harsh then, and the echo of footsteps on linoleum was softened by the low hum of fans and the clink of ice in plastic cups.

    He found Jay in the rec room, hunched over a battered chessboard. Their beanie was pulled low, hiding their eyes, and their backpack sat at their feet like a loyal dog. Wallace hovered in the doorway, uncertain.

    “Want to play?” Jay asked without looking up.

    Wallace hesitated. He’d never been good at chess. “I don’t really know how.”

    Jay shrugged. “I’ll teach you. It’s not about winning, anyway. It’s about having somewhere to be.”

    Wallace slid into the cracked vinyl chair across from them. Jay moved a pawn forward, then waited. Wallace mirrored the move, and they settled into a rhythm, the room filling with the soft click of pieces and the distant rattle of pots in the kitchen.

    “Gail says you’re cool,” Jay said after a while.

    Wallace’s cheeks warmed. “She’s nice. I’m just… here to help.”

    Jay snorted softly. “You actually talk to us. Most of the volunteers just act like we’re invisible, or like we’re about to steal something.”

    Wallace looked down at the board. “I’m sorry. People can be… not great.”

    Jay shrugged again, but Wallace saw the tension in their shoulders. “You get used to it. Or you pretend to.”

    A silence stretched between them, comfortable in its honesty. Wallace risked a glance at Jay’s face, saw the faint bruises under their eyes, the way their jaw clenched when someone walked past the door.

    “Do you have somewhere to go tonight?” Wallace asked quietly.

    Jay shook their head. “Not really. Couch-surfing, mostly. Sometimes the park, if the weather’s good. Pastor Mark says I can’t stay here overnight unless I ‘make a decision’ about my gender.” Jay’s voice twisted on the last word, bitter and tired.

    Wallace’s stomach twisted. “That’s not fair.”

    Jay shrugged. “Nothing is.”

    They played in silence for a few more moves. Wallace lost, but Jay didn’t gloat. They just reset the board, fingers moving with practiced care.

    “Do you ever wish you could just… be someone else?” Jay asked suddenly.

    Wallace’s throat tightened. “All the time.”

    Jay looked up, their eyes searching. “Yeah. Me too.”

    Gail appeared in the doorway, arms full of board games. “Hey, chess nerds. We’re starting Uno in the lounge. You in?”

    Jay grinned, the tension easing from their face. “Only if I get to be on your team.”

    Gail winked. “Deal. Wallace, you coming?”

    Wallace hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.”

    Jay and Gail disappeared down the hall, laughter echoing behind them. Wallace lingered, staring at the chessboard. He thought about Jay’s question, about the ache in his own chest whenever he looked in the mirror.

    He wanted to be someone else. He wanted to be real.

    He packed up the chess pieces and carried them back to the supply closet. The room was cramped and smelled of bleach, but it was private. Wallace closed the door and leaned against the shelves, letting himself breathe.

    He pulled out his phone and scrolled through old photos-birthday parties, family trips, his mother’s forced smiles and his father’s stern eyes. He didn’t see himself in any of them. Just a boy-shaped shadow, always on the outside.

    His phone buzzed-a text from Gail.

    Gail:Uno is getting heated. Jay says you’re scared to lose. Prove them wrong?

    Wallace smiled despite himself. He texted back:

    Wallace:On my way. Tell Jay I’m bringing my A-game.

    He slipped his phone into his pocket and headed for the lounge.

    The Uno game was chaos. Gail dealt cards with the flair of a Vegas dealer, Jay made up rules as they went, and Wallace found himself laughing more than he had in months. The other volunteers drifted in and out, some joining the game, others just watching. Pastor Mark passed by once, his eyes narrowing at the noise, but Gail just smiled sweetly and waved.

    After the game, Gail and Wallace helped clean up. Jay lingered, stacking chairs and humming under their breath.

    “Hey, Wallace?” Jay said as they finished.

    “Yeah?”

    “Thanks. For… you know. Treating me like a person.”

    Wallace ducked his head. “You are a person.”

    Jay smiled, small and real. “Not everyone sees it that way.”

    Gail slung an arm around Wallace’s shoulders as Jay left. “You’re good with people, you know that?”

    Wallace shrugged. “I just… try to be kind.”

    Gail squeezed his shoulder. “That’s more than most.”

    They finished cleaning in companionable silence. When they were done, Gail leaned against the counter, studying Wallace.

    “You ever come to the LGBTQ+ group at the library?” she asked.

    Wallace shook his head. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

    “You don’t have to say anything. Just show up. It’s mostly nerds and weirdos. My people.”

    Wallace smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

    Gail watched him for a moment, then nodded. “No pressure. Just… if you ever want to talk, I’m around.”

    Wallace nodded, grateful and terrified all at once.

    Dinner was a blur of trays and chatter. Wallace moved through the motions-soup, bread, fruit-his mind elsewhere. He watched Jay joke with a group of teens, saw the way Gail floated from table to table, laughing and listening. He envied their ease, their confidence.

    After cleanup, Wallace found himself in the kitchen, washing dishes with Mrs. Kowalski. The old woman hummed hymns under her breath, her hands red from the hot water.

    “You’re a good boy, Wallace,” she said suddenly.

    He flinched, nearly dropping a plate. “Thanks.”

    She glanced at him, her eyes sharp. “You remind me of my granddaughter. Always helping, always worrying.”

    Wallace swallowed. “Is she… okay?”

    Mrs. Kowalski smiled, sad and proud. “She’s herself. That’s all I ever wanted for her.”

    Wallace blinked back tears. “That’s… good.”

    Mrs. Kowalski patted his hand. “Don’t let anyone tell you who you are, dear. Not even yourself.”

    Wallace nodded, unable to speak.

    He left the shelter as the sun was setting, the sky streaked with orange and purple. Gail walked with him to the bus stop, their shadows long on the sidewalk.

    “You did good today,” Gail said.

    Wallace shrugged. “I just played chess and lost at Uno.”

    Gail grinned. “You made Jay smile. That’s a win in my book.”

    They stood in silence, the evening air cool and gentle. Wallace wanted to say something-to ask how Gail made it look so easy, to confess the ache in his chest-but the words tangled in his throat.

    The bus rumbled up, headlights cutting through the dusk. Gail squeezed his shoulder. “See you tomorrow?”

    Wallace nodded. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

    He boarded the bus and watched Gail wave as it pulled away. The city blurred past the windows-neon signs, darkened storefronts, families gathered on porches. Wallace pressed his forehead to the glass and closed his eyes.

    At home, the house was quiet. His parents were in the living room, the TV tuned to a news channel. His father glanced up as Wallace slipped through the door.

    “You’re late,” he said.

    “Sorry. We had a lot of dishes.”

    His mother frowned. “You need to focus on your responsibilities, Wallace. Not waste time with those people.”

    Wallace nodded, biting back a retort. He climbed the stairs to his room, the familiar ache settling in his chest.

    He sat on his bed and pulled out his phone. A new message from Gail waited for him.

    Gail:You’re not alone, you know. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.

    Wallace stared at the screen, tears pricking his eyes. He typed a reply, then deleted it. He didn’t know what to say.

    He set his phone aside and stared at the ceiling. He thought about Jay, about Mrs. Kowalski’s granddaughter, about the way Gail moved through the world like she belonged.

    He wanted that. He wanted to be seen, to be real.

    He closed his eyes and made a wish-not out loud, not even in words. Just a silent, desperate hope that tomorrow would be different.

    The next morning, Wallace arrived at the shelter early. The air was crisp, the sky washed clean by the night’s rain. He found Jay sitting on the steps, knees drawn to their chest.

    “Hey,” Wallace said, sitting beside them.

    Jay glanced over, eyes red. “Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

    Wallace hesitated, then offered, “You could crash at my place. My folks… they’d freak, but I could sneak you in.”

    Jay shook their head. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Just needed somewhere to sit.”

    They sat in silence, the city waking around them.

    “You’re a good person, Wallace,” Jay said quietly.

    Wallace looked away. “I’m just trying.”

    Jay smiled, small and real. “That’s enough.”

    The shelter doors opened, and Gail stepped out, waving. “Come on, you two. Breakfast isn’t going to eat itself.”

    They stood, stretching stiff limbs. Jay nudged Wallace. “Thanks.”

    Wallace smiled. “Anytime.”

    Inside, the shelter was warm and bright. Wallace felt something shift in his chest-a tiny spark of hope, fragile but real.

    He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But for now, he had friends, and kindness, and the promise of something more.

    And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

    Chapter 3: The First Stand

    The next week at the shelter was a blur of routine: trays of soup, stacks of napkins, and the steady, comforting rhythm of chores. Wallace found solace in the repetition. He liked the way the shelter’s chaos faded into the background when he was busy, the way he could lose himself in the simple act of helping. Each night, he left feeling a little less invisible, a little more real.

    But on Friday, everything changed.

    It started like any other afternoon. Wallace arrived early, his backpack slung over one shoulder, the sleeves of his polo rolled up against the heat. He found Gail in the kitchen, humming along to a playlist on her phone as she chopped carrots with the confidence of someone who’d done it a thousand times.

    “Hey, chef,” Wallace greeted, grabbing an apron from the hook.

    Gail grinned. “Hey yourself. You ready for another round of ‘guess what’s in the soup’?”

    He laughed. “As long as it’s not last week’s mystery meat.”

    Gail leaned in, her voice low. “Between you and me, I think the mystery is that it’s not actually meat.”

    Wallace snorted, and for a moment, the world felt light and easy.

    Jay arrived a few minutes later, their backpack slung low, eyes ringed with exhaustion. Wallace waved them over, and together the three fell into their usual routine: prepping vegetables, setting tables, and trading quiet jokes.

    As the afternoon wore on, the shelter filled with the usual crowd: tired parents with restless children, teens with nowhere else to go, and the older regulars who knew the staff by name. Wallace liked the way the shelter felt at this hour-alive, hopeful, a little less lonely.

    But then the city officials arrived.

    They came in pairs: two men in crisp shirts and shiny shoes, clipboards in hand. Wallace recognized them from previous visits. They always walked through the shelter like they owned it, noses wrinkled at the smell of sweat and soup, eyes darting over the guests as if searching for trouble.

    Pastor Mark greeted them at the door, his smile tight. “Gentlemen. What brings you by today?”

    “Routine check,” the taller official said, glancing around. “We’ve had complaints about… inappropriate conduct in the restrooms.”

    Wallace stiffened. He saw Jay freeze, their hands tightening on their backpack.

    “We run a clean operation,” Pastor Mark said, voice clipped. “But you’re welcome to look around.”

    The officials nodded and split up, one heading for the kitchen, the other making a beeline for the bathrooms. Wallace’s heart pounded. He caught Gail’s eye, and she gave him a worried look.

    Jay slipped away from the table, shoulders hunched. Wallace followed, his gut twisting.

    He found Jay in the hallway outside the restrooms, eyes darting nervously.

    “They always do this,” Jay whispered. “Last time, they made me show them my ID. Said I was in the wrong bathroom.”

    Wallace swallowed. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

    Jay shook their head. “Doesn’t matter. They don’t care.”

    The official rounded the corner, clipboard in hand. He looked at Jay, then at the sign on the bathroom door: All Genders Welcome-a sign Gail had made and taped up herself.

    “You,” the official said, pointing at Jay. “What’s your name?”

    Jay’s mouth worked silently for a moment. “Jay.”

    “Full name.”

    Jay hesitated. “Jaylin Rivera.”

    The official scribbled something on his clipboard. “And what are your pronouns?”

    Jay’s cheeks flushed. “They/them.”

    The official’s lips thinned. “And which restroom did you use?”

    Jay’s voice was barely audible. “The one on the left.”

    The official turned to Pastor Mark, who had appeared behind them. “Is this… policy? Letting anyone use any restroom?”

    Pastor Mark’s eyes flicked to Jay, then to Wallace. “We try to accommodate everyone, but we also have to follow city guidelines.”

    The official nodded. “I’ll need to see your ID, Jaylin.”

    Jay fumbled in their backpack, hands shaking. Wallace watched, anger rising in his chest.

    “Is this really necessary?” Wallace asked, stepping forward.

    The official ignored him. “ID, please.”

    Jay handed over a battered wallet. The official flipped through the cards, then held up Jay’s school ID.

    “This says ‘female.’” He looked at Jay, then at the bathroom door. “You used the men’s room?”

    Jay shook their head. “I used the all-gender one.”

    The official sighed, as if inconvenienced. “You need to use the restroom that matches your legal gender. That’s the policy.”

    Wallace’s hands clenched into fists. “That’s not fair. The sign says ‘all genders.’”

    The official turned on him. “And you are?”

    Wallace swallowed. “Just a volunteer. But this isn’t right.”

    Pastor Mark stepped in, his voice smooth. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Thank you, gentlemen.”

    The officials nodded and walked away, satisfied. Jay stared at the floor, shoulders shaking.

    Wallace put a hand on their arm. “I’m sorry.”

    Jay shrugged him off, tears in their eyes. “Don’t. It’s always like this.”

    Gail appeared, face stormy. “What happened?”

    Wallace explained, voice trembling with anger. Gail’s jaw tightened.

    “This is bullshit,” she said. “We’re supposed to be helping people, not making them feel worse.”

    Pastor Mark returned, his expression hard. “I need to speak with you, Wallace. Now.”

    Wallace followed him to the office, dread pooling in his stomach.

    Pastor Mark closed the door and leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “You need to learn your place, Wallace. We have rules for a reason. If you can’t follow them, maybe this isn’t the right place for you.”

    Wallace stared at the floor. “I just wanted to help.”

    Pastor Mark’s voice softened, but his eyes were cold. “You’re a good kid. But you need to remember who you are. Don’t get involved in things you don’t understand.”

    Wallace nodded, biting back tears. “Yes, sir.”

    Pastor Mark dismissed him with a wave.

    Wallace left the office, heart pounding. He found Gail and Jay in the rec room, both looking shaken.

    “You okay?” Gail asked.

    Jay shook their head. “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here.”

    Wallace grabbed their arm. “Don’t. Please. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

    Jay looked at him, eyes wide and scared. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll just keep coming after me. After people like me.”

    Wallace’s anger flared. “Then we’ll fight back. We’ll make them see us.”

    Gail smiled, fierce and proud. “Damn right we will.”

    Jay hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay. For now.”

    They spent the rest of the evening together, playing cards and telling stories. Wallace felt something shift inside him-a sense of purpose, a spark of hope.

    After dinner, as they cleaned up, Gail pulled Wallace aside.

    “You did good today,” she said. “Standing up for Jay. That took guts.”

    Wallace shrugged. “It didn’t feel like enough.”

    “It was,” Gail said. “You made a difference.”

    Wallace smiled, the weight in his chest a little lighter.

    As they left the shelter, Jay hugged them both. “Thanks. For everything.”

    Wallace watched them disappear into the night, hope flickering in his chest.

    At home, Wallace’s parents were waiting.

    His father sat at the kitchen table, Bible open in front of him. His mother hovered by the stove, arms crossed.

    “Sit,” his father said.

    Wallace obeyed, heart pounding.

    “We got a call from Pastor Mark,” his mother said. “He said you were… disruptive.”

    Wallace swallowed. “I was just trying to help.”

    His father’s eyes narrowed. “You embarrassed the church. You embarrassed us.”

    Wallace looked at his hands. “I’m sorry.”

    His mother sighed. “We just want what’s best for you, Wallace. You need to remember who you are.”

    Wallace nodded, but inside, something was breaking.

    That night, Wallace lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He thought about Jay, about Gail, about the way Pastor Mark’s words had stung.

    He wanted to be someone else. He wanted to be brave.

    He closed his eyes and made a wish-a real wish, whispered into the darkness.

    “I wish I could be myself. I wish I could help. I wish I could be real.”

    He fell asleep with tears on his cheeks.

    He dreamed of the shelter, of laughter and light. He saw Gail, smiling, reaching out her hand. He saw Jay, standing tall and proud. He saw himself-not Wallace, but someone new. Someone whole.

    A voice whispered in his ear, soft and kind.

    “Your heart will be rewarded.”

    He woke with the sunrise, hope blooming in his chest.

    Chapter 4: The Mysterious Guest

    The next morning, Wallace woke to the sound of rain tapping against his window. For a moment, he lay still, letting the gray light fill his room. His pillow was damp from tears he barely remembered shedding. His wish from the night before echoed in his mind, fragile and impossible.

    He moved through the motions of breakfast in a haze. His mother’s voice was sharp as ever-reminding him to tuck in his shirt, to “act like a young man,” to remember Pastor Mark’s “good advice.” Wallace nodded, barely listening. He felt like a ghost in his own home, a shadow slipping from room to room.

    At the shelter, the storm had driven most of the guests indoors early. The air was thick with the smell of wet clothes and instant coffee. Wallace shook out his umbrella and slipped into the kitchen, where Gail was already stacking trays of bread.

    “Morning, sunshine,” she teased, but her eyes were gentle. “Rough night?”

    Wallace shrugged. “Just tired.”

    Gail handed him a mug of cocoa, the steam curling between them. “You know, you don’t have to do this alone.”

    He looked at her, searching for the words. “Do you ever feel like… you’re not really here? Like you’re just pretending to be someone?”

    Gail’s smile faded. “All the time, before I came out. But you can talk to me, Wallace. Really.”

    He nodded, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he sipped the cocoa and watched the rain streak down the window.

    The morning passed in a blur of chores. Wallace helped Mrs. Kowalski sort donated clothes, then joined Jay in the rec room for a game of checkers. Jay was quieter than usual, their eyes flicking to the door every time it opened.

    “Are you okay?” Wallace asked, moving his piece.

    Jay shrugged. “Just tired of fighting. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear.”

    Wallace nodded. “Me too.”

    Jay glanced at him, something like understanding passing between them.

    Lunch was busier than usual. The shelter’s regulars shuffled in, shaking off umbrellas and muttering about the weather. Wallace moved through the dining hall, refilling coffee cups and trading quiet jokes with the guests. He felt a little lighter, a little more himself.

    That’s when he saw her.

    She was sitting alone at a table near the window, her gray hair pulled back in a loose braid. Her raincoat was patched and faded, her hands small and birdlike around a chipped mug. She watched the room with sharp, clear eyes, missing nothing.

    Wallace brought her a fresh cup of coffee. “Would you like some soup, ma’am?”

    She smiled, her eyes crinkling. “Thank you, dear. That would be lovely.”

    He brought her a bowl and sat across from her, curiosity getting the better of him. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

    She stirred her soup, her gaze never leaving his face. “I don’t come often. Only when the weather calls for it.”

    Wallace smiled, unsure what to say.

    She studied him for a moment, then leaned in. “You have a kind heart, Wallace. But you carry a heavy burden.”

    He blinked, startled. “I-I guess.”

    She reached across the table and patted his hand. Her touch was warm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Kindness is rare in this world. Don’t let anyone take it from you.”

    Wallace swallowed, his throat tight. “I’ll try.”

    She smiled again, then sipped her soup. “You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who wished to be seen.”

    He looked down, embarrassed. “I don’t think anyone really sees me.”

    She tilted her head. “Perhaps you haven’t looked in the right mirror.”

    Before he could respond, Gail appeared at his side. “Everything okay here?”

    Wallace nodded. “Just talking.”

    Gail smiled at the woman. “If you need anything, let us know.”

    The woman’s eyes twinkled. “Thank you, dear. You’re both very lucky to have each other.”

    Gail blushed, and Wallace felt his cheeks warm as well.

    They moved on to the next table, but Wallace kept glancing back at the woman. There was something about her-something familiar and strange all at once.

    After lunch, Wallace found Jay sitting in the hallway, staring out at the rain.

    “Hey,” he said, sitting beside them.

    Jay didn’t look away from the window. “Do you ever feel like you’re waiting for something? Like… something big is supposed to happen, but you don’t know what?”

    Wallace nodded. “Yeah. I feel like that all the time.”

    Jay sighed. “I just want things to be different. I want to be different.”

    Wallace hesitated, then said, “I made a wish last night. I wished I could be myself. I don’t know if it’ll ever come true.”

    Jay looked at him, hope flickering in their eyes. “Maybe it will. Maybe we just have to wait.”

    They sat in silence, watching the rain.

    That afternoon, the shelter was quieter. Most of the guests had drifted off for naps or disappeared into the city. Wallace found himself in the kitchen, washing dishes with Mrs. Kowalski.

    “You’re a good boy, Wallace,” she said, scrubbing a stubborn stain. “But you look sad.”

    He shrugged. “Just thinking.”

    She patted his arm. “Don’t think too much. Just be kind. The rest will follow.”

    He smiled, grateful for her simple wisdom.

    As he finished the last of the dishes, he noticed something on the counter-a folded note, written on a napkin. He picked it up, recognizing the neat, looping script.

    Your heart will be rewarded. Look for the mirror that shows you as you are.

    There was no signature, but he knew who had written it.

    He found the woman near the door, buttoning her raincoat. “Thank you for the note,” he said softly.

    She smiled. “You’re welcome, dear. Remember-kindness is its own reward. But sometimes, the world gives back.”

    She pressed something into his hand-a small, polished stone, smooth and warm.

    “For luck,” she said, then slipped out into the rain.

    Wallace stared at the stone, turning it over in his palm. It was carved with a symbol-a moth, its wings spread wide.

    He slipped it into his pocket, feeling its weight.

    That evening, Wallace stayed late to help Gail clean up. The rain had stopped, and the city glowed with the wet shine of streetlights.

    “Who was that woman?” Gail asked as they stacked chairs.

    “I don’t know,” Wallace admitted. “But she said some… interesting things.”

    Gail grinned. “Maybe she’s a fairy godmother.”

    Wallace laughed. “If only.”

    They finished cleaning, then sat together on the front steps, watching the world grow quiet.

    “Do you ever wish you could start over?” Wallace asked.

    Gail considered. “Sometimes. But I think… I’d rather just be seen for who I am.”

    Wallace nodded. “Me too.”

    Gail nudged him. “You know, you can talk to me. About anything.”

    He hesitated, then whispered, “I wish I could tell my parents. I wish I could just… be myself.”

    Gail put her arm around his shoulders. “You will. When you’re ready.”

    They sat in silence, the city humming around them.

    When Wallace got home, the house was dark. His parents were already in bed. He crept upstairs, the moth stone heavy in his pocket.

    He stood in front of his mirror, studying his reflection. He saw the same tired eyes, the same uncertain smile. But for a moment, he imagined something different-a softer face, longer hair, a body that matched the person he felt inside.

    He touched the stone, closing his eyes.

    “I wish I could be her,” he whispered. “I wish I could be real.”

    He slipped into bed, the stone clutched in his hand.

    He dreamed of the shelter, of laughter and light. He saw Gail, smiling, reaching out her hand. He saw Jay, standing tall and proud. He saw himself-not Wallace, but someone new. Someone whole.

    A voice whispered in his ear, soft and kind.

    Your heart will be rewarded.

    He woke with the sunrise, hope blooming in his chest.

    The next morning, Wallace arrived at the shelter early. The air was crisp, the sky washed clean by the night’s rain. He found Jay sitting on the steps, knees drawn to their chest.

    “Hey,” Wallace said, sitting beside them.

    Jay glanced over, eyes red. “Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

    Wallace hesitated, then offered, “I've seen this movie before, I feel. I wish that I could help you find a place where you could belong.”

    Jay shook their head. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Just needed somewhere to sit.”

    Once more they sat in silence, once more the city woke around them.

    “There's something about you today, something different” Jay said quietly.

    Wallace looked away. “Maybe, I’ve got a tiny bit of hope.”

    Jay smiled, small and real. “That’s amazing.”

    The shelter doors opened, and Gail stepped out, waving. “Come on, you two. Breakfast is waiting.”

    They stood, stretching stiff limbs. Jay nudged Wallace like it had become a habit. “Thanks.”

    Wallace smiled. “Of course.”

    Inside, the shelter was warm and bright. Wallace felt something shift in his chest-a tiny spark of hope, fragile but real.

    He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But for now, he had friends, and kindness, and the promise of something more.

    And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

    Chapter 5: The Wish

    Wallace’s alarm buzzed at 6:00 AM, slicing through the last remnants of a restless dream. For a moment, he lay still, the moth stone warm in his palm. He’d slept with it clutched in his hand, half-hoping the promise of the mysterious guest would seep into his bones overnight. But when he opened his eyes, the same old ceiling greeted him, cracked and water-stained.

    His mother’s voice rose from downstairs. “Wallace! Breakfast! Don’t make us late for church.”

    He dressed in silence, tugging on the stiff button-down his mother had ironed the night before. The collar chafed his neck, and the pants felt too tight, but he didn’t complain. He’d learned long ago that arguing only made things worse.

    At the breakfast table, his father sat with the Bible open, reading glasses perched on his nose. His mother poured coffee, her lips pressed into a thin line.

    “Eat quickly,” she said, sliding a plate of eggs toward him. “We’re sitting in the front row today. Pastor Mark asked your father to read the scripture.”

    Wallace nodded, forcing down a bite. The food tasted like cardboard.

    His father looked up, eyes sharp. “Are you ready to serve, son?”

    Wallace nodded again, the word sticking in his throat. “Yes, sir.”

    His mother eyed him. “You’ve been quiet lately. Is something wrong at the shelter?”

    He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Everything’s fine.”

    She pursed her lips. “We heard about the incident with that… girl. Jay. Pastor Mark said you were involved.”

    Wallace’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “I was just trying to help.”

    His father’s voice hardened. “You need to be careful, Wallace. People will talk. We don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about our family.”

    Wallace swallowed, the eggs turning to paste in his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

    His mother reached across the table, her hand cool on his. “We love you, Wallace. We just want what’s best for you. Remember that.”

    He nodded, but the words felt hollow. He finished his breakfast in silence, the moth stone heavy in his pocket.

    Church was a blur of hymns and sermons. Wallace sat in the front row, hands folded, eyes fixed on the cross above the altar. Pastor Mark’s voice thundered through the sanctuary, preaching about sin and redemption, about the dangers of “deviant lifestyles.” Wallace felt the weight of every eye on him, every whispered prayer a judgment.

    After the service, his father shook hands with the other men, his mother chatted with the ladies’ circle, and Wallace stood alone by the door, wishing he could disappear.

    Gail found him there, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, her dress a riot of sunflowers.

    “Hey,” she said, bumping his shoulder. “You okay?”

    He managed a smile. “Just tired.”

    She studied him, her eyes soft. “Want to get out of here? I brought my bike.”

    He hesitated, glancing at his parents. They were deep in conversation, not paying attention.

    “Come on,” Gail whispered. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

    He nodded, relief flooding him.

    They slipped out the side door and walked to the park, Gail wheeling her bike beside them. The air was cool and fresh, the grass still wet from last night’s rain.

    They found a bench beneath an old oak tree, its branches heavy with leaves. Gail sat cross-legged, her dress pooling around her knees.

    “Talk to me,” she said gently.

    Wallace stared at his hands. “I don’t know what to say.”

    “Start anywhere.”

    He took a shaky breath. “I feel… lost. Like I’m not really here. Like I’m just pretending to be someone I’m not.”

    Gail nodded. “I get that. I felt that way before I came out. It’s like you’re wearing someone else’s skin.”

    He looked at her, hope flickering in his chest. “How did you do it? How did you tell your parents?”

    She smiled, sad and proud. “I just… couldn’t keep lying. I told them I was gay, and that was that. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. I could finally breathe.”

    Wallace’s voice was barely a whisper. “I wish I could do that.”

    “You can,” she said. “When you’re ready. And when you do, I’ll be right here.”

    He nodded, tears stinging his eyes.

    They sat in silence, the breeze rustling the leaves above them.

    After a while, Gail nudged him. “Let’s go get ice cream. My treat.”

    He managed a smile. “Okay.”

    They walked to the corner store, bought cones, and sat on the curb, licking melting vanilla and chocolate. For a moment, Wallace felt almost normal, almost happy.

    Gail grinned at him, ice cream smudged on her nose. “See? Life’s not so bad.”

    He laughed, the sound surprising and bright.

    That evening, Wallace returned home to find his parents waiting in the living room.

    His father stood, arms crossed. “We need to talk.”

    Wallace’s stomach dropped. “About what?”

    His mother’s voice was tight. “Pastor Mark called. He said you’ve been spending too much time with that girl. Gail.”

    Wallace’s heart pounded. “She’s just a friend.”

    His father’s eyes narrowed. “She’s a bad influence. We don’t want you seeing her anymore.”

    Wallace’s hands clenched. “She’s my friend.”

    His mother’s voice was sharp. “You will do as you’re told, Wallace.”

    He shook his head, anger rising. “Why? Because she’s different? Because she’s not ashamed of who she is?”

    His father’s voice thundered. “Enough! Go to your room. Now.”

    Wallace fled upstairs, slamming the door behind him. He collapsed on his bed, the moth stone digging into his palm.

    He stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down his face.

    “I wish I could be myself,” he whispered. “I wish I could be real. I wish I could be free.”

    He clutched the stone to his chest, the words tumbling out in a desperate prayer.

    “Please. Let me be me. Let me be seen. Let me be loved.”

    The room seemed to grow quiet, the air thick with possibility.

    He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

    He dreamed of the shelter, of laughter and light. He saw Gail, smiling, reaching out her hand. He saw Jay, standing tall and proud. He saw himself-not Wallace, but someone new. Someone whole.

    A voice whispered in his ear, soft and kind.

    Your heart will be rewarded.

    He woke with a start, the morning sun streaming through the window.

    For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The room looked the same, but everything felt different.

    He sat up, the moth stone still clutched in his hand.

    He stood and walked to the mirror.

    He gasped.

    The face that stared back at him was not Wallace’s. The jaw was softer, the hair longer, the eyes brighter. The body was different, too-curves where there had been none, a shape that felt right in a way he’d never known.

    He touched his cheek, his lips, his hair.

    He was… herself.

    She was Dora.

    Tears streamed down her face, joy and fear and wonder mingling in her chest.

    She spun, laughing and crying all at once.

    She was real.

    She was free.

    Dora dressed quickly, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt. The clothes hung differently now, but she didn’t care. She ran downstairs, heart pounding.

    Her parents were gone. The house was silent.

    She found a note on the kitchen table.

    Gone to church. Be home late. Love, Mom.

    She stared at the note, her hands trembling.

    She grabbed her backpack and ran out the door.

    At the shelter, Gail was already there, setting up the breakfast table.

    Dora hesitated in the doorway, fear and hope warring in her chest.

    Gail looked up and froze, her eyes wide.

    “Wallace?” she whispered.

    Dora nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “It’s me. I-I don’t know how, but it’s me.”

    Gail rushed to her, pulling her into a fierce hug.

    “Oh my god,” Gail whispered. “You’re… you.”

    Dora laughed, the sound bright and wild. “I’m me.”

    They clung to each other, the world spinning around them.

    Jay appeared in the doorway, rubbing their eyes. They stared at Dora, confusion and wonder on their face.

    “Who…?”

    Gail smiled, tears shining in her eyes. “This is Dora. She’s… she’s our friend.”

    Jay grinned, understanding dawning. “You did it,” they whispered. “You’re real.”

    Dora nodded, joy flooding her chest.

    She was real.

    She was free.

    She was Dora.

    The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Dora and Gail worked side by side, laughter and wonder filling the air. Jay joined them, their smile brighter than Dora had ever seen.

    The guests arrived, and Dora moved among them, her heart light. No one questioned her presence. No one called her by her old name. She was just Dora, a new volunteer, a new friend.

    At lunch, Mrs. Kowalski pulled her aside.

    “You look happy, dear,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

    Dora smiled. “I am.”

    Mrs. Kowalski patted her hand. “Good. You deserve it.”

    Dora hugged her, gratitude swelling in her chest.

    That afternoon, Dora found the moth stone in her pocket. She turned it over in her hand, marveling at the way it caught the light.

    She thought of the mysterious guest, of her gentle words.

    Chapter 6: Becoming Dora

    Dora stood in the shelter’s bathroom, clutching the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection as if it belonged to someone else. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making her skin look almost translucent, her eyes impossibly bright. She touched her cheek-soft, smooth, no trace of stubble or shadow. Her hair brushed her shoulders, wavy and untamed. Her body was unfamiliar, yet it felt right, as if she’d finally slipped into skin that fit.

    She turned this way and that, marveling at the curve of her hips, the gentle slope of her jaw. Her hands trembled as she traced the lines of her face, her lips, her neck. She wanted to laugh and cry all at once.

    But fear crept in, cold and sharp. What if this was a dream? What if she woke up and it was all gone?

    A knock sounded on the door. “Dora?” Gail’s voice was gentle, uncertain.

    Dora opened the door, her heart pounding. Gail stood in the hallway, eyes wide, her mouth hanging open.

    “Oh my god,” Gail whispered. “It’s really you.”

    Dora nodded, tears springing to her eyes. “I don’t know how, but… I’m me. I’m really me.”

    Gail pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. Dora clung to her, burying her face in Gail’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of lavender and soap.

    They stood like that for a long moment, the world narrowing to the warmth of Gail’s arms.

    When they finally pulled apart, Gail wiped her eyes. “You look amazing. I mean, you always did, but… wow.”

    Dora laughed, the sound bubbling out of her. “I feel amazing. But I’m also terrified.”

    Gail squeezed her hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

    They walked back to the kitchen, where Jay was setting out plates. Jay looked up, their eyes widening as they took in Dora’s new appearance.

    “Whoa,” Jay breathed. “You… you did it.”

    Dora smiled, shy and proud. “I guess I did.”

    Jay grinned and pulled her into a hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

    Dora hugged them back, gratitude swelling in her chest.

    The three of them worked side by side, preparing breakfast for the shelter’s guests. Dora moved through the motions, still half-expecting someone to call her by her old name, to ask what she was doing there. But no one did. To everyone else, she was just Dora-a new volunteer, a new friend.

    As the morning wore on, Dora grew bolder. She chatted with the guests, refilled coffee cups, and even joined a group of kids for a game of cards. She felt lighter, freer, as if a weight she hadn’t known she was carrying had finally been lifted.

    But beneath the joy, anxiety simmered. What would happen when her parents came looking for her? What would Pastor Mark say? Would anyone believe she was who she said she was?

    After breakfast, Dora slipped outside for some air. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air crisp and clean after the rain. She sat on the steps, hugging her knees to her chest, watching the world go by.

    Gail joined her, sitting close. “How are you holding up?”

    Dora shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel… happy. But also scared. What if this isn’t real? What if I wake up tomorrow and it’s all gone?”

    Gail reached for her hand. “It’s real. I don’t know how, but it is. And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

    Dora squeezed her hand, comforted by the warmth of Gail’s touch.

    They sat in silence for a while, watching the clouds drift across the sky.

    Eventually, Jay joined them, flopping down on the steps. “So, what now?”

    Dora shook her head. “I have no idea. I don’t even know how to… be a girl. I mean, I know what I feel, but I don’t know anything about… clothes, or makeup, or… anything.”

    Gail grinned. “Lucky for you, you’ve got me. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

    Jay laughed. “And I’ll help too. We’ll make you the coolest girl in town.”

    Dora smiled, her anxiety easing. Maybe she didn’t have all the answers, but she had friends. She had hope.

    The shelter was busier than usual that afternoon. Word had spread about the new volunteer, and people were curious. Dora did her best to blend in, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching her.

    She caught Mrs. Kowalski’s eye as she passed by with a tray of sandwiches. The old woman smiled, her eyes twinkling. “You look happy, dear.”

    Dora blushed. “I am. Thank you.”

    Mrs. Kowalski patted her hand. “Good. You deserve it.”

    Dora carried the tray to the dining hall, her heart light.

    But not everyone was so welcoming.

    Pastor Mark arrived just before dinner, his presence sending a ripple of unease through the room. He strode through the shelter, greeting guests with a practiced smile, but his eyes were cold and sharp.

    He spotted Dora and frowned. “Who are you?”

    Dora swallowed, her hands trembling. “I’m Dora. I’m… new.”

    Pastor Mark studied her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on her face. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

    Dora shook her head, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t think so.”

    He grunted, unconvinced. “Where are you from?”

    Dora hesitated. “I… I don’t really have a home right now.”

    Pastor Mark’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t usually take on new volunteers without a background check. Who approved you?”

    Gail stepped in, her voice steady. “I did. Dora’s with me.”

    Pastor Mark’s frown deepened. “We’ll need to talk about this, Gail. I don’t like surprises.”

    Gail nodded, unfazed. “Of course, Pastor Mark.”

    He stalked off, muttering to himself.

    Dora let out a shaky breath. “That was close.”

    Gail squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

    Dora smiled, grateful for Gail’s confidence.

    After dinner, Dora helped clean up, her mind racing. She knew she couldn’t hide forever. Sooner or later, someone would start asking questions.

    She found Gail in the kitchen, wiping down the counters.

    “What if he finds out?” Dora whispered. “What if he figures out who I am?”

    Gail shook her head. “He won’t. And even if he does, we’ll deal with it. You’re not alone anymore.”

    Dora nodded, comforted by Gail’s certainty.

    They finished cleaning in silence, the tension between them easing.

    That night, Dora slept at Gail’s house. Gail’s parents were away for the weekend, and the house felt warm and safe. They stayed up late, watching movies and painting their nails. Gail taught Dora how to braid her hair, how to apply mascara without poking herself in the eye.

    Dora laughed, the sound bright and free. For the first time, she felt like she belonged.

    As they lay in their sleeping bags, Gail turned to her. “You know, you’re pretty brave.”

    Dora shook her head. “I’m scared all the time.”

    Gail smiled. “That’s what makes you brave. You keep going, even when you’re scared.”

    Dora blushed, looking away. “Thank you. For everything.”

    Gail reached for her hand, their fingers intertwining. “Anytime.”

    They fell asleep like that, hands clasped, hearts full.

    The next morning, Dora woke to sunlight streaming through the window. She stretched, savoring the feel of her new body, the way her hair fell across her face.

    She dressed in borrowed clothes-jeans and a soft t-shirt-and joined Gail in the kitchen for breakfast.

    Gail grinned as she poured cereal. “Ready for your first real day as Dora?”

    Dora smiled, nerves fluttering in her stomach. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

    They walked to the shelter together, the city alive with the sounds of morning.

    At the shelter, Jay greeted them with a wave. “Hey, Dora! Ready to take on the world?”

    Dora laughed. “Let’s do it.”

    They spent the day working side by side, serving meals, cleaning up, and chatting with the guests. Dora felt more confident, more herself with every passing hour.

    But as the sun began to set, Pastor Mark called a meeting in his office.

    Gail squeezed Dora’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right there with you.”

    They entered the office together, Jay trailing behind.

    Pastor Mark sat behind his desk, his expression stern. “I’ve been looking into your background, Dora. There’s no record of you anywhere. No school, no address, nothing.”

    Dora’s heart pounded. “I… I don’t have a home right now. My family… we’re not in touch.”

    Pastor Mark’s eyes narrowed. “That’s very unusual. I don’t like mysteries in my shelter.”

    Gail spoke up, her voice steady. “Dora’s with me. She’s a good person. She deserves a chance.”

    Pastor Mark studied them for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you. One mistake, and you’re out.”

    Dora nodded, relief flooding her chest. “Thank you.”

    He waved them out, his gaze lingering on Dora.

    Outside the office, Gail hugged Dora. “See? We’ve got this.”

    Dora smiled, hope blooming in her chest.

    They spent the evening together, laughing and talking, the fear of discovery fading in the warmth of friendship.

    As Dora lay in bed that night, she thought of the journey ahead. She knew there would be challenges, that not everyone would accept her. But she also knew she wasn’t alone.

    She was Dora. She was real. And for the first time, she was ready to face the world.

    Kindness is its own reward. But sometimes, the world gives back.

    Dora smiled, hope blooming in her chest.

    She was Dora.

    She was real.

    Chapter 7: The First Test

    Dora woke to the sound of birdsong and sunlight streaming through the unfamiliar window of Gail’s guest room. For a moment, she lay still, letting the warmth seep into her bones. She stretched, marveling at the way her body moved-still new, still wondrous, but already beginning to feel like home.

    Downstairs, she could hear the clatter of breakfast. The scent of coffee and frying eggs drifted up the stairs, mingling with the distant laughter of Gail and her parents. Dora sat up, nerves fluttering in her stomach. Today would be her first full day as Dora-no more hiding, no more pretending. But the thought filled her with both excitement and dread.

    She dressed in borrowed clothes-soft jeans, a faded t-shirt, and a hoodie that smelled faintly of lavender. She brushed her hair, still amazed at the way it fell around her face, and studied herself in the mirror. Her heart thudded. You can do this, she told herself. You are Dora. You belong.

    Downstairs, Gail’s mother greeted her with a warm smile. “Good morning, Dora! Did you sleep well?”

    Dora nodded, shy but grateful. “Yes, thank you. Your house is really nice.”

    Gail’s father looked up from his newspaper, his expression gentle. “We’re glad to have you here. Gail tells us you’re quite the helper at the shelter.”

    Dora blushed. “I try.”

    Gail grinned, sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. “You do more than try. You’re amazing.”

    Dora ducked her head, but she couldn’t help smiling. The warmth of Gail’s family was a balm, easing some of the ache left by her own.

    After breakfast, Gail’s mother handed Dora a small canvas bag. “A few things you might need-hair ties, a brush, some lip balm. And a notebook, in case you want to write.”

    Dora’s breath caught. “Thank you. I… I don’t know what to say.”

    Gail’s mother squeezed her hand. “Just say you’ll let us know if you need anything else.”

    Dora nodded, tears prickling her eyes. For the first time, she felt the possibility of being part of a family that saw her, not just tolerated her.

    At the shelter, the mood was different. Word had spread about the “new girl,” and Dora could feel eyes on her as she walked in with Gail. Some of the regulars smiled and waved, but others whispered behind their hands, their gazes lingering a little too long.

    Jay greeted her at the door, their grin wide. “Hey, Dora! Ready for round two?”

    Dora laughed, nerves easing. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

    They set to work, prepping lunch and sorting donations. Dora found herself falling into the rhythm of the shelter, her hands remembering the movements even as her mind raced with new worries.

    But it didn’t take long for the first test to come.

    As Dora carried a box of canned goods to the pantry, she overheard two volunteers whispering near the door.

    “Did you hear about her? She just showed up out of nowhere.”

    “I heard she doesn’t have any family. Weird, right?”

    “She looks familiar. I swear I’ve seen her before.”

    Dora’s cheeks burned. She ducked her head, focusing on the task at hand, but the words clung to her like burrs.

    Later, while setting out plates in the dining hall, she caught Pastor Mark watching her from across the room. His gaze was sharp, assessing. He approached, his footsteps measured.

    “Dora, is it?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

    Dora nodded, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

    He studied her for a long moment. “You’ve made quite an impression. Gail speaks highly of you.”

    Dora swallowed. “I’m just trying to help.”

    He nodded, but his expression didn’t soften. “We value honesty here. I expect all our volunteers to be upfront about their backgrounds.”

    Dora’s heart pounded. “I understand.”

    He leaned in, his voice low. “I’ll be watching. We can’t afford surprises.”

    Dora nodded again, relief flooding her as he walked away. She tried to shake off the encounter, but his words echoed in her mind.

    At lunch, Dora sat with Jay and Gail, picking at her food.

    “You okay?” Jay asked, concern in their eyes.

    Dora shrugged. “Just… feeling out of place.”

    Gail squeezed her hand under the table. “You belong here. Don’t let them get to you.”

    Jay nodded. “People are just curious. They’ll get used to you.”

    Dora managed a smile, grateful for their support.

    After lunch, she helped Mrs. Kowalski in the kitchen. The old woman hummed as she chopped vegetables, her hands steady and sure.

    “You’re a good worker, Dora,” she said. “Reminds me of my granddaughter.”

    Dora smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “Thank you.”

    Mrs. Kowalski glanced at her, eyes twinkling. “Don’t let the whispers bother you. People fear what they don’t understand. Give them time.”

    Dora nodded, comforted by the woman’s wisdom.

    The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of chores and small victories. Dora helped a young mother find clothes for her children, played cards with a group of teens, and even managed to make a few of the regulars laugh with her awkward jokes.

    But as the sun began to set, tension returned. Pastor Mark called a meeting in the main hall, his expression grave.

    “We have a responsibility to this community,” he began, his voice carrying. “We must ensure the safety and integrity of our shelter.”

    He glanced at Dora, his gaze lingering. “That means knowing who we’re working with. I expect full transparency from everyone.”

    Dora’s stomach twisted. She felt every eye in the room on her.

    Gail stood, her voice clear. “Dora’s with me. She’s a good person. She deserves to be here.”

    Jay nodded, standing beside her. “She helped me when no one else would.”

    A few others murmured their agreement, but some volunteers looked away, uncomfortable.

    Pastor Mark’s jaw tightened. “We’ll be reviewing all volunteer records. Anyone who can’t provide proper documentation will be asked to leave.”

    Dora’s heart pounded. She glanced at Gail, panic rising.

    After the meeting, Gail pulled her aside. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”

    Dora nodded, but fear gnawed at her. What if they found out the truth? What if she lost everything she’d just gained?

    That evening, Gail’s parents welcomed Dora home with open arms. They listened as she explained the situation, their faces kind but concerned.

    “We’ll support you, Dora,” Gail’s mother said. “Whatever happens.”

    Gail’s father nodded. “You’re part of our family now.”

    Dora blinked back tears. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

    Gail hugged her, fierce and protective. “You’ll never have to find out.”

    They spent the evening together, watching movies and eating popcorn. For a little while, Dora forgot her fears, lost in the warmth of chosen family.

    But that night, as she lay in bed, the doubts returned. She stared at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on her.

    What if they find out? What if I lose everything?

    She clutched the moth stone in her hand, seeking comfort in its smooth surface.

    You are Dora. You belong.

    She repeated the words like a mantra, willing herself to believe.

    The next morning, Dora woke early. She dressed quietly, careful not to wake Gail. She slipped outside, the air cool and still.

    She walked to the shelter, her footsteps echoing on the empty streets. She needed time to think, to gather her courage.

    At the shelter, she found Mrs. Kowalski already in the kitchen, kneading dough for the day’s bread.

    “Couldn’t sleep?” the old woman asked, not looking up.

    Dora shook her head. “Too much on my mind.”

    Mrs. Kowalski smiled. “Join the club.”

    They worked in silence for a while, the rhythm of baking soothing Dora’s nerves.

    After a while, Mrs. Kowalski spoke. “You know, my granddaughter was scared when she first came out. She thought we’d hate her. But love is stronger than fear.”

    Dora nodded, tears stinging her eyes. “I hope so.”

    Mrs. Kowalski patted her hand. “You’re stronger than you think, Dora. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

    Dora smiled, hope blooming in her chest.

    When Gail and Jay arrived, they found Dora in the kitchen, flour dusting her hair and clothes.

    “Early start?” Gail teased.

    Dora grinned. “Couldn’t sleep.”

    Jay laughed. “You look like a ghost.”

    Dora stuck out her tongue, and the three of them dissolved into laughter.

    For a moment, everything felt right.

    But as the day wore on, the tension returned. Pastor Mark called Dora into his office, his expression unreadable.

    “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

    Dora sat, her hands trembling in her lap.

    Pastor Mark studied her for a long moment. “I’ve been looking into your background, Dora. There’s nothing. No records, no school, no family. Who are you, really?”

    Dora swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I’m Dora. I don’t have a family. Not anymore.”

    He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “People don’t just appear out of nowhere. What are you hiding?”

    Dora shook her head. “Nothing. I just want to help.”

    Pastor Mark’s lips thinned. “I don’t trust mysteries. If you want to stay here, you’ll need to prove you belong.”

    Dora nodded, fear and determination warring in her chest. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

    He dismissed her with a wave, his gaze lingering.

    Outside the office, Gail was waiting. She pulled Dora into a hug. “Don’t let him get to you. You belong here. We’ll fight for you.”

    Dora nodded, hope flickering in her chest.

    That night, as she lay in bed, Dora thought about everything she’d gained-and everything she stood to lose. She knew the road ahead would be hard, but she also knew she wasn’t alone.

    She was Dora. She was real. And she was ready for whatever came next.

    Chapter 8: Girlhood 101

    Dora stood in front of Gail’s full-length mirror, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. The morning sun filtered through the curtains, painting the room in gold. She wore a borrowed sundress-Gail’s idea-and the fabric felt strange against her skin: light, soft, and a little too real. She tugged at the hem, uncertain.

    Gail, sprawled on her bed with a makeup bag between her knees, grinned. “You look adorable. Seriously, Dora, I’m jealous of your legs.”

    Dora blushed, glancing away. “I feel like I’m playing dress-up.”

    Gail patted the space beside her. “Come here. Let’s try some mascara. I promise not to poke your eye out.”

    With hesitant steps, Dora sat. Gail unscrewed the mascara tube, her movements practiced. “Look up,” she said gently.

    Dora obeyed, feeling the brush tickle her lashes. She tried to keep still, but her nerves buzzed. “How do you do this every day?”

    Gail laughed. “You get used to it. Besides, you don’t have to wear makeup if you don’t want to. Girlhood isn’t a checklist.”

    Dora nodded, but her anxiety lingered. “What if I mess up? What if people can tell I don’t know what I’m doing?”

    Gail’s expression softened. “Everyone’s making it up as they go, Dora. You’re allowed to be new at this.”

    They finished with a swipe of lip balm and a little blush. Gail held up a hand mirror. “See? Gorgeous.”

    Dora studied her reflection. She didn’t look like herself-or rather, she looked more like herself than ever before. The girl in the mirror was awkward, hopeful, and real.

    A knock sounded at the door. Gail’s mother peeked in, her smile warm. “Breakfast is ready, girls.”

    Dora’s heart fluttered at the word. She followed Gail downstairs, nerves prickling with every step.

    At the table, Gail’s father poured orange juice. “Big plans today?”

    Gail grinned. “We’re going shopping. Dora needs some clothes of her own.”

    Dora shrank into her seat. “If it’s not too much trouble…”

    “Nonsense,” Gail’s mother said. “You’re family now.”

    Dora blinked back tears. She’d never been called that before.

    The thrift store was a riot of color and noise. Dora trailed after Gail, overwhelmed by racks of dresses, jeans, and tops in every style. Gail plucked items from hangers, holding them up for inspection.

    “How about this?” she asked, brandishing a floral skirt.

    Dora shook her head, laughing. “Too frilly.”

    Gail grinned, tossing it back. “We’ll find your style.”

    They gathered a pile of options and headed for the dressing rooms. Dora hesitated at the entrance, anxiety tightening her chest.

    Gail nudged her. “You okay?”

    Dora nodded, but her voice was small. “What if someone says something?”

    Gail’s eyes flashed. “If anyone gives you trouble, I’ll handle it.”

    Inside the cramped stall, Dora tried on jeans and t-shirts, skirts and sweaters. Some felt right, others didn’t. She found herself drawn to soft fabrics, simple patterns, clothes that felt like comfort.

    She stepped out in a pair of overalls and a striped tee. Gail gave her a thumbs-up. “Adorable. That’s so you.”

    Dora smiled, a real one this time.

    As they waited in line to pay, a woman behind them eyed Dora. “Isn’t it nice your friend is helping you pick out clothes?” she said, her tone syrupy. “It’s so important for girls to learn how to dress properly.”

    Dora stiffened, unsure how to respond. Gail squeezed her hand. “She’s doing just fine on her own, thanks.”

    The woman sniffed and turned away. Dora’s cheeks burned, but Gail just winked. “People are weird. Don’t let them get to you.”

    After shopping, they stopped for ice cream. Dora licked her cone, watching families stroll by in the afternoon sun.

    “Do you ever feel like everyone’s staring?” she asked.

    Gail shrugged. “Sometimes. But most people are too busy with their own stuff. And if they do stare, that’s their problem, not yours.”

    Dora nodded, savoring the sweetness on her tongue.

    They wandered through the park, talking about everything and nothing. Gail told stories about her childhood, her first crush, the time she dyed her hair blue and her mother nearly fainted.

    Dora listened, laughing and asking questions. She felt the tension in her shoulders ease, replaced by a quiet joy.

    They found a bench beneath a willow tree and sat, watching the ducks paddle across the pond.

    Gail nudged her. “You’re doing great, you know.”

    Dora smiled, a little shy. “Thanks. I still feel lost sometimes.”

    Gail squeezed her hand. “That’s normal. I felt the same way when I first came out. It gets easier.”

    Dora looked at her, hope flickering in her chest. “I want to be like you. Confident. Sure of myself.”

    Gail laughed. “Fake it ‘til you make it. That’s my secret.”

    Dora giggled, the sound light and free.

    Back at the shelter, Dora helped serve dinner. She moved through the dining hall, her new clothes giving her a boost of confidence. Some of the regulars smiled and greeted her by name. Others just nodded, but no one questioned her presence.

    Mrs. Kowalski waved her over. “You look lovely, dear.”

    Dora blushed. “Thank you.”

    The old woman patted her hand. “You remind me of my granddaughter. She was brave, too.”

    Dora smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

    As she cleared plates, she overheard two volunteers talking.

    “She seems nice, but where did she come from?”

    “I heard she’s staying with Gail’s family. Must be tough, not having anyone.”

    Dora’s heart squeezed. She tried to focus on her work, but the words lingered.

    After dinner, Jay found her in the kitchen. “You okay?”

    Dora nodded, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

    Jay studied her, then pulled her into a hug. “You’re not alone, Dora. Not ever.”

    Dora hugged them back, grateful for the comfort.

    That night, Gail’s parents invited Dora to join them for a movie. They watched an old comedy, laughter filling the living room.

    Afterward, Gail’s mother made popcorn and hot chocolate. They talked about school, favorite books, and silly childhood memories.

    Dora felt herself relax, the walls she’d built around her heart beginning to crumble.

    As she got ready for bed, Gail knocked on her door.

    “Can I come in?”

    Dora nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed.

    Gail joined her, legs crossed. “Today was a big day. How are you really?”

    Dora hesitated, then whispered, “I’m scared. What if I mess up? What if I’m not… enough?”

    Gail took her hand. “You are enough. You always have been. And if you ever forget, I’ll remind you.”

    Dora blinked back tears. “Thank you.”

    Gail smiled. “Anytime.”

    They sat in silence, the bond between them growing stronger.

    As Dora drifted off to sleep, she thought about everything she’d learned. Girlhood wasn’t a checklist or a costume. It was laughter with friends, kindness from strangers, and the courage to keep going even when she felt lost.

    She hugged her pillow, hope blooming in her chest.

    Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for tonight, she was content.

    She was Dora. She was real. And she was enough.

    Chapter 9: The Rumor Mill

    Dora had always thought that being invisible was the worst fate. In her old life, she’d longed to be seen, to have someone look at her and recognize the girl she knew herself to be. Now, as she moved through her first week as Dora, she realized that being seen-truly seen-came with its own kind of ache.

    It started with whispers. At first, Dora thought she was imagining it: the way conversations seemed to hush when she entered a room, the sidelong glances from volunteers who’d known Wallace and now eyed Dora with a mix of confusion and suspicion. Even some of the guests, who’d always accepted help without question, now watched her with wary eyes.

    At lunch, she caught two volunteers whispering by the coffee machine.

    “Gail’s friend, right? The new girl?”

    “Yeah, but where did she come from? She just… appeared.”

    “I heard she’s staying with Gail’s family. No parents, no school records, nothing.”

    “Do you think she’s in trouble?”

    Dora pretended not to hear, focusing on slicing bread. But the words clung to her, sharp and sticky. She felt herself shrinking, shoulders curling in, wishing she could disappear all over again.

    Gail noticed. She always did.

    “Hey,” she said, nudging Dora’s elbow as they worked side by side in the kitchen. “Don’t let them get to you. People gossip about anything they don’t understand.”

    Dora managed a smile. “I know. It’s just… hard. I feel like I’m under a microscope.”

    Gail squeezed her hand. “You’re not alone. And you’re not doing anything wrong.”

    But the rumors followed Dora everywhere. At the thrift store, the cashier paused, scanning her up and down before ringing up her purchases. At the library, a group of teens snickered as she passed, one of them muttering, “Is that a boy or a girl?” loud enough for her to hear.

    Each time, Dora felt the sting-a thousand tiny cuts, not enough to bleed but enough to bruise. She tried to brush it off, to focus on the good: the way Jay always greeted her with a smile, the warmth of Gail’s family, the satisfaction of helping at the shelter. But the doubts crept in, whispering that maybe she didn’t belong after all.

    One afternoon, Dora and Gail took a walk through the park. The air was warm, the trees just beginning to bud. They sat on a bench, watching children play on the swings.

    “Do you ever wish you’d had a real girlhood?” Dora asked quietly. “Like, sleepovers and braiding hair and all that?”

    Gail considered. “Sometimes. But I think girlhood is what you make it. You’re living it now, in your own way.”

    Dora nodded, but a lump formed in her throat. “I feel like I’m always behind. Like everyone else got a head start and I’m just… faking it.”

    Gail bumped her shoulder. “You’re not faking anything. You’re learning. That’s what girlhood is-figuring things out, making mistakes, trying again.”

    Dora smiled, comforted. But the ache lingered-a sense of liminality, of being caught between worlds, never quite at home in either.

    Back at the shelter, the tension simmered. Pastor Mark had started assigning Dora to less visible tasks-stocking shelves, cleaning storerooms, anything that kept her out of the main hall. He insisted it was just “rotation,” but Dora knew better.

    One day, as she swept the hallway, she overheard Pastor Mark talking to another volunteer.

    “I just don’t think it’s appropriate, letting someone with no background work here. We have to protect our community.”

    The volunteer murmured agreement. Dora’s hands tightened on the broom.

    She finished her chores and found Jay in the rec room, hunched over a puzzle.

    “Rough day?” Jay asked, glancing up.

    Dora nodded. “People are talking. Pastor Mark keeps moving me around. I feel like I’m being punished for existing.”

    Jay snorted. “Welcome to the club. People always find something to judge.”

    Dora sat beside them, grateful for the solidarity. “How do you deal with it?”

    Jay shrugged. “Some days I ignore it. Some days I fight back. Most days, I just try to remember who I am.”

    Dora nodded, letting Jay’s words settle in her chest.

    That evening, Gail’s parents invited Dora to dinner at their favorite diner. The place was cozy, all red vinyl booths and checkered floors. Dora wore her new jeans and a soft sweater, hoping to blend in.

    The waitress smiled as she took their order, but when she brought the drinks, she hesitated, looking from Dora to Gail’s parents.

    “Is this your daughter?” she asked, voice friendly but probing.

    Gail’s mother smiled. “Yes, this is Dora. She’s staying with us.”

    The waitress’s eyes lingered on Dora for a moment too long, but she just nodded and moved on.

    After she left, Dora let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Does it ever get easier?” she whispered.

    Gail’s father squeezed her hand. “People are curious. Sometimes they’re kind, sometimes not. But you have us. You’re family now.”

    Dora blinked back tears. “Thank you.”

    Later that week, Dora and Gail worked the evening shift at the shelter. The place was busy, the air thick with the smell of stew and the chatter of guests.

    As Dora carried a tray of dishes to the kitchen, a group of teens blocked her path.

    “Hey,” one of them called. “You’re that new girl, right? The one who just showed up?”

    Dora nodded, nerves prickling.

    The teen smirked. “You talk funny. Where you from?”

    Dora hesitated. “Around.”

    Another teen chimed in. “You got a boyfriend?”

    Dora shook her head, cheeks burning.

    The first teen leaned closer. “You sure you’re even a girl?”

    Dora’s hands trembled. She forced herself to stand tall. “I’m sure.”

    The teens laughed, but Dora didn’t back down. She pushed past them, head high, heart pounding.

    In the kitchen, Gail found her wiping tears from her eyes.

    “I’m sorry,” Dora whispered. “I just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

    Gail hugged her tight. “You can. And you’re not alone. Those kids don’t know anything about you.”

    Dora nodded, drawing strength from Gail’s embrace.

    That night, Dora lay awake in Gail’s guest room, staring at the ceiling. The day’s slights replayed in her mind-a thousand tiny wounds, each one a reminder that the world wasn’t always kind to girls like her.

    But she also remembered the good: Jay’s quiet support, Gail’s unwavering friendship, the warmth of a family who chose her.

    She thought of the liminality she’d read about in a borrowed book-a space between, neither here nor there, but full of possibility. Maybe that was what girlhood was for her: not a lost childhood, but a new beginning, a chance to shape her own story.

    She sat up, grabbing the notebook Gail’s mother had given her. By the soft glow of her bedside lamp, she began to write:

    Today, I was seen. Not always kindly, but truly. I am Dora. I am learning. I am enough.

    She closed the notebook, hope blooming in her chest.

    The next day, Dora returned to the shelter determined to claim her place. She greeted the guests with a smile, helped Mrs. Kowalski in the kitchen, and even joined a group of kids for a game of cards.

    When Pastor Mark assigned her to the storeroom again, Dora stood her ground.

    “I’d like to work in the dining hall today,” she said, voice steady.

    Pastor Mark frowned. “We need you in the back.”

    Dora met his gaze. “I want to help where I’m needed most. And I think that’s with the guests.”

    He hesitated, then relented. “Fine. But I’ll be watching.”

    Dora nodded, pride swelling in her chest.

    At lunch, Gail pulled her aside. “I heard what you said to Pastor Mark. That was brave.”

    Dora smiled. “I’m tired of hiding. I want to be part of this place. Really part of it.”

    Gail hugged her. “You already are.”

    Jay joined them, grinning. “You showed him. About time someone did.”

    Dora laughed, the sound light and free.

    That afternoon, as Dora cleared tables, a little girl tugged on her sleeve.

    “Are you a princess?” the girl asked, eyes wide.

    Dora knelt, smiling. “No, but I can pretend.”

    The girl giggled and hugged her. Dora’s heart soared.

    For the first time, she felt like she belonged-not just as a helper, but as herself.

    That night, Dora wrote in her notebook again:

    Today, I stood up for myself. Today, I was brave. Maybe that’s what girlhood is-learning to be brave, even when it’s hard.

    She closed the notebook, a smile on her lips.

    She was Dora. She was real. And she was enough.

    Chapter 10: First Outing

    Dora stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the front of her new floral blouse. Her hands trembled as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The outfit was simple-jeans, sneakers, and the blouse Gail had helped her pick out at the thrift store-but to Dora, it felt like armor and a target all at once.

    Gail appeared in the doorway, holding up a pair of sunglasses. “Ready for your first real day out?” she asked, her voice gentle but excited.

    Dora took a deep breath and nodded. “I think so.”

    Gail grinned. “You look amazing. Seriously, Dora, you’re going to knock ‘em dead.”

    Dora smiled, nerves fluttering in her stomach. “Let’s just hope I don’t knock myself over first.”

    They laughed, and Gail squeezed Dora’s hand. “We’ll go slow. If you need to leave, just say the word.”

    The morning air was crisp as they set out, the city alive with the sounds of summer-children’s laughter, distant music, the hum of traffic. Dora clung to Gail’s side, her senses on high alert. Every glance from a stranger felt magnified, every whisper a possible judgment.

    Their first stop was a café on Main Street. Gail ordered iced coffees, chatting easily with the barista. Dora hung back, trying to steady her breathing. When the barista turned to her, smiling politely, Dora managed to order her drink without stumbling over her words.

    They found a table by the window. Gail sipped her coffee, watching Dora with a reassuring smile. “You did great.”

    Dora exhaled, surprised by how much tension she’d been holding. “I was sure she could tell.”

    “Tell what?” Gail asked.

    “That I’m… new at this. That I’m not really-” Dora stopped herself, biting her lip.

    Gail reached across the table, squeezing her hand. “You’re really you. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

    Dora nodded, but the anxiety lingered. She watched people pass by outside, wondering what they saw when they looked at her.

    After coffee, they browsed a bookstore. Dora lost herself in the aisles, running her fingers over the spines of novels and poetry collections. For a moment, she forgot her nerves, absorbed in the quiet magic of stories.

    But when they reached the checkout, the cashier-a teenage boy with a bored expression-glanced at Dora’s books, then at her, then at Gail.

    “Are these for you?” he asked, his tone casual but edged with something Dora couldn’t name.

    Dora nodded. “Yeah. I love poetry.”

    The boy smirked. “Didn’t peg you for the poetry type.”

    Gail’s eyes narrowed. “She’s got great taste.”

    The boy shrugged, ringing up the books. “Guess everyone’s got their thing.”

    Dora felt her cheeks burn. The comment wasn’t overtly cruel, but it stung-a subtle reminder that she was being scrutinized, that her interests were being weighed against someone else’s expectations.

    Outside, Gail looped her arm through Dora’s. “Ignore him. People say stupid things.”

    Dora nodded, but the words lingered. She wondered if every outing would be like this-a mix of small joys and tiny wounds.

    They walked to the park, finding a bench in the shade. Dora watched families play on the grass, couples strolling hand in hand. She felt both visible and invisible, seen and unseen.

    A group of teenage girls passed by, giggling. One glanced at Dora, did a double take, and whispered something to her friends. They all looked back, their expressions a mix of curiosity and something sharper.

    Dora’s stomach twisted. She looked down, wishing she could disappear.

    Gail noticed. “Hey. Want to go somewhere quieter?”

    Dora shook her head. “No. I want to stay. I don’t want to run away every time someone looks at me funny.”

    Gail smiled, pride in her eyes. “That’s brave.”

    Dora shrugged. “I’m tired of being scared.”

    They sat in silence for a while, watching the world go by.

    Later, they stopped at a clothing store. Dora browsed the racks, her fingers lingering on soft fabrics and bright colors. She picked out a sundress, holding it up to her body.

    A saleswoman approached, her smile tight. “Can I help you find something?”

    Dora shook her head. “Just looking, thanks.”

    The woman’s gaze flicked over Dora, then to Gail. “We have a fitting room in the back. For women.”

    Dora’s cheeks burned. “That’s… great. Thank you.”

    The woman hovered, watching as Dora made her way to the fitting room. Inside, Dora changed into the dress, studying her reflection. She looked awkward, uncertain, but also-maybe-beautiful.

    She stepped out to show Gail, who grinned. “You look amazing.”

    The saleswoman lingered nearby, arms crossed. Dora felt her scrutiny like a weight.

    After they paid, Gail leaned in. “You handled that really well. Some people just can’t mind their own business.”

    Dora managed a smile. “I’m getting used to it.”

    As they walked home, Dora’s confidence grew. She’d survived her first outing-awkward moments and all. She’d faced stares and whispers, but she was still standing.

    At a crosswalk, a man glanced at Dora, then at Gail. “You girls sisters?”

    Gail grinned. “Nope, just best friends.”

    The man nodded, then looked at Dora. “You’re lucky to have someone looking out for you.”

    Dora smiled. “I know.”

    Back at Gail’s house, they collapsed on the couch, exhausted but happy.

    “You did it,” Gail said. “Your first real day out.”

    Dora laughed. “I did, didn’t I?”

    Gail squeezed her hand. “I’m proud of you.”

    Dora felt a surge of gratitude. “Thank you. For everything.”

    Gail smiled. “Anytime.”

    They sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling around them.

    That evening, Dora wrote in her notebook:

    Today, I was seen. Sometimes it hurt, but sometimes it felt good. I’m learning to be brave, even when it’s hard. I’m learning to be me.

    She closed the notebook, hope blooming in her chest.

    The next day at the shelter, Dora’s new confidence showed. She greeted guests with a smile, helped Mrs. Kowalski in the kitchen, and even joined a group of kids for a game of cards.

    But not everyone was kind.

    As Dora cleared plates, a volunteer named Mrs. Turner approached. “You’re Gail’s friend, right?”

    Dora nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

    Mrs. Turner’s smile was brittle. “It’s nice that Gail’s family is helping you. Not everyone would be so… open-minded.”

    Dora forced a smile. “I’m grateful for them.”

    Mrs. Turner leaned in, her voice low. “Just be careful. Not everyone here is as understanding.”

    Dora nodded, her heart sinking. She knew what Mrs. Turner meant.

    Later, in the hallway, two volunteers passed by, their conversation just loud enough for Dora to hear.

    “Did you see the new girl? She’s… different.”

    “I heard she used to be someone else.”

    Dora kept walking, her head high. She refused to let their words break her.

    At lunch, Jay found her in the kitchen. “Rough day?”

    Dora nodded. “People talk.”

    Jay shrugged. “Let them. You’re still you.”

    Dora smiled, comforted by Jay’s support.

    As she got ready for bed, Gail knocked on her door.

    “Can I come in?”

    Dora nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed.

    Gail joined her, legs crossed. “Today was another really big day. How are you?”

    Dora hesitated, then whispered, “I’m scared. What if I mess up? What if I’m not… enough?”

    Gail took her hand. “I've heard this before. Listen carefully this time. You are enough. You always have been. And if you ever forget, I’ll remind you.”

    Dora blinked back tears. “Thank you.”

    Gail smiled. “Anytime.”

    They sat in relaxed silence, the bond between them growing even stronger.

    As Dora drifted off to sleep, she thought about everything she’d learned.

    She was Dora.

    She was real.

    And she was enough.

    Chapter 11: Shelter Tensions

    The shelter’s community garden had become Dora’s sanctuary-a patch of earth where sunflowers stretched toward the sky and tomato vines curled around wooden stakes. She knelt in the soil, gloves caked with mud, carefully transplanting seedlings donated by a local nursery. The project had been her idea: a way to provide fresh produce for the kitchen and give guests a sense of purpose. But as she worked, she felt Pastor Mark’s gaze like a shadow across her shoulders.

    “Need help?” Jay appeared at the garden’s edge, their green beanie speckled with paint from the mural they’d been working on in the rec room.

    Dora smiled, brushing dirt from her knees. “Could use another set of hands. These zucchini won’t plant themselves.”

    They worked in companionable silence for a while, Jay’s steady presence calming the unease that had dogged Dora all week. Since Pastor Mark had begun limiting her duties-reassigning her to backroom inventory checks and supply closets-she’d felt increasingly invisible. But here, with her hands in the soil and Jay’s quiet solidarity, she could almost pretend nothing had changed.

    “He’s scared of you,” Jay said suddenly, tearing open a seed packet.

    Dora’s trowel stilled. “Who?”

    “Pastor Dickhead.” Jay snorted, scattering carrot seeds into neat rows. “You’re everything he hates-someone who changes and doesn’t apologize for it.”

    Before Dora could respond, Gail’s voice cut through the humid air. “Dora! Pastor Mark wants to see you in his office.”

    The office fan whirred uselessly, stirring papers but not the stifling tension. Pastor Mark sat behind his desk, a spreadsheet open on his laptop. He didn’t look up as Dora entered.

    “You wanted to see me, sir?”

    “The garden,” he said finally, steepling his fingers. “It’s become a distraction.”

    Dora blinked. “The guests love it. Mrs. Kowalski said the tomatoes-”

    “Are attracting pests.” Pastor Mark closed his laptop with a snap. “Raccoons, wasps. It’s a liability.”

    “We can put up fencing! Or maybe ask volunteers to-”

    “The board agrees it’s best to focus on our core mission.” His tone brooked no argument. “You’ll dismantle it by Friday.”

    Dora’s gloves crumpled in her fists. “That’s not fair. The guests helped build this. It’s theirs.”

    Pastor Mark stood, his chair screeching against the floor. “This isn’t a democracy, Miss… Dora. My job is to protect this institution.”

    The unspoken from people like you hung between them.

    Dora found Gail in the kitchen, viciously scrubbing soup pots. “He’s killing the garden,” Dora whispered, voice cracking.

    Gail slammed a lid onto the counter. “Because it’s working. Because when people see you out there, they see you.”

    “Then what do I do?”

    “We fight.” Gail’s eyes blazed. “We make it so fucking obvious how much good you’re doing that he can’t ignore it.”

    The next morning, Dora arrived early, determination burning through her exhaustion. She taped handmade signs to the garden fence-Fresh Veggies Coming Soon!-and left baskets of seed packets by the shelter entrance. When Mrs. Kowalski brought her a mug of tea, Dora noticed the older woman’s hands trembling.

    “You remind me of my granddaughter,” Mrs. Kowalski said suddenly, nodding to the polaroid pinned to the bulletin board-a girl with rainbow braces grinning beside a prizewinning science fair project. “She stood up to her principal when they tried to cancel the GSA club. Sometimes…” The woman’s voice faltered. “Sometimes the world tries to shrink what it doesn’t understand.”

    Dora squeezed her hand. “What did she do?”

    Mrs. Kowalski’s smile was bittersweet. “She grew her club anyway. In secret, at first. Then louder, until they had to listen.”

    By week’s end, the garden thrived in quiet rebellion. Guests weeded during smoke breaks, teenagers watered seedlings between homework sessions, and Jay taught a group of kids to identify edible weeds. But Pastor Mark’s retaliation was swift.

    On Thursday, Dora arrived to find the garden gate padlocked. A handwritten notice flapped in the breeze: Closed for Maintenance.

    “Maintenance my ass,” Jay muttered, jiggling the lock.

    Dora’s vision blurred. All that work-the careful tending, the hopeful sprouts-reduced to a chain and bureaucratic malice. She turned, ready to storm into Pastor Mark’s office, but Gail caught her arm.

    “Not yet,” Gail murmured. “Wait for the board meeting.”

    That afternoon, Dora sorted canned goods in the storage room, the clatter of beans and corn a monotonous counterpoint to her racing thoughts. The door creaked open.

    “Hey.” Jay leaned against the shelves, holding two stolen popsicles. “Break time.”

    They sat on the concrete floor, backs against the cool metal. Jay peeled their popsicle wrapper slowly. “When I first got here, I thought kindness was weakness. Like, why bother if the world just shits on you anyway?”

    Dora nibbled her grape ice, waiting.

    “Then you showed up.” Jay gestured with their popsicle stick. “You didn’t just give a damn-you kept giving a damn, even when it cost you. Made me think… maybe we’re not just surviving here. Maybe we’re building something.”

    Dora’s throat tightened. “What if it’s not enough?”

    Jay shrugged. “My abuela used to say, ‘You don’t water a garden because you’re sure it’ll grow. You water it because it deserves the chance.’”

    The board meeting convened in the shelter’s stuffy conference room. Dora sat between Gail and Mrs. Kowalski, her notecards damp with sweat. Pastor Mark droned through budget reports, his gaze skipping over her like she was furniture.

    When he mentioned “reallocating garden funds to security upgrades,” Dora stood.

    “The garden isn’t a line item,” she said, voice shaking. “It’s… it’s hope. For people who’ve been told they don’t get to grow things anymore.”

    Mrs. Kowalski raised her hand. “My arthritis acts up in the cold. But pulling weeds with Dora? Makes me feel useful again.”

    One by one, guests and volunteers spoke up-a teen mom describing how her toddler learned colors from flower petals, an elderly vet who’d started composting his cigarette butts, Jay’s quiet “It’s the first place I felt safe.”

    Pastor Mark’s jaw worked silently. When the vote came, the board approved the garden’s expansion-with the caveat that Dora submit weekly maintenance reports.

    Afterward, Gail pulled Dora into a broom closet, laughing. “You did it! You fucking-”

    Dora kissed her on the cheek.

    “Was that… okay?”

    Gail’s grin lit the dim space. “More than okay. But maybe next time, someplace without a mop handle jabbing my-”

    The door flew open. Pastor Mark stood silhouetted in the light, his expression thunderous.

    “My office. Now.”

    Alone in the hall, Dora was still brave-and knew no amount of locked gates could contain what was growing.

    Chapter 12: Family Dinner

    Dora’s hands shook as she set the table in Gail’s kitchen, the plates clinking against the wood. She’d spent the afternoon at the shelter, sorting donations and dodging Pastor Mark’s suspicious glances, but now she was back in the warm, bustling house that had become her only refuge. The air smelled of garlic and rosemary, and Gail’s mom hummed as she stirred a pot of sauce on the stove.

    Gail came in, carrying a basket of bread. “You’re overthinking again,” she teased, bumping Dora’s hip with her own.

    Dora managed a nervous smile. “I just… want to do everything right.”

    Gail grinned, setting the bread down. “You already are. My parents love having you here.”

    Dora nodded, but her thoughts spun. She’d never had a family dinner that wasn’t tense, never sat at a table where she felt safe being herself. She glanced at the mirror in the hallway, half-expecting to see Wallace staring back, but all she saw was a girl with anxious eyes and a heart full of hope.

    Gail’s dad entered, wiping his hands on a towel. “Smells amazing, hon,” he said to Gail’s mom, then turned to Dora. “You hungry?”

    Dora nodded, her stomach fluttering. “Starving.”

    They gathered around the table, passing dishes and laughing at Gail’s stories from school. Dora listened, soaking in the warmth and ease. When Gail’s mom asked about her day, Dora found herself opening up about the shelter, about sorting clothes and helping Mrs. Kowalski with the bread dough.

    Gail’s dad smiled. “You’re a hard worker. The shelter’s lucky to have you.”

    Dora blushed, unused to praise. “Thank you.”

    As the meal went on, the conversation turned to summer plans. Gail’s parents talked about a possible road trip, and Gail suggested they all volunteer together at the shelter for a special event. Dora’s heart leapt at the idea, but then a shadow crossed her mind.

    “What if… what if Pastor Mark finds out I don’t have any paperwork?” Dora asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

    Gail’s mom reached across the table, squeezing her hand. “We’ll handle it. You’re with us now.”

    Gail’s dad nodded. “If anyone gives you trouble, they’ll have to answer to us.”

    Dora blinked back tears. She’d never had anyone stand up for her before. “Thank you,” she whispered.

    After dinner, Gail’s mom made tea and brought out a box of old family photos. They laughed over pictures of Gail as a toddler, covered in chocolate, and Dora felt a pang for the childhood she’d never had. When Gail’s parents left to watch TV, Gail stayed behind, sitting with Dora at the table.

    “You okay?” Gail asked, her voice gentle.

    Dora nodded, but tears slipped down her cheeks. “I just… I never thought I’d have this. A family. People who care.”

    Gail hugged her, holding her tight. “You deserve it. You always did.”

    Dora clung to her, letting herself cry. When she finally pulled away, she wiped her eyes and managed a shaky smile. “Sorry. I’m a mess.”

    Gail grinned. “You’re my mess.”

    They laughed, and for a moment, the world felt perfect.

    Later, in Gail’s room, Dora sat cross-legged on the bed, turning the notebook Gail’s mom had given her over in her hands. She opened to a blank page and began to write.

    Tonight, I ate dinner with a family who loves me. I laughed and told stories and felt safe. Maybe I don’t have a past, but I have a present. I have people who care. Maybe that’s enough.

    She closed the notebook, feeling lighter.

    Gail flopped onto the bed beside her. “Want to paint nails?”

    Dora grinned. “Sure.”

    They picked out colors and took turns painting each other’s nails, giggling at the smudges and mistakes. Gail told stories about her first crush, and Dora shared memories of sneaking out to the park at night, just to feel the cool grass under her feet.

    When they finished, Dora admired her hands. “I never thought I’d get to do this. Just… be a girl.”

    Gail smiled, her eyes shining. “You are a girl. And you’re killing the look, by the way.”

    Dora laughed, feeling joy bubble up inside her.

    The next morning, Dora woke to the smell of pancakes and the sound of Gail singing in the shower. She dressed quickly and joined Gail’s parents in the kitchen, helping set the table and pour juice.

    Gail’s mom smiled. “You’re a natural.”

    Dora blushed. “I just like helping.”

    After breakfast, Gail’s dad handed Dora a folder. “We talked to a friend who’s a lawyer. There are ways to get you some paperwork, at least enough to keep Pastor Mark off your back for now.”

    Dora’s breath caught. “Really?”

    He nodded. “It’s not perfect, but it’s a start. We’ll figure out the rest together.”

    Dora hugged him, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

    He patted her back. “You’re part of the family now. We take care of our own.”

    At the shelter that afternoon, Dora felt a new sense of confidence. She worked in the dining hall, greeting guests and serving food. Some of the regulars smiled and thanked her by name. Even Mrs. Turner, who’d once eyed her with suspicion, nodded in approval.

    Jay found her during a break, grinning. “You look happy.”

    Dora smiled. “I am. Gail’s family… they’re helping me. I think things might actually work out.”

    Jay squeezed her shoulder. “You deserve it.”

    Dora hugged them, feeling hope bloom in her chest.

    Later, as she helped Mrs. Kowalski with the bread, the old woman handed her a warm roll. “You’re doing good, Dora. Keep your chin up.”

    Dora smiled, savoring the praise.

    But not everything was easy. Pastor Mark called her into his office near the end of the shift.

    He sat behind his desk, fingers steepled. “I hear you’re staying with Gail’s family.”

    Dora nodded, heart pounding. “Yes, sir.”

    He studied her, his gaze sharp. “They’re good people. But I need to know I can trust you.”

    Dora met his eyes, steady. “I just want to help. I want to be part of this place.”

    He was silent for a long moment, then nodded. “We’ll see. For now, you can stay. But I’ll be watching.”

    Dora left the office, relief and anxiety warring in her chest.

    That night, back at Gail’s house, Dora told Gail everything. Gail listened, then hugged her tight.

    “He’ll come around,” Gail said. “And if he doesn’t, we’ll make sure you’re safe.”

    Dora nodded, hope flickering in her chest.

    They spent the evening watching movies and painting their nails, laughter echoing through the house.

    Before bed, Dora wrote in her notebook.

    Today, I faced my fears. I asked for help. I found family. Maybe I don’t have a past, but I have a future. And I’m not alone.

    She closed the notebook, smiling.

    She was Dora. She was real. And she was enough.

    Chapter 13: The Incident

    The morning sun streamed through the shelter's windows, creating golden rectangles on the worn linoleum floor. Dora arranged a stack of donated blankets on a shelf, humming softly to herself. Three weeks had passed since her transformation, and each day brought small victories-learning to braid her hair without tangling her fingers, finding the confidence to speak up during volunteer meetings, memorizing the shelter regulars' coffee preferences. Today, she wore her favorite thrift-store find: a soft blue button-up with tiny embroidered daisies along the collar that Gail swore brought out the flecks of gold in her eyes.

    "These go to the family room?" she asked Mrs. Kowalski, who was sorting through children's books nearby.

    The older woman nodded, her fingers tracing the spine of a well-loved copy of Where the Wild Things Are. "Yes, dear. And would you mind taking these books too? The little ones have been asking for new stories."

    Dora balanced the books atop the blankets. "No problem. I could read to them later, if you think they'd like that."

    Mrs. Kowalski's eyes crinkled with her smile. "They'd love it. You have a gift for voices."

    Dora blushed, pleased by the compliment. These small moments of normalcy felt precious-being seen not as a curiosity or a mystery, but simply as Dora, a girl who was good with children and had a knack for storytelling.

    She made her way down the hallway, nodding to Jay who was mopping near the entrance. Their green hair was freshly dyed, vibrant against the shelter's beige walls.

    "Looking good," Dora said, gesturing to their hair with her chin since her hands were full.

    Jay grinned. "Thanks. Gail helped me touch it up. Careful, floor's slippery."

    Dora navigated around the wet spots, her sneakers squeaking slightly. The family room was empty-too early for the after-school crowd-but she arranged the blankets neatly on the shelf and placed the books on the reading table, turning their colorful covers outward to entice young readers.

    As she stood back to admire her work, voices drifted in from the main hall. One she recognized immediately as Pastor Mark's-formal and tight, the way it always sounded when he was trying to impress someone. The other was unfamiliar-deep, confident, with the practiced articulation of someone used to being listened to.

    "-finest facility in the area," Pastor Mark was saying. "We serve over three hundred meals a week and provide emergency beds for up to forty individuals."

    "Impressive," the other voice replied. "And you've expanded the children's program?"

    "Yes, thanks in large part to your generous donation. Would you like to see the family room? We've just renovated it."

    Dora straightened, smoothing her shirt. She recognized the situation immediately-a donor tour. Pastor Mark conducted them regularly, showing off the shelter's services to the wealthy community members whose checks kept the lights on. Usually, she tried to make herself scarce during these tours. Pastor Mark preferred showcasing the "established" volunteers-those with lengthy resumes and respectable backgrounds, not mysterious girls with no past.

    But there was no time to slip out. Pastor Mark appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a tall man in an expensive-looking suit. The man's silver hair was perfectly styled, his shoes polished to a shine that seemed out of place on the shelter's scuffed floors.

    "This is our family room," Pastor Mark explained. "We provide a safe space for children to do homework, read, and play while their parents access services." He noticed Dora and his smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Ah, Dora. Just finishing up?"

    The question was clear: Please leave.

    "Yes, sir," she said, gathering the empty box that had held the blankets. "Just delivering some new books and blankets."

    The donor stepped forward, extending his hand. "Charles Westfield. I don't believe we've met."

    Dora shifted the box to her hip and shook his hand. "Dora. I'm relatively new."

    "Dora volunteers primarily in the kitchen," Pastor Mark interjected smoothly. "Mrs. Kowalski has taken her under her wing."

    Mr. Westfield's gaze lingered on Dora's face, his brow furrowing slightly. "You look familiar. Have we met before?"

    Dora's heart stuttered. "I don't think so, sir."

    "Hmm." His eyes narrowed. "You remind me of someone. What did you say your last name was?"

    "She's staying with the Mitchell family," Pastor Mark cut in before Dora could answer. "Their daughter Gail has been a dedicated volunteer for years."

    Mr. Westfield's expression changed, a flash of recognition followed by something harder. "The Mitchells? Robert and Susan?"

    Dora nodded, uncertain where this was going. "Yes, they've been very kind to me."

    "I see." Mr. Westfield's tone cooled several degrees. "I know the Mitchells from the Chamber of Commerce. They've become quite... progressive in recent years."

    The way he said "progressive"-like it was a disease-made Dora's stomach clench.

    "Would you like to see our new computer lab?" Pastor Mark asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation away. "We've upgraded all the systems thanks to your technology grant."

    But Mr. Westfield wasn't finished. He studied Dora with the clinical interest of someone examining a specimen under glass. "How exactly did you come to stay with the Mitchells? Are you related?"

    "No, sir. They-they took me in when I needed help."

    "Very charitable of them," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "And what brought you to our little town? Family troubles?"

    Each question felt like a trap. Dora clutched the box tighter. "Something like that."

    "Mr. Westfield," Pastor Mark began, "perhaps we should-"

    "I've heard things," Mr. Westfield continued, ignoring him. "About a girl who appeared out of nowhere. No records, no background. Just showed up one day. That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"

    Dora's mouth went dry. "I-"

    "Because I'm concerned, you see." His voice hardened. "This shelter receives considerable funding from my family's foundation. Funding that's contingent on maintaining certain standards and values."

    Pastor Mark paled. "Mr. Westfield, I assure you-"

    "I don't know what game you're playing," Mr. Westfield said directly to Dora, "but this is a respectable Christian establishment. Not a place for... experimentation."

    The implication hung in the air, sharp and ugly. Dora felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

    "I'm just trying to help," she managed, her voice barely audible.

    "Help?" Mr. Westfield scoffed. "By bringing controversy? By making decent people uncomfortable? You don't belong here."

    "That's enough."

    Gail stood in the doorway, her eyes flashing with anger. She moved to Dora's side, placing a protective hand on her shoulder.

    "Dora belongs here as much as anyone," she continued, voice steady despite the flush of anger on her cheeks. "She works harder than most volunteers, the guests love her, and she has never made anyone uncomfortable except people who go out of their way to be troubled by her existence."

    Pastor Mark stepped forward. "Gail, please. Mr. Westfield is our most generous supporter-"

    "Then he should support all the people we help," Gail interrupted. "Not just the ones who fit his narrow idea of who's worthy."

    Mr. Westfield's face darkened. "Young lady, you have no idea who you're speaking to. I've donated hundreds of thousands of dollars to this shelter."

    "And we're grateful," Gail replied. "But that doesn't buy you the right to bully our volunteers."

    "This isn't about bullying," he snapped. "It's about protecting values. About recognizing when something isn't right."

    Dora felt herself shrinking, wanting to disappear. But Gail stood taller.

    "The only thing that isn't right is treating someone unkindly because they're different from you." Gail's voice softened as she turned to Dora. "Are you okay?"

    Dora nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

    Pastor Mark looked like he might explode. "Gail, Mr. Westfield, please. Let's discuss this in my office-"

    "There's nothing to discuss," Mr. Westfield said coldly. "Either you maintain appropriate standards for this facility, or my family will reconsider our support." He turned to leave, then looked back at Dora. "You may have these people fooled, but I see through you."

    After he left, the silence was deafening. Pastor Mark ran a hand over his face, his expression a storm cloud of fury and fear.

    "My office," he said to Gail. "Now."

    "I'm coming too," Dora said, finding her voice at last. "This is about me."

    Pastor Mark looked like he wanted to refuse, but after a moment he nodded curtly. "Fine."

    The walk to his office felt endless. Dora was aware of eyes following them-other volunteers, guests who had heard raised voices. Jay caught her eye as they passed, their expression questioning. Dora gave a small shake of her head: Not now.

    Pastor Mark's office was small and spare, dominated by a desk covered in neat stacks of paper. A cross hung on one wall, and a framed photo of Pastor Mark shaking hands with the governor sat on a shelf. He closed the door firmly behind them.

    "Do you have any idea what you've done?" he asked Gail, his voice tight with controlled anger. "Charles Westfield provides a quarter of our annual budget. A quarter."

    "He was being cruel," Gail said. "I couldn't just stand there."

    "This isn't about your feelings!" Pastor Mark slammed his hand on the desk. "This is about keeping this shelter open, about having enough money to feed people and keep them warm. Your little crusade may have just cost us that."

    Dora stepped forward. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

    Pastor Mark turned to her, his expression softening slightly. "I know you didn't. But this is exactly what I was worried about. Your presence here raises questions-questions we can't answer."

    "She hasn't done anything wrong," Gail insisted.

    "It doesn't matter," Pastor Mark sighed. "Perception matters. And the perception is that there's something not right about a girl with no past, no records, living with a family she's not related to."

    He looked at Dora directly. "I think it would be best if you took some time away from the shelter. Until this blows over."

    "You're kicking her out?" Gail's voice rose in disbelief.

    "I'm trying to salvage our relationship with our largest donor," Pastor Mark countered. "And protect the services we provide to hundreds of vulnerable people."

    Dora felt tears burning in her eyes. "I understand."

    "No, this isn't fair," Gail protested. "You can't punish Dora for Mr. Westfield's bigotry."

    Pastor Mark's jaw tightened. "This isn't about fairness. It's about reality. And the reality is that we need his money."

    "So you'd rather lose volunteers who actually care about the people here? Who treat everyone with dignity?" Gail's voice trembled with emotion. "Maybe you should ask yourself what this shelter is really about."

    Pastor Mark straightened, his expression hardening. "I think you both need to leave. Now. We'll discuss this when tempers have cooled."

    Outside the shelter, the summer sun felt too bright, mockingly cheerful against Dora's devastation. She walked beside Gail in silence, tears streaming down her face.

    "I'm so sorry," Gail said finally. "Westfield is awful. Everyone knows it, but they let him get away with it because of his money."

    Dora wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Maybe Pastor Mark is right. Maybe I don't belong there."

    "Don't say that." Gail stopped, turning to face her. "You belong wherever you choose to be. And you've done nothing wrong."

    "But I'm causing problems. For the shelter, for your parents-"

    "No," Gail said firmly. "Ignorance and prejudice cause problems. Not you."

    Dora looked at her friend-this fierce, loyal girl who had stood up to a powerful man without hesitation. "Thank you. For defending me."

    "Always," Gail promised, squeezing her hand. "We'll figure this out. Together."

    As they walked home, Dora felt something shift inside her-a quiet resolve taking root alongside the hurt. She wouldn't let Mr. Westfield's words define her. She wouldn't let fear push her back into hiding.

    This was her life now. And she would fight for it, no matter what came next.

    Chapter 14: Magic's Cost

    The streetlights buzzed like angry hornets as Dora walked home from the shelter, her sneakers scuffing against cracked pavement. Gail's hand found hers in the twilight, their fingers intertwining without discussion. The air carried the metallic tang of impending rain, but neither spoke of turning back.

    "Your parents will be furious," Dora whispered, breaking the silence that had stretched since Pastor Mark's ultimum.

    Gail squeezed her hand tighter. "Let them be. They've defended you before."

    But Dora heard the uncertainty beneath the bravado. The Mitchells' garage apartment-their sanctuary since the confrontation-felt less like refuge tonight. Every creak of the floorboards made Dora jump, every car passing the window sent her heart racing. She curled into Gail's desk chair, staring at the corkboard above the bed where Gail had pinned photos of their summer: Dora laughing while frosting cupcakes at the shelter's bake sale, Jay teaching them both to skateboard, a candid shot of Mrs. Kowalski napping in the family room's armchair.

    A moth tapped against the window screen-pale wings beating in erratic circles. Dora's fingers went to the stone in her pocket, its carved insect warm against her palm.

    "You should sleep," Gail murmured from the bed, but her voice lacked conviction.

    Dora shook her head. "I need air."

    The alley behind the Mitchells' house smelled of wet cardboard and diesel. Dora's breath hitched as she rounded the dumpster-a familiar green beanie visible between stacks of discarded moving boxes. Jay lay curled like a comma, their arms wrapped around a threadbare backpack, face pressed into a sweatshirt hood.

    "Jay?" Dora knelt, her knees grinding against gravel.

    They jerked awake, eyes wild. "Shit-Dora?"

    "What are you doing here?"

    Jay sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes. The streetlight caught fresh scratches on their neck. "Pastor Dickhead's new 'security measures' include locking the shelter gates at 8 PM sharp. Guess who missed curfew?"

    Dora's stomach churned. She'd seen the new padlocks that morning, heard Pastor Mark lecturing volunteers about "maintaining order." Without speaking, she unzipped her hoodie and draped it over Jay's shoulders.

    "You don't have to-"

    "Gail's parents are out of town." Dora stood, extending a hand. "C'mon."

    The garage apartment's floor creaked under three sets of feet. Gail took one look at Jay's ashen face and began stripping sheets from her bed. "You take the mattress. Dora and I'll bunk on the floor."

    Jay hovered in the doorway. "I can't-"

    "You can," Dora said, pressing a warm washcloth into their hands. The gesture felt instinctive, though her fingers trembled. "We've got extra toothbrushes in the-"

    A crash downstairs froze them all. Gail's head snapped toward the sound. "Stay here."

    Dora followed anyway, her socked feet silent on the stairs. Through the kitchen window, she saw the source-a raccoon tipping the Mitchells' garbage can. But as Gail sighed in relief, Dora's gaze caught movement across the street.

    Ms. Elara stood beneath the sickly glow of a sodium vapor lamp, her patched raincoat fluttering like moth wings. When their eyes met, the old woman pressed a finger to her lips and melted into shadow.

    Dora's stone burned against her thigh.

    Dawn found Dora scrubbing pancake batter from Gail's favorite mixing bowl. Jay slept soundly upstairs, but sleep had eluded Dora-every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mr. Westfield's sneer, Pastor Mark's disappointed glare, her own reflection in the shelter's family room window.

    The Mitchells' backyard glimmered with dew. Dora wandered barefoot through the garden, her toes sinking into cold soil. The moth stone's edges pressed familiar patterns into her palm as she reached the oak tree at the property line.

    "Kindness always exacts a price, child."

    Dora whirled. Ms. Elara perched on the garden bench like a misplaced shadow, her braid silver in the morning light.

    "You!" Dora's heart thundered. "What did you do to me? Why can't anyone remember Wallace?"

    The old woman's smile held infinite sadness. "I merely opened the door. You chose to walk through."

    "Choose?" Dora's voice cracked. "I didn't choose to lose my family! To have everyone look at me like I'm-"

    "A miracle?" Ms. Elara interrupted softly. She stood, joints creaking like old floorboards. "Tell me, when you found Jay last night-did you hesitate?"

    "Of course not! They needed help!"

    "Precisely." Ms. Elara's gnarled hand brushed Dora's cheek. "The magic didn't create your heart. It merely... clarified matters."

    Dora jerked back. "Clarified? I don't exist on paper! I can't even get a library card!"

    "And yet." Ms. Elara gestured to the house where Gail's laughter drifted through an open window. "You've built what matters."

    The back door slammed. "Dora? Who're you talking to-" Gail froze on the porch steps, cereal bowl forgotten in her hand.

    Ms. Elara inclined her head. "Miss Mitchell."

    "Who is that?" Gail whispered, edging protectively toward Dora.

    "An old friend," Dora said, surprising herself. She turned back to the bench-but only a single oak leaf stirred where Ms. Elara had sat.

    The shelter's family room felt smaller with Pastor Mark hovering by the door. Dora kept her eyes on the picture book open in her lap-The Very Hungry Caterpillar-as six-year-old Miguel leaned against her shoulder.

    "...and then he built a cocoon," Dora read, tracing the bright illustration.

    "Like a blanket?" Miguel interrupted.

    "Sort of. A special blanket where he could grow wings."

    "Miss Dora?" Miguel's grubby finger poked her collarbone. "How come you got wings?"

    Dora's breath caught. Before she could answer, Pastor Mark cleared his throat. "Dora. My office."

    The children groaned as she stood. Miguel clung to her sleeve. "But we didn't finish!"

    "I'll come back," Dora promised, though the words tasted like ash.

    Pastor Mark's office smelled of lemon polish and regret. He didn't sit, didn't offer her a chair. "The board met last night."

    Dora's knees threatened to buckle. She gripped the doorframe.

    "Mr. Westfield has withdrawn his annual donation." Pastor Mark's voice flattened. "Fifty thousand dollars."

    The number hung between them-a death sentence for the shelter's summer youth program, the free clinic Tuesdays, the emergency housing fund.

    "I'll leave," Dora whispered.

    Pastor Mark's fist hit the desk. A framed photo of his ordination ceremony clattered to the floor. "Don't you understand? It's too late for that!" He sagged into his chair, the anger draining as suddenly as it came. "He wants you publicly denounced. An example made."

    The family room's laughter seeped under the door. Dora imagined Miguel waiting, the book still open to the caterpillar's transformation.

    "Tell me," Pastor Mark said quietly, "were you ever Wallace Green?"

    Dora's vision blurred. She saw her mother's hands braiding her sister's hair, her father's Bible left open on the kitchen table, the childhood bedroom that no longer held any trace of her existence.

    "No," she said. "I was never him."

    Pastor Mark studied her-really studied her-for the first time. "Then who are you?"

    Dora touched the moth stone in her pocket. "Someone who wants to help."

    The alley stank of urine and rotting takeout. Dora pressed Jay's spare key into their palm. "Gail's parents said you can stay as long as needed."

    Jay stared at the key like it might bite them. "Why are you doing this?"

    Dora thought of Ms. Elara's words, of Miguel's trusting eyes, of the shelter's empty donation ledger. "Because someone once did it for me."

    As Jay disappeared into the garage apartment, Dora turned toward Main Street. The pawn shop's neon sign buzzed like the alley's streetlights. She hesitated at the door, her grandmother's locket warm against her sternum-the only physical remnant of her erased life.

    The clerk didn't look up from his crossword. "Help you?"

    Dora set the locket on the glass counter. "How much?"

    Outside, she counted the bills twice before tucking them into the shelter's donation box. The moth stone pulsed once in her pocket-a heartbeat of approval-as she walked away.

    Chapter 15: The Crush

    The Mitchell's living room was transformed. Blankets draped over furniture formed a makeshift fort, fairy lights twinkled around the perimeter, and the coffee table overflowed with bowls of popcorn, candy, and soda. Dora sat cross-legged on a pile of cushions, watching Gail fiddle with the projector her father had brought home from work. A white sheet hung against the wall, rippling slightly from the air conditioning.

    "Movie night is sacred in this house," Gail explained, not looking up from the tangle of cords. "Dad says everyone needs a little escape sometimes."

    Dora nodded, though Gail couldn't see her. She'd never had movie nights before-her old family believed television was best consumed in small, controlled doses, preferably educational or religious in nature. The casual abundance of this night-of snacks, of comfort, of permission to simply enjoy-felt like another small miracle.

    "Success!" Gail pumped her fist as the projector hummed to life, casting a blue rectangle on the sheet. She flopped down beside Dora, their shoulders brushing. "Mom and Dad are at their book club until eleven, so we have the place to ourselves."

    "What are we watching?" Dora asked, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from where their bodies touched.

    Gail grinned, brandishing a flash drive. "A classic-But I'm a Cheerleader. Have you seen it?"

    Dora shook her head.

    "Oh my god, you're going to love it. It's this satire about conversion therapy, but it's actually hilarious and has this amazing romance and-" Gail stopped, her cheeks flushing. "Sorry. I'm doing my thing again."

    "What thing?"

    "My enthusiasm overwhelm. Jay says I come on too strong."

    Dora smiled. "I like your enthusiasm. It's... alive."

    Something flickered across Gail's face-surprise, maybe, or pleasure-before she turned to plug in the flash drive. The movie began, and they settled into comfortable silence, interrupted only by Gail's occasional commentary or their shared laughter.

    Halfway through, as the main characters shared a clandestine moment in the woods, Dora became acutely aware of Gail beside her-the way her laugh bubbled up from deep in her chest, the small scar above her eyebrow that crinkled when she smiled, the soft curve of her neck when she tilted her head. Heat crept up Dora's spine, unfamiliar and electric.

    Oh, she thought. Oh no.

    She forced her attention back to the movie, but the feeling persisted-this new awareness, this sudden inability to ignore how the dim light caught in Gail's hair or how her fingers moved expressively as she explained a reference Dora had missed.

    When the credits rolled, Dora realized she'd absorbed almost nothing from the second half.

    "What did you think?" Gail asked, turning to her with expectant eyes.

    "It was... really good," Dora managed, hoping her face didn't betray her distraction.

    Gail studied her for a moment. "You hated it."

    "No! No, I liked it. I just..." Dora floundered, searching for words that wouldn't reveal too much. "I got lost in thought, I guess."

    "About?" Gail leaned closer, her expression open and curious.

    About you, Dora thought. About how I never noticed the gold flecks in your eyes before. About how your existence makes the world feel less sharp-edged.

    "About the shelter," she said instead. "And Mr. Westfield, and Pastor Mark, and all of it."

    Gail's face shifted, her private smile replaced by the fierce determination Dora had come to recognize as her activism mode. "I've been thinking about that too. We need to do something-not just for you, but for everyone Pastor Mark tries to push out."

    She jumped up, grabbing her notebook from the coffee table and flipping to a fresh page. "I've been researching. The shelter gets public funding, which means they can't discriminate. And Mr. Westfield sits on like three different boards that have anti-discrimination policies."

    Dora watched Gail pace, her hair falling loose from its bun as she gestured, her whole body vibrating with purpose. This was the Gail everyone at the shelter knew-the organizer, the fierce defender, the girl who never backed down. But Dora also knew the Gail who cried at dog food commercials, who sang off-key in the shower, who secretly read romance novels and hid them under her mattress.

    "We could start with a petition," Gail continued, scribbling notes. "Get the other volunteers on board. Maybe even some of the guests who've been unfairly treated. Mrs. Kowalski would sign for sure, and Jay, and-"

    "You're amazing," Dora said softly.

    Gail stopped mid-sentence, blinking. "What?"

    Heat rushed to Dora's cheeks. "I just mean-you care so much. You fight so hard. It's amazing."

    Gail's expression softened. "You'd do the same for me."

    I'd do anything for you, Dora thought, the realization landing with quiet certainty.

    "Yeah," was all she said.

    Gail returned to the fort, sitting cross-legged across from Dora, notebook open in her lap. "We should start a list of allies-people we know would support us."

    Dora nodded, trying to focus as Gail outlined her plan. But her mind kept wandering to the movie's final scene-the two girls kissing in the back of a convertible, driving toward possibility together. She wondered what it would be like to kiss Gail, to hold her hand as more than a friend.

    The thought simultaneously thrilled and terrified her. She'd never had a crush before-not a real one, not one that made her palms sweat and her heart race. As Wallace, she'd forced herself into a few awkward dates with girls, each one confirming what she already knew: that she wasn't like other boys, that something essential was misaligned.

    But this-this felt different. This felt true.

    "Earth to Dora." Gail waved a hand in front of her face. "You're a million miles away tonight."

    Dora blinked. "Sorry. Just tired, I guess."

    Gail set her notebook aside, concern replacing enthusiasm. "Are you okay? Really?"

    "I'm fine," Dora said quickly. "Just... processing a lot."

    Gail shifted closer, taking Dora's hand. "You can talk to me. About anything."

    Dora looked down at their joined hands-Gail's fingers ink-stained and calloused from guitar, her own still getting used to trimmed nails and the silver butterfly ring Gail had given her last week. How could she explain this new feeling? This tender, terrifying awareness?

    "I'm grateful," she said finally. "For all of this. For you."

    Gail squeezed her hand. "Don't get sappy on me, Mitchell. I'll leave you alone with The Notebook."

    They both laughed, the moment passing, but something had shifted inside Dora-a recognition she couldn't unknow.

    Later, as they cleaned up the living room before Gail's parents returned, Dora found herself noticing a hundred new things: the way Gail hummed under her breath as she worked, the unconscious grace of her movements, the tiny rainbow pin she always wore on her jacket lapel.

    "We should do this again," Gail said, folding the last blanket. "Next time you can pick the movie."

    Dora nodded, her heart doing a small somersault. "I'd like that."

    Upstairs, in the guest room that had become hers, Dora sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her notebook. Outside, a summer storm gathered, lightning occasionally illuminating the quiet street. She opened to a fresh page and began to write.

    Tonight, I realized something. Something I think I've known but haven't let myself see. I have feelings for Gail-not just friendship, but something more. Something that makes my heart beat faster when she looks at me, something that makes me notice every detail about her, something that makes me wish for impossible things.

    I don't know what to do with these feelings. Gail has been my best friend, my protector, my guide through this new life. What if telling her ruins everything? What if she doesn't feel the same way?

    And even if she did-who am I to ask for more? She's already given me so much. A home, a family, a place to belong. It feels selfish to want anything beyond that.

    For now, I'll keep these feelings to myself. I'll be her friend, her ally in whatever fight she takes on next. That's enough. It has to be enough.

    Dora closed the notebook, pressing it to her chest. Outside, rain began to fall, drumming against the window like impatient fingers. A crack of thunder shook the house.

    Her door creaked open, and Gail peeked in, hair twisted into a messy bun for sleep. "You okay? You know how I feel about storms."

    Dora smiled. Gail, fearless in every other way, had a childlike anxiety about thunderstorms-a secret she shared only with those closest to her.

    "I'm fine," Dora said. "Do you want to stay?"

    Gail's relief was immediate. "Just until it passes."

    She climbed onto the bed, settling against the headboard with a pillow hugged to her chest. Dora joined her, careful to leave space between them, her heart racing with this new awareness.

    As the storm raged outside, they talked about small things-shelter gossip, a new song Gail was learning on guitar, plans for the weekend. When lightning flashed, Gail flinched slightly, and Dora resisted the urge to pull her close.

    Eventually, Gail's eyes grew heavy, her sentences trailing off mid-thought. "I should go to my room," she murmured, making no move to leave.

    "You can stay," Dora said softly. "If you want."

    Gail smiled drowsily, already half-asleep. "You're the best, you know that?"

    Dora watched as Gail's breathing deepened, her face relaxing into peaceful slumber. In sleep, the fierce activist was gone, replaced by a girl who looked younger, more vulnerable.

    "I think I'm falling in love with you," Dora whispered, the words barely audible over the rain.

    Gail stirred slightly but didn't wake. Dora pulled the blanket over them both and closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of Gail's breathing and the storm outside.

    In the morning, she would be just Dora again-Gail's friend, the shelter volunteer, the girl with no past. But for tonight, in the quiet dark, she let herself acknowledge the truth that had been growing inside her, steady and undeniable as a heartbeat: she was in love with her best friend, and she had no idea what to do about it.

    Chapter 16: Pastor’s Past

    The ledger entries blurred into gray smudges under Pastor Mark’s trembling fingers. Moonlight pooled on his desk, illuminating the spreadsheet’s grim verdict: Donation Status: WESTFIELD, CHARLES – WITHDRAWN. The numbers mocked him-$50,000 vanished, summer programs slashed, the shelter’s food budget halved. He closed his laptop with a shudder, the click echoing like a gunshot in the empty office.

    A moth battered itself against the overhead light, wings thumping a frantic rhythm against the glass. Mark’s gaze drifted to the family photo wedged between his Bible and a stack of sermon notes-his ordination day, 2003. His mother’s lace collar starched to perfection, his father’s hand heavy on his shoulder, Alex’s face carefully cropped out of the frame.

    June 1998

    The screen door slammed. Seventeen-year-old Mark froze on the porch steps, his Little League trophy slipping in sweaty palms. Through the kitchen window, he saw his father’s fist come down on the Formica table.

    “Abomination,” Dad spat, the word warped by the glass.

    Alex stood framed in afternoon light, their cropped hair glowing like a halo. At fifteen, they’d never looked more like Mom-same sharp cheekbones, same defiant tilt of the chin. “My name’s Alex now,” they said, voice steady. “And I won’t apologize for who I am.”

    Mom crossed herself. “You’ll burn. Both of you.”

    Mark’s stomach lurched. He’d known this was coming-the eyeliner smudges on Alex’s pillowcase, the stolen men’s shirts, the way they’d started locking the bathroom door. But he’d prayed. Oh, how he’d prayed.

    “Get out.” Dad’s voice shook. “Take your devilry elsewhere.”

    Alex didn’t flinch. They turned to Mark, eyes pleading beneath the mascara clumping their lashes. “Tell them, Marky. Tell them I’m still me.”

    The trophy’s golden batter dug into Mark’s palm. He stared at his cleats-white leather speckled with infield dirt. “You’re… you’re confused, Allie.”

    Something broke behind Alex’s eyes. They grabbed their backpack, the one covered in band patches and safety pins. “Keep your damn trophy,” they whispered, brushing past him.

    Mom’s rosary beads clattered against the windowpane as Alex vanished down Magnolia Street.

    The moth fell still, wings splayed against the lampshade. Mark traced the photo’s torn edge where Alex’s shoulder used to be. Twenty-three years, and the shame still curdled his prayers.

    A knock shattered the silence.

    “Pastor Mark?” Dora hovered in the doorway, her thrift-store cardigan swallowing her frame. She held a stack of folded towels, the shelter’s lavender detergent clinging to her like incense. “Mrs. Kowalski sent these for the family room.”

    He straightened his tie. “Set them there.”

    She hesitated, gaze snagging on the moth. “They only live a week, you know. After they emerge.”

    “Pardon?”

    “Luna moths.” She nodded at the lifeless wings. “They don’t even have mouths. Just… exist to find light.” Her fingers brushed the doorframe. “Seems lonely.”

    Mark’s jaw tightened. “We’ve all got crosses to bear.”

    Dora’s eyes flicked to the cropped family photo. For a heartbeat, he swore she saw-the phantom outline of Alex’s absence, the ledger’s damning numbers, the confession burning his tongue.

    Then she was gone, footsteps echoing down the hall.

    September 1998

    The payphone reeked of urine. Mark fed it another quarter, hands shaking. Three months since Alex left. Three months of Mom crying into her casserole dishes, Dad preaching about Sodom and Gomorrah, Mark scrubbing his skin raw after every cold shower.

    “Hello?” Alex’s voice crackled through the line-deeper now, raspy like they’d been smoking.

    “It’s me.” Mark pressed his forehead to the metal booth. “Where are you?”

    A pause. “Bus station. Chattanooga.”

    “Come home.”

    Alex laughed-a hollow sound. “To what? More Bible verses and conversion pamphlets?”

    “I’ll talk to Dad. We’ll fix this.”

    “Fix me?” The line hissed. “I’m not broken, Marky.”

    “Please. Before you…” He couldn’t say die. Couldn’t imagine Alex’s piercings rusting in some alley, their Doc Martens tossed in a dumpster.

    “Tell Mom I’m sorry about her good saucepan. I needed something to cook ramen in.” The dial tone drowned Mark’s sob.

    Rain lashed the shelter’s windows. Mark stared at the donation box someone had left on his desk-$127 in crumpled bills and a silver locket. The note read: For the garden. -D.

    His thumb found the locket’s clasp. Inside, two faces smiled up at him: a gray-haired woman and a toddler with ice cream smeared across their cheeks. A family preserved in miniature.

    “Pastor?” Mrs. Kowalski stood in the doorway, her apron dusted with flour. “The board’s ready for you.”

    He snapped the locket shut. “Tell them I’ll be right there.”

    The moth’s wings crumbled when he lifted it from the lampshade. Mark cupped the broken body, feeling the papery fragments cling to his skin. For twenty-three years, he’d preached about lost sheep. Now, faced with his own wandering flock-Dora’s quiet resilience, Jay’s guarded hope, Alex’s ghost in every mirrored surface-he understood the true cost of shepherding.

    He buried the moth in the potted fern by the window.

    Some crosses couldn’t be borne alone.

    Chapter 17: The Protest

    The shelter’s community bulletin board had become a mosaic of resistance. Rainbow flyers overlapped with handwritten notes-Pride Picnic Saturday! Bring your stories and sandwiches!-while polaroids of shelter residents smiling beneath paper flags fluttered like prayer ribbons. Dora stood back, adjusting the lopsided banner Gail had painted: LOVE IS NEVER WRONG in dripping gold letters. Her hands still smelled of acrylic and hope.

    “They’ll see it from the highway,” Gail said, stepping beside her. She wore a crop top with the sleeves ripped off, exposing the tattooed ferns on her shoulders-a deliberate provocation.

    Dora’s gaze drifted to Pastor Mark’s office window. The blinds were shut, but she imagined him inside, tallying sins like inventory. “What if no one comes?”

    Gail hooked a finger through Dora’s belt loop, pulling her close. “Then we’ll eat all the lemon bars ourselves.”

    The plan had crystallized in the Mitchells’ garage two nights earlier, maps and markers spread across the hood of Mr. Mitchell’s vintage Mustang. Jay had swiped a stack of LGBTQ+ history zines from the library, their pages bristling with sticky notes. “We need to show Pastor Dickhead this isn’t just about us,” they’d said, flipping to a photo of the 1969 Cooper Do-Nuts riot. “It’s about everyone he’s ever made feel small.”

    Now, folding chairs circled the shelter’s overgrown courtyard where dandelions punched through cracks in the concrete. Dora arranged a basket of pronoun pins (She/Her, They/Them, Ask Me!) beside a weathered copy of Audre Lorde’s Zami. Her fingers lingered on the cover-a memoir of becoming, of finding language for the unspeakable.

    “Need a hand?”

    Mrs. Kowalski stood in the doorway, holding a tray of pierogis arranged in a rainbow. Flour dusted her apron, and her knuckles gleamed with arthritis cream.

    “You didn’t have to-”

    “Pssh.” She set the tray beside the lemon bars. “My babcia marched with Solidarity in ’80. Protest food is in my blood.”

    Pastor Mark found them at noon.

    He emerged from the shelter’s side entrance, his shadow slicing across the picnic blankets where a dozen residents lounged-trans teens sketching designs for protest signs, elderly veterans debating the best way to layer glitter glue. Dora watched his gaze snag on the progress pride flag Jay had hung from the fire escape, its colors bleeding into the June sun.

    “Miss Mitchell.” His voice carried the strained calm of a man balancing on a high wire. “A word?”

    Gail stepped forward, but Dora caught her wrist. “I’ve got this.”

    The storage closet reeked of industrial cleaner and stale devotionals. Pastor Mark shut the door, plunging them into a darkness punctuated by the red glow of an exit sign.

    “This event-” he began.

    “Is happening,” Dora finished. She willed her voice not to shake. “We have permits. The board approved the use of the courtyard.”

    “The board,” he said slowly, “didn’t realize you’d be distributing… materials.” He held up one of Jay’s zines-a diagram of gender identities beside a timeline of queer rights.

    Dora crossed her arms, the moth stone a warm weight in her pocket. “Knowledge isn’t contraband.”

    “You’re putting this entire organization at risk.” His fist clenched around the zine. “The Westfields already pulled funding over your little garden stunt. Do you know what happens if the city revokes our license? Where these people will go?”

    These people. The words hung between them, sharp as broken glass.

    “You think I don’t care?” Dora’s nails bit into her palms. “I’m one of ‘these people.’ So was Alex.”

    Pastor Mark froze.

    The name-his sister’s true name-echoed in the cramped space. Dora hadn’t planned to say it, but there it was, a truth as undeniable as the heartbeat in her throat.

    “How did you-”

    “You talk in your sleep.” The confession spilled out, raw and reckless. “When you nap in your office after lunch. You say their name.”

    For a heartbeat, she saw it-the boy he’d been, watching his sibling walk away down Magnolia Street. Then his mask slid back into place.

    “Get out.”

    The protest began at 3 PM.

    Dora stood on the makeshift stage-a pallet draped in a bedsheet-her sneakers squeaking against the plywood. The crowd rippled outward: shelter residents clutching rainbow-iced cookies, queer teens from neighboring towns, Mrs. Kowalski’s book club waving Love is Love signs in Polish.

    “My name is Dora,” she began, the mic feedback screeching. Gail grinned from the sidelines, giving her a thumbs-up. “And eight weeks ago, I didn’t exist.”

    A hush fell.

    “Not on paper, anyway. But people here”-she gestured to Jay, to Mrs. Kowalski, to the nonbinary teen handing out water bottles-“saw me. Not just my body, but my heart. And that’s what Pride is, right? Being seen. Being believed.”

    Someone whooped. A toddler waved a sparkly wand, casting flecks of light across the crowd.

    Then the sirens started.

    Pastor Mark stood at the edge of the courtyard, flanked by two cops. His face was ashen, but his voice boomed with righteous fury. “This gathering is unauthorized! You have five minutes to disperse!”

    The crowd murmured, a current of fear cutting through the joy. Dora’s knees buckled, but Gail was there, steadying her elbow.

    “Check the permits!” Gail shouted, brandishing a folder. “Everything’s in order!”

    One cop squinted at the paperwork. The other adjusted his belt, eyeing the progress flag. “Says here you’re allowed fifty people max. This looks closer to seventy.”

    “Since when do you math?” Jay called out, sparking nervous laughter.

    The cop reddened. “Don’t get smart, kid.”

    Dora stepped off the stage, her heart hammering. She faced Pastor Mark directly, the sun glinting off his cross necklace. “You don’t have to do this.”

    For a fractured second, she thought he might relent-his eyes flickered to the photo booth where a trans man and his adoptive mother hugged beneath a Chosen Family banner. Then his jaw hardened.

    “Pack. It. Up.”

    They regrouped in the alley behind the shelter, the stench of dumpsters mixing with rage.

    “We’ll march to City Hall!” Gail paced, her boots crunching broken glass. “They can’t arrest all of us!”

    Jay shook their head. “Cops’ll kettle us before we hit Main Street.”

    Mrs. Kowalski pressed a Tupperware of pierogis into Dora’s hands. “Eat. Stalin always said revolutions need carbs.”

    Dora stared at the moth stone in her palm-its wings seemed to pulse in time with the chants drifting from the street. Whose shelter? Our shelter!

    “Hey.” Gail tilted Dora’s chin up. “You’re thinking about running.”

    “I’m thinking,” Dora whispered, “about how many people lose everything for moments like this.”

    Gail kissed her forehead. “Then let’s make it count.”

    The riot began with a song.

    As the cops moved in, Dora linked arms with Jay and Mrs. Kowalski. Someone started We Are Family, off-key and defiant. The toddler with the sparkly wand sat on her father’s shoulders, scattering light like a tiny disco ball.

    Pastor Mark watched from the fire escape, his grip whitening on the railing. When the first cop reached for Jay’s arm, Dora stepped between them.

    “Don’t touch them.”

    The cop laughed. “Or what, princess?”

    Then Gail was there, phone raised. “Assaulting minors looks great on Instagram!”

    A click. A flash. The cop hesitated, his buddy pulling him back.

    Dora didn’t see who threw the first handful of glitter. It caught the sunlight as it arced-a shower of gold that dusted the cops’ shoulders, the pavement, the wilted hydrangeas in the shelter’s planters.

    For a heartbeat, everyone froze.

    Then the toddler giggled.

    The crowd erupted-not in violence, but in joy. Glitter bombs burst like fireworks. A drag queen in full sequin regalia distributed rainbow popsicles. Mrs. Kowalski led a conga line past the sputtering cops, her Love is Love sign held high.

    Dora turned, searching the fire escape.

    It was empty.

    That night, they found Pastor Mark in the sanctuary.

    He sat slumped in the front pew, a bottle of communion wine dangling from his fingers. The crucifix loomed above him, its shadow slicing his face into halves.

    Gail moved to speak, but Dora shook her head.

    They left him there-swaying, silent, surrounded by the confetti of a battle he’d already lost.

    Chapter 18: First Kiss

    The shelter was quieter than usual the morning after the protest, as if the walls themselves were catching their breath. Sunlight crept through the high windows, painting soft rectangles across the battered tables. Dora found herself drifting from task to task-wiping counters, restocking napkins-her mind replaying every moment of the day before: the rainbow flags, the chants, the way Gail’s hand had found hers in the chaos, grounding her.

    Jay was the first to break the silence. They appeared in the kitchen doorway, eyes rimmed red but shining. “You did it,” they said, voice hoarse with pride. “You stood up to him. To all of them.”

    Dora shook her head, embarrassed. “We did it. I never could’ve-” Her voice caught, and she looked away, blinking fast.

    Jay offered a crooked smile. “You’re braver than you think, Dora.” They hesitated, then reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even you.”

    Dora managed a smile, warmth blooming in her chest. “Thanks, Jay.”

    They left her to her thoughts, and Dora slipped out the back door, needing air. The garden was battered but alive-trampled dandelions, a snapped tomato cage, glitter still clinging to the leaves. She knelt, brushing dirt from a patch of basil, and let herself breathe.

    A shadow fell across the garden. Gail stood at the gate, hair a wild halo in the sunlight, a bandage on her knuckle from yesterday’s frantic sign-making.

    “Hey,” Gail said, voice soft.

    “Hey.” Dora sat back on her heels, brushing soil from her hands. “Did you sleep?”

    Gail shrugged. “A little. Kept replaying everything. Wondering if we did the right thing.”

    Dora looked up, heart pounding. “We did. Even if it was messy.”

    Gail sank down beside her, knees drawn to her chest. For a long moment, they just sat in silence, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and a mourning dove’s call.

    “I was scared,” Dora admitted. “When the cops came. When Pastor Mark started yelling. I thought-maybe I’d ruined everything for you. For Jay. For everyone.”

    Gail shook her head, fierce. “You didn’t ruin anything. You showed them what matters. You showed me.” She hesitated, then reached out, her fingers brushing Dora’s wrist. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

    Dora’s breath caught. “I’m not. I was terrified.”

    Gail’s hand found hers, squeezing tight. “That’s what makes it brave.”

    The words hung between them, electric. Dora’s heart hammered in her chest. She looked at Gail-really looked-the way her freckles spilled across her cheeks, the way her eyes glinted with unshed tears, the way her thumb traced gentle circles on Dora’s skin.

    “I’ve never-” Dora began, then faltered.

    Gail’s voice was barely a whisper. “Me neither. Not like this.”

    The world narrowed: the scent of basil and earth, the warmth of Gail’s hand, the hush of the morning. Dora leaned in, trembling, and Gail met her halfway. Their lips brushed-soft, uncertain, a question and an answer all at once.

    For a heartbeat, everything stilled. The ache of yesterday, the fear of tomorrow, the weight of being seen-all of it faded, replaced by something bright and impossibly tender.

    When they broke apart, both were breathless, cheeks flushed.

    “Wow,” Gail said, voice shaking with laughter and awe. “Was that-okay?”

    Dora nodded, dazed. “Yeah. More than okay.”

    They sat in stunned silence, hands still entwined.

    A shout from the shelter’s back door startled them. Jay’s head poked out, grinning. “You two coming in, or should I bring out a picnic?”

    Gail groaned, burying her face in Dora’s shoulder. “We’re coming!”

    Dora laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere new. She squeezed Gail’s hand, and together they stood, brushing dirt from their jeans.

    Inside, the shelter was coming alive again. Mrs. Kowalski was already rolling out dough for pierogi, humming a hymn under her breath. Jay was setting up a chessboard, their smile sly.

    Gail nudged Dora. “Should we tell them?”

    Dora hesitated, nerves fluttering. “Maybe not yet. Let’s just… have today.”

    Gail nodded, understanding. “Today sounds good.”

    They worked side by side all morning, laughter and glances passing between them like a secret language. Dora felt lighter than she had in weeks-like she’d finally stepped into the sunlight after years in shadow.

    But as the lunch rush ebbed and the dining hall emptied, reality crept back in. Pastor Mark’s office door was shut, blinds drawn tight. The threat of consequences, of being forced out, still loomed.

    Dora found herself in the storeroom, stacking cans, when Gail appeared in the doorway.

    “You okay?” Gail asked, voice gentle.

    Dora nodded, but her hands shook. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Pastor Mark to call me in and-”

    Gail stepped close, resting her forehead against Dora’s. “Whatever happens, you’re not alone. I’m with you. Jay’s with you. My family, too. We’ll figure it out.”

    Dora closed her eyes, letting herself believe it. “I’m scared.”

    “Me too,” Gail whispered. “But I think that’s okay.”

    A knock at the door made them jump apart. It was Mrs. Kowalski, holding a tray of cookies. “Break time, girls. You’ve earned it.”

    Gail winked at Dora as they followed Mrs. Kowalski to the kitchen. They sat at the table, trading stories and jokes, pretending for a little while that the world was simple and safe.

    After lunch, the three of them walked to the park, the summer air thick with the scent of cut grass and honeysuckle. Jay challenged Gail to a race, and Dora cheered them on, laughter ringing out across the playground.

    They collapsed in the shade of an old oak, breathless and grinning.

    “I wish every day could be like this,” Dora said quietly.

    Gail squeezed her hand. “It can be. Maybe not always easy, but-real. Ours.”

    Jay flopped down beside them, stealing a cookie from Gail’s pocket. “You two are disgustingly cute, you know that?”

    Dora blushed, but Gail just grinned. “Took us long enough.”

    They watched the clouds drift by, the world spinning gently on.

    As the sun began to set, they made their way back to the shelter. The building glowed in the golden light, battered but standing.

    At the door, Gail paused, turning to Dora. “Whatever happens next-we’re in this together. Okay?”

    Dora nodded, heart full. “Together.”

    Inside, the world waited: challenges, questions, the threat of being forced out. But for now, Dora carried the memory of Gail’s lips on hers, the warmth of her hand, the knowledge that she was seen and loved.

    That night, as Dora lay in bed at the Mitchells’ house, she turned the day over in her mind-the fear, the joy, the miracle of being herself. She wrote in her notebook, the words flowing easy for once:

    Today, I was brave. Today, I was loved. Maybe that’s what girlhood is-learning to let yourself be seen, even when it’s terrifying. Learning to love, even when it might hurt. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but tonight, I am enough.

    She closed the notebook, hope blooming in her chest. She was Dora. She was real. And she was not alone

    Chapter 19: The Investigation

    The shelter’s kitchen was thick with the scent of cinnamon rolls and tension. Dora stood at the sink, scrubbing a baking sheet, her mind replaying the memory of Gail’s lips on hers in the garden. Every time she glanced at Gail across the room, her heart stuttered, but neither of them spoke of it. The world outside their bubble, however, was anything but silent.

    Rumors had grown teeth. Dora heard them in the way Mrs. Turner’s voice dropped when she entered a room, in the sideways glances from volunteers who’d known Wallace and now eyed Dora with suspicion. She tried to focus on the work-stacking plates, wiping counters, listening to Jay talk about their latest mural-but the unease gnawed at her.

    That morning, Pastor Mark’s office door stayed closed. The blinds were drawn, and when Dora passed by, she caught the low murmur of voices-his and a stranger’s, deep and clipped. She pressed on, pretending not to notice, but a chill ran down her spine.

    After lunch, Gail found her in the hallway, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “Something’s up,” she whispered. “Dad says Mark’s been calling around town, asking questions about you. And there was a guy here this morning-suit, briefcase, looked like he’d never set foot in a shelter before.”

    Dora’s stomach dropped. “A private investigator?”

    Gail nodded grimly. “I think so. My mom tried to talk to Mark, but he shut her down. He’s looking for dirt, Dora. Anything to prove you don’t belong.”

    Dora’s hands trembled. “What if he finds out? What if-what if I just disappear? Like I never existed?”

    Gail squeezed her arm. “You’re not alone. My parents are furious. They’re going to the board. And if Mark tries anything, we’ll fight back. I promise.”

    Dora nodded, swallowing hard. She wanted to believe it, but fear pressed in on all sides.

    The next day, the shelter buzzed with nervous energy. Dora kept her head down, focusing on the tasks at hand. She sorted canned goods in the storeroom, her mind racing. Every time the phone rang at the front desk, she flinched, half-expecting to be called into Mark’s office.

    Jay appeared in the doorway, holding two mugs of cocoa. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

    Dora managed a weak smile. “Just tired.”

    Jay sat beside her on a crate, passing over a mug. “People are talking. About you. About the protest. About Mark. Mrs. Kowalski says the board’s meeting tonight.”

    Dora’s grip tightened on the mug. “I wish I could just be normal. Invisible.”

    Jay shook their head. “You’re not invisible, Dora. That’s the problem. You’re real. And you make things happen. That scares people like Mark.”

    They sat in silence, sipping cocoa, the hum of the fridge filling the space between them.

    That evening, Gail’s parents arrived at the shelter, their faces set with determination. Susan Mitchell, her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, marched straight to Pastor Mark’s office. Robert followed, jaw clenched.

    Dora watched from the hallway, anxiety churning in her gut. Gail slipped up beside her, squeezing her hand.

    Inside the office, voices rose-Susan’s sharp, Mark’s defensive. “You have no right to investigate a child,” Susan said, her voice carrying through the thin walls. “Dora is staying with us. She’s safe. If you have concerns, you bring them to us, not some stranger.”

    Mark’s reply was muffled, but Dora caught the words “background check” and “liability.” Robert’s voice rumbled, low and dangerous: “You’re not the police, Mark. And you don’t get to decide who’s worthy of help.”

    The door opened suddenly, and Susan emerged, cheeks flushed. She spotted Dora and Gail, softening. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” she said, pulling Dora into a brief, fierce hug. “We’re not letting him push you out.”

    But the damage was done. The next morning, a stranger waited in the shelter’s lobby. He wore a gray suit and carried a leather folder. When Dora entered, he stood, blocking her path.

    “Miss Dora, is it?” His tone was polite, but his eyes were cold. “I’m Mr. Harlan. I’m conducting a routine inquiry on behalf of the shelter’s administration.”

    Dora’s pulse hammered in her ears. “I-I’m just a volunteer.”

    He smiled thinly. “Of course. I just have a few questions. Where are you from? Who are your parents? What school did you attend before coming here?”

    Dora’s mind went blank. She’d rehearsed answers with Gail, but under the man’s scrutiny, the words tangled. “I-I don’t really have a family. I was staying with friends. The Mitchells took me in.”

    He jotted notes, expression unreadable. “No school records? No identification?”

    Dora shook her head, heat rising in her cheeks. “I-I lost everything. It’s complicated.”

    Mr. Harlan closed his folder. “Thank you for your time.” He turned away, leaving Dora trembling in the middle of the lobby.

    The rest of the day passed in a blur. Dora felt every eye on her, every whisper a potential accusation. At lunch, Mrs. Kowalski pressed a warm roll into her hand.

    “You’re stronger than you think, Dora,” she murmured. “Don’t let them scare you.”

    Jay found her in the rec room, fidgeting with a chess piece. “He cornered me too,” they said. “Asked about you. I told him you’re my friend. That’s all he needs to know.”

    Dora managed a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

    Gail joined them, her face stormy. “My parents are meeting with the board tonight. They’re bringing a lawyer. Mark can’t just investigate you without cause.”

    Dora nodded, hope flickering. “I just want to stay. To help.”

    Gail squeezed her hand. “You will. We’ll make sure of it.”

    That evening, the shelter board convened in the conference room. Dora waited in the hallway with Gail, Jay, and Susan Mitchell. The minutes crawled by, tension mounting.

    Finally, the door opened. Pastor Mark stepped out, face pale. He glanced at Dora, something like regret flickering in his eyes.

    Susan emerged, her expression triumphant. “They’re putting a stop to the investigation. Mark’s been warned-no more private eyes, no more digging. If he has concerns, he brings them to the board, not strangers.”

    Dora sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

    Susan hugged her. “You’re family now. We protect our own.”

    Later, as the shelter emptied for the night, Dora and Gail sat on the back steps, watching the stars emerge.

    “I was so scared,” Dora whispered. “I thought I’d lose everything.”

    Gail leaned against her, head on her shoulder. “You won’t. Not while I’m here. Not while my family’s here.”

    Dora closed her eyes, letting the warmth of Gail’s presence steady her.

    “You’re not alone, Dora,” Gail said softly. “Not ever again.”

    Dora smiled, hope blooming in her chest. The investigation had threatened to erase her, but instead it had revealed something deeper-a network of care, a chosen family willing to fight for her place in the world.

    As the night deepened, Dora wrote in her notebook:

    Today, I was seen. Not just as a problem to be solved, but as someone worth protecting. Maybe that’s what family really is-not just blood, but the people who stand beside you when the world tries to erase you. I’m scared, but I’m not alone. And that makes all the difference.

    She closed the notebook, the fear receding. Whatever came next, she would face it with Gail, with Jay, with the Mitchells-her family, chosen and true

    Chapter 20: The Erasure

    Dora woke to the sound of rain tapping against the Mitchells’ guest room window, the world outside blurred and gray. For a moment, she lay still, cocooned in the warmth of borrowed blankets, listening to the house breathe around her: the distant clatter of Gail making breakfast, the hum of the dishwasher, the muted voices of her new family. She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the steady thump of her heart-a rhythm she was finally learning to trust.

    But beneath the comfort, a strange unease gnawed at her. She’d had another dream: a hallway lined with doors, each one marked with a name she almost recognized. When she tried to open one, it dissolved into mist. She woke with the taste of loss on her tongue.

    Downstairs, the kitchen was bright with the scent of cinnamon and coffee. Gail grinned as Dora entered, waving a spatula. “Morning, sleeping beauty. I made pancakes. Dad’s already left for work, but Mom says you can have first dibs.”

    Dora smiled, letting herself be drawn into the swirl of morning routine. She poured orange juice, set the table, tried to ignore the ache in her chest. Gail watched her, concern flickering in her eyes.

    “You okay?” she asked softly, when her mom stepped out to answer the phone.

    Dora hesitated. “Just… weird dreams. I keep seeing doors I can’t open. Names I can’t remember.”

    Gail set down the spatula and came to her side. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

    Dora nodded, but the feeling lingered.

    At the shelter, Dora’s day began with routine-sorting donations, helping Mrs. Kowalski knead bread, laughing at Jay’s terrible puns as they painted a new mural in the rec room. But everywhere she turned, she felt the edges of her world fraying.

    It started with a question from a new volunteer. “What school did you say you went to?” she asked, friendly and oblivious.

    Dora opened her mouth-and nothing came. She couldn’t remember the name of her old school, the mascot, even the color of the lockers. The memory was gone, as if someone had erased it with a careful hand.

    She covered quickly, mumbling something about moving around a lot, but the encounter left her shaken.

    Later, she found Jay in the garden, their hands stained with dirt and green paint. “You ever feel like you’re disappearing?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

    Jay glanced up, concern in their eyes. “You’re more real than anyone I know.”

    Dora tried to smile. “What if I’m not? What if I’m just… fading?”

    Jay shook their head. “You’re here. You’re helping. That’s real.”

    But Dora wasn’t sure. At lunch, she reached for her phone to text her old friend from before-only to realize she couldn’t remember their name, or even what they looked like. Her contacts list was empty except for the people she’d met since becoming Dora.

    The feeling grew worse as the day went on. In the shelter office, Pastor Mark was on the phone, his voice tight. “No, I’m telling you, there’s no record. I’ve checked every database. It’s like she never existed.”

    Dora froze in the hallway, her breath catching. She pressed herself against the wall, listening.

    “I don’t care what the Mitchells say,” Pastor Mark continued. “If she can’t prove who she is, she can’t stay here. It’s a liability.”

    Dora slipped away before he could see her, her hands shaking. She found Gail in the storage room, restocking canned goods.

    “I think I’m disappearing,” Dora whispered, her voice cracking. “Not just from my old life, but from everywhere. Pastor Mark can’t find any record of me. I can’t remember things-my old friends, my school, even my parents’ faces are getting blurry.”

    Gail set down a can of beans and pulled Dora into a fierce hug. “You’re not disappearing. You’re right here. With me.”

    Dora clung to her, but the fear wouldn’t let go.

    That night, after dinner, Dora sat at the kitchen table with a stack of papers the Mitchells’ lawyer had brought over. “We’re going to get you some documentation,” Susan Mitchell said gently. “It may not be perfect, but it’ll help. You’re part of this family now.”

    Dora tried to focus on the forms-new name, new birthday, new history-but the words swam before her eyes. She realized she couldn’t remember her old signature. She couldn’t even remember how her parents’ handwriting looked.

    She excused herself and fled upstairs, locking herself in the bathroom. She stared at her reflection, searching for some trace of the person she used to be. But all she saw was Dora-a girl with wide eyes and trembling hands.

    She pressed her forehead to the mirror, willing herself to remember.

    Who am I, really? she wondered. If no one remembers me, if there’s no proof I ever existed, am I even real?

    The next day, the erasure accelerated.

    At the library, Dora tried to log into the computer with her old email address. “Account not found,” the screen blinked. She tried again, and again, but it was gone. She checked the yearbook shelf, searching for her old class photo. The book flipped open to the right year, but her picture was missing-a blank space where her face should have been.

    She stumbled out into the sunlight, dizzy.

    At the shelter, Mrs. Kowalski waved her over. “Dora, dear, could you help me with the bread?”

    Dora nodded, grateful for the distraction. But as they worked, Mrs. Kowalski paused, frowning. “Did you ever tell me where you’re from? I feel like I should know, but-” She shook her head, as if trying to clear a fog.

    Dora’s heart pounded. “It’s okay. It’s not important.”

    But it was. It was everything.

    That evening, Dora sat on the porch with Gail, watching the sun set behind the trees. The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and rain.

    “I’m scared,” Dora admitted. “I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself. Like the world is erasing me, bit by bit.”

    Gail took her hand. “You’re not alone. I remember you. Jay remembers you. My parents remember you. That’s enough.”

    Dora shook her head. “But what if it’s not? What if one day, even you forget?”

    Gail’s grip tightened. “I won’t. I promise.”

    Dora closed her eyes, letting the promise settle over her like a blanket. But the fear lingered.

    That night, Dora dreamed of her parents. She stood in the doorway of her childhood home, calling out for them. But when they turned to her, their faces were blank-featureless, unknowing. She reached out, but they faded away, leaving her alone in the empty house.

    She woke with tears on her cheeks.

    The next morning, Dora found the courage to call her old home number. The phone rang and rang, then a woman answered. “Hello?”

    Dora’s breath caught. “Mom?”

    A pause. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

    “It’s me. It’s-” She tried to say her old name, but it wouldn’t come. The word stuck in her throat, foreign and meaningless.

    “I think you have the wrong number,” the woman said gently, and hung up.

    Dora stared at the phone, numb.

    At the shelter, Pastor Mark cornered her in the hallway. “I’ve spoken to the authorities. There’s no record of you anywhere. No birth certificate, no school files, nothing. Who are you really?”

    Dora looked him in the eye, her fear burned away by a sudden, fierce clarity. “I’m Dora. That’s all I know.”

    He shook his head, frustrated. “That’s not enough.”

    “It has to be,” she whispered.

    That afternoon, Dora sat in the garden, the moth stone warm in her hand. Jay joined her, silent.

    “Do you think it’s possible to just… vanish?” Dora asked.

    Jay thought for a long moment. “Maybe. But I think the people who love you keep you real. Like, as long as someone remembers, you’re still here.”

    Dora nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I hope so.”

    Jay squeezed her shoulder. “You’re not alone, Dora. Not ever.”

    That night, Dora wrote in her notebook, the words shaky but determined:

    Today, I felt myself slipping away. The world is forgetting me-my old friends, my family, even the records that proved I ever existed. But I’m still here. I have Gail. I have Jay. I have this new family and this new life. Maybe that’s what matters.

    Maybe being real isn’t about the past. Maybe it’s about the people who see you now, who love you now. Maybe I can let go of who I was, and just be Dora.

    She closed the notebook, hope flickering in her chest.

    She was Dora. She was real. And she would not disappear. Not as long as someone remembered. Not as long as she kept choosing to exist, every single day

    Chapter 21: The Mentor

    The garden gate creaked on rusted hinges as Dora slipped into the overgrown lot behind the shelter. Moonlight silvered the riot of untamed zinnias and milkweed, their tangled stems bowing under the weight of summer’s last blooms. She clutched the moth stone in her palm, its carved wings biting into her flesh as she knelt beside the compost bin. The stench of decay mingled with the sweetness of rotting peaches-a metaphor she’d have found poetic if her hands weren’t shaking.

    “You’ve been avoiding me.”

    Dora startled, nearly dropping the stone. Ms. Elara sat perched on an overturned bucket, her patched raincoat blending with the shadows. The old woman peeled a clementine with hands that seemed both ancient and ageless, the citrus scent cutting through the garden’s musk.

    “I’m not Wallace,” Dora blurted, the words sharp with defiance she didn’t feel.

    “Aren’t you?” Ms. Elara offered a segment of fruit, the flesh glowing like amber in the dim light. “That boy’s grief still clings to you like burrs to a sweater.”

    Dora recoiled. The truth of it stung-the way she still flinched at her reflection in shop windows, the nightmares where Pastor Mark’s voice warped into her father’s. She’d buried Wallace’s journal beneath Gail’s floorboards last week, but its absence haunted her more than its presence ever had.

    Ms. Elara rose, her movements fluid despite the cane she leaned on. “Walk with me.”

    They wandered rows of sunflowers gone to seed, their heavy heads bowed as if in prayer. The old woman paused to brush a thumb over the scarred stem where someone had snapped off a bloom. “Magic isn’t a wand wave, child. It’s the courage to keep growing when the world wants to prune you.”

    “I didn’t ask for this!” Dora gestured to her body-the hips that still felt foreign, the voice that sometimes startled her with its lightness. “You turned me into a riddle no one can solve.”

    “Riddles have answers.” Ms. Elara pressed a hand to Dora’s chest, where her heart thundered against her ribs. “You’ve been solving this one since the moment you wished yourself into existence.”

    A moth drifted past, its wings leaving trails of phosphorescence in the dark. Dora watched it alight on a thistle, remembering the cocoon she’d found in the Mitchells’ garage-papery and fragile, yet impossibly resilient.

    “Why make me forget?” The question came out smaller than she intended. “My parents, my school records… it’s like I’m being erased twice.”

    Ms. Elara’s gaze sharpened. “Do you miss the boy they loved, or the boy they wanted?”

    The words landed like a stone in a still pond. Dora saw her mother’s hands braiding her sister’s hair, her father’s Bible left open to Leviticus. She’d buried Wallace to survive, but the grave kept cracking open.

    “Magic demands sacrifice,” Ms. Elara continued, “but you get to choose what you offer. Memories or freedom. Shame or self.”

    A rustle in the nearby raspberry bushes made them both turn. Jay emerged, their green hair matted with leaves, a half-eaten pastry clutched in one hand. “The hell? I’ve been looking everywhere for-”

    They froze, eyes widening as they recognized Ms. Elara. The old woman smiled, extending the remaining clementine segments. “Hungry?”

    Jay backed away, their usual swagger replaced by wary curiosity. “You’re that lady from the alley. The one who…” Their gaze flicked to Dora. “Shit. You’re like her, aren’t you? Some kind of fairy godmother?”

    Ms. Elara’s laugh sounded like wind through dry grass. “I prefer ‘reluctant midwife to miracles.’”

    Dora stepped between them, the moth stone burning in her fist. “What do you want from me?”

    “The same thing you wanted when you cupped that dying moth in your hands at age six. The same thing Jay wanted when they stole their first binder.” Ms. Elara’s cane thumped against the compost bin, sending a cloud of fruit flies swirling. “To live without apology.”

    The garden seemed to hold its breath. Somewhere beyond the chain-link fence, a car alarm wailed.

    Jay broke the silence first. “So give her a magic sword or whatever. Make Pastor Dickhead forget she exists.”

    “Power isn’t a weapon-it’s a mirror.” Ms. Elara turned to Dora, her eyes reflecting the moon’s cold fire. “Every time you introduce yourself, every time you stand your ground, you remake the world. That’s the spell.”

    Dora thought of Gail’s hand in hers during the board meeting, of Mrs. Kowalski’s flour-dusted hugs. The way Jay had started leaving their art supplies in her locker-a silent claim of belonging.

    “And if it’s not enough?” she whispered.

    Ms. Elara pressed the clementine peel into Dora’s palm, the oils stinging her skin. “When the frost comes, the trees don’t beg for mercy. They let go.”

    The metaphor clicked into place with painful clarity. Dora stared at the decaying fruit in her hand-the perfect spiral of rind, the white pith clinging stubbornly to the flesh.

    “You’re asking me to stop fighting.”

    “I’m asking you to trust that roots grow deeper when storms try to rip them out.” Ms. Elara nodded toward the shelter, where a light flickered in Pastor Mark’s office window. “That man’s fear is a bonfire, but you…” She touched Dora’s cheek, her fingers surprisingly warm. “You’re the spark that survives the rain.”

    A crash echoed from the alley. Jay cursed, scrambling to retrieve their dropped pastry. When Dora turned back, Ms. Elara was gone-only a scattering of moth wings remained, dissolving like ash in the breeze.

    “Creepy,” Jay muttered, brushing dirt off their jeans. “But kinda badass.”

    Dora pocketed the clementine peel, its citrus scent mixing with the moth stone’s earthy musk. She felt unmoored yet strangely solid, like a sapling finding purchase in cracked concrete.

    “Come on.” She nodded toward the shelter’s back entrance. “Mrs. Kowalski’s making pierogis tonight.”

    Jay fell into step beside her, their shoulder bumping hers. “You gonna tell Gail about the witch lady?”

    “Not yet.” Dora traced the moth stone’s grooves through her pocket lining. “But I think… I think I know what to do.”

    As they passed the boarded-up garden gate, Dora paused. Behind the plywood, something green and stubborn pushed through the soil-a zucchini seedling she’d thought long dead. She smiled, and for the first time since her transformation, the expression didn’t feel like a performance.

    The miracle wasn’t in the magic. It was in the choosing.

    Chapter 22: The Ultimatum

    The shelter’s garden gate hung crooked on its hinges, its new padlock glinting under the August sun. Dora knelt in the dirt, her fingers trembling as she tucked basil seedlings into freshly turned soil. The earthy scent usually calmed her, but today it smelled like loss. Behind her, the back door slammed.

    “He wants to see you.”

    Gail’s voice cracked like dry kindling. Dora turned, wiping her hands on her overalls. Her girlfriend stood framed in the doorway, rainbow-painted nails digging into the doorjamb.

    “Now?” Dora’s throat tightened.

    “Armed with his little spreadsheet and that fucking cross necklace.” Gail kicked a pebble, sending it skittering across the pavement. “I’ll come with-”

    “No.” Dora stood, brushing dirt from her knees. “This is between us.”

    The walk to Pastor Mark’s office felt like wading through syrup. Dora counted her steps-seventeen, eighteen, nineteen-each one echoing the shelter’s hidden rhythms: Mrs. Kowalski’s off-key humming in the kitchen, the clatter of chess pieces in the rec room, the soft thump of Jay’s headphones bleeding bass from the supply closet.

    Pastor Mark’s door stood ajar. He sat hunched over his desk, sunlight slicing through the blinds to stripe his trembling hands. The family photo-the one with Alex’s shadow still clinging to the torn edge-lay facedown beside a stack of donation reports.

    “Close the door.”

    Dora obeyed, the click of the latch louder than a gunshot.

    “You’ve put me in an impossible position.” He didn’t look up, his finger tracing the spreadsheet’s red-inked totals. “Westfield’s lawyers are threatening to sue for fraud. The city’s auditing our intake records. And you-”

    “I didn’t ask for this.” The words tasted like ash.

    “No?” His head snapped up, eyes bloodshot. “You waltzed in here with your miracle and your righteous indignation, upending everything! Do you know what happens if we lose funding? Where will Jay sleep? Who’ll pay for Mrs. Kowalski’s insulin?”

    Dora gripped the chairback, knuckles bleaching white. “You think I don’t care about them?”

    “I think you’re selfish.” He stood abruptly, the chair screeching. “This isn’t some fairytale where courage always wins. Real people suffer when you-”

    “When I what?” Heat flooded her veins. “Exist? Take up space? Breathe?”

    Pastor Mark flinched. For a heartbeat, she saw it-the boy who’d watched his sibling walk away, the man who’d buried his grief in scripture and spreadsheets. Then his mask snapped back.

    “You have one week.” He thrust a folded letter across the desk. “After that, I’ll have no choice but to notify the authorities about your… situation.”

    The paper crinkled in Dora’s fist. Outside, a child laughed-Miguel chasing his sister through the hydrangeas.

    Gail was waiting by the compost bins, pacing like a caged animal. “Well?”

    Dora handed her the letter.

    “Cease all volunteer activities pending investigation-are you fucking joking?” Gail’s voice rose, drawing stares from the dining hall windows. “He can’t do this! The board would never-”

    “The board follows the money.” Dora pried the letter back, its creases sharp as knife edges. “And we both know where that leads.”

    “So that’s it?” Gail grabbed her shoulders. “You’ll just disappear? Let him win?”

    “I don’t want to!” Dora shook free, tears blurring the garden into a watercolor smear. “But if staying means the shelter closes… if Jay gets kicked out again… am I worth that?”

    Gail opened her mouth, then closed it. The truth hung between them-a barbed wire neither could touch.

    They found Jay in the art room, spray-painting a new mural over Pastor Mark’s “Modest Dress Code” poster. The stencil read: NO ANGELS HERE-JUST PEOPLE TRYING.

    “Heard the news.” Jay didn’t turn, their voice muffled by the respirator. “Bastard came by earlier sniffing about ‘inappropriate messages.’” They gestured to the half-covered Bible verse on the wall. “Figured I’d redecorate.”

    Gail grabbed a can of crimson. “Where’s the black?”

    “Gail-” Dora started.

    “Nope.” Jay tossed her a mask. “If we’re going down, we’re doing it in glitter.”

    Dora watched them work-Gail’s furious slashes of red, Jay’s meticulous feather detailing-until the mural became a phoenix rising from ash-colored verses. Her fingers found the moth stone in her pocket, its wings pressing secrets into her palm.

    “We’ll call an emergency board meeting.” Gail stepped back, wiping paint from her cheek. “Mom’s on the finance committee. Dad knows a lawyer who-”

    “And say what?” Dora interrupted. “That your homeless girlfriend magically became a girl? That I’m some… some ghost who deserves a seat at the table?”

    The silence rang louder than sirens.

    Jay ripped off their respirator. “You’re not a ghost. You’re the reason Tomas learned to read. The reason Mrs. K stopped hiding her Polish recipes. The reason I-” Their voice broke. “I stayed.”

    Gail reached for her, but Dora stepped back. The garden called to her-the basil needed watering, the zucchini stakes required mending-but when she pushed through the back door, she froze.

    The raised beds lay ravaged. Tomato vines hung shredded, their green fruit trampled into the mud. Sunflowers slumped like broken necks, petals scattered like golden tears. In the center of the destruction, a single gardening glove dangled from the fence-fingers stiff with dried cement.

    “Oh god.” Gail staggered. “Who would-”

    “Westfield’s crew.” Jay knelt, plucking a business card from the soil: Westfield Properties-Building Better Communities. “They’ve been sniffing around for months. Wanted to ‘revitalize’ the block.”

    Dora crouched, her hands sifting through the wreckage. Beneath the crushed marigolds, something glinted-Ms. Elara’s moth stone, its wings smeared with mud.

    You’re the spark that survives the rain.

    The emergency board meeting convened at midnight in the shelter’s storm cellar-Gails idea to avoid Pastor Mark’s spies. Mrs. Kowalski brought pierogis. Jay strung fairy lights through the rafters. A dozen shelter residents crowded onto folding chairs, their faces lit by the glow of Gail’s laptop.

    “We have proof.” She clicked through security cam footage-Westfield’s men tearing through the garden, Pastor Mark watching from his office window. “Mark let them in. Probably to scare us off the property before the audit.”

    Mrs. Kowalski crossed herself. “Judas.”

    “We take this public.” Jay projected a tweet draft: @NewHopeShelter director colludes with developer to destroy community garden. “Go viral by morning.”

    “And then what?” An elderly vet leaned forward, his wheelchair squeaking. “They shut us down faster?”

    “We fight.” Gail’s eyes burned. “Occupations, petitions, hunger strikes if we have to. This place isn’t just walls-it’s us.”

    All eyes turned to Dora.

    She stood, the moth stone warm in her fist. “When I came here, I thought magic meant getting everything I wanted. But real magic…” She looked at Gail’s paint-stained hands, Jay’s defiant stencil, Mrs. Kowalski’s flour-dusted rosary. “Real magic is choosing to care when the world tells you not to.”

    The vote was unanimous.

    At dawn, they gathered in the ruined garden. Dora pressed Ms. Elara’s stone into the soil where the basil had grown. Gail wired speakers to the fire escape. Jay distributed pots and pans from the kitchen.

    When Pastor Mark arrived, clipboard in hand, he found the gates flung wide. A banner hung where his “Modest Dress Code” poster had been: NO ANGELS HERE-JUST PEOPLE TRYING.

    “This ends now.” His voice shook. “I’ll call the police.”

    Dora stepped forward, Miguel’s hand in hers. “Call them.”

    As sirens wailed in the distance, she lifted the bullhorn. Her voice, when it came, didn’t tremble.

    “My name is Dora. I have no papers, no past, no power. But I have this place. These people. And we’re not leaving.”

    Somewhere in the crowd, a pot clanged. Then another. The rhythm spread-spoons on buckets, feet stomping pavement-until the street throbbed with the sound of resistance.

    Pastor Mark paled. For the first time, Dora saw fear in his eyes-not of her, but of the truth taking root.

    The riot would make headlines. The police would make arrests. But in this moment, as the sunrise gilded broken sunflowers, Dora understood the magic Ms. Elara had spoken of-not transformation, but persistence.

    She raised her fist, and the shelter roared.

    Chapter 23: The Rally

    Dawn seeped through the shelter’s grimy windows, painting the dining hall in shades of bruised purple and gold. Dora stood on a folding chair, her fingers trembling as she adjusted the banner above the entrance. The letters, cut from old donation boxes and painted in Gail’s riotous rainbow hues, read: WE BELONG TO EACH OTHER. Below, a smaller sign in Jay’s jagged script warned: PASTORS MAY COME, BUT LOVE STAYS.

    “Tilt the ‘R’ up,” Gail called from across the room, where she was stacking milk crates into a makeshift stage. “It’s looking a little apocalyptic.”

    Dora fiddled with the crooked letter, her gaze drifting to the family photo wall-new Polaroids of shelter residents hugging, laughing, holding handmade signs for today’s protest. Her throat tightened. Last night, they’d gathered in the rec room, cutting stencils and sharing stories. Mrs. Kowalski had brought her late husband’s sewing shears to trim poster board, her hands steady as she recounted fleeing Poland in ’81. “We carried banners then too,” she’d said, pressing a cup of chamomile into Dora’s hands. “Words matter, mój mały ptaku. Even when they shake.”

    Now, the shelter hummed with purpose. Jay wheeled in a shopping cart full of sunflowers plucked from the garden, their petals still dewy. “Floral rebellion,” they announced, tucking a bloom behind Dora’s ear. “Eat your heart out, Westfield.”

    Dora forced a smile, but her pulse thrummed like power lines before a storm. She’d spent the night drafting speeches in her notebook, each version more desperate than the last. How do you explain existing? she’d scrawled, the pen nearly tearing through the page. How do you prove you’re real?

    By midmorning, the crowd swelled beyond the shelter’s gates. Teenagers from the LGBTQ youth group waved hand-painted flags, their laughter cutting through the tension. Elderly regulars occupied folding chairs, their signs propped on walkers: DORA STAYS in wobbly block letters. Even Miguel’s abuela had come, her chanclas tapping out a furious rhythm as she directed traffic.

    Gail climbed onto the milk crate stage, her megaphone screeching feedback. “They want us divided? We show them united!” The cheer that followed shook the sidewalk.

    Dora lingered by the hydrangeas, their petals trampled from last week’s confrontation with Westfield’s men. She’d replanted them at dawn, fingers clawing through soil still stinking of gasoline. Now, their bruised stems stood defiant-a quiet counterpoint to the chaos.

    “You’re supposed to be the star, you know.” Jay appeared beside her, holding two cups of Mrs. Kowalski’s infamous beetroot lemonade. “Not the stagehand.”

    “What if I mess up?” Dora whispered. The notebook in her back pocket felt like a brick.

    Jay shrugged. “Then we mess up together. That’s what family does.”

    The first counter-protesters arrived at noon-a handful of men in ill-fitting suits, their signs generic (“PROTECT OUR VALUES”) but their eyes sharp as switchblades. Dora recognized Mr. Westfield’s lawyer among them, snapping photos with a phone sleek enough to fund the shelter’s kitchen for a month.

    Pastor Mark emerged from his office, his tie knotted too tight. For a heartbeat, Dora saw the boy he’d been-the one who’d watched his sibling walk away, the one who’d chosen fear over love. Then his mask slid into place.

    “This is a house of God,” he boomed, though his voice cracked on the last word. “Not a circus!”

    Mrs. Kowalski stepped forward, her flour-dusted apron fluttering. “And what does your God say about chasing children into alleys, hm? About locking doors instead of opening hearts?”

    The crowd murmured. Miguel’s abuela began a hymn in Spanish, her voice raspy but unwavering. Others joined-a harmony of accents and off-key courage that drowned out the pastor’s spluttering.

    Gail grabbed Dora’s wrist. “It’s time.”

    The milk crate stage wobbled under Dora’s feet. She stared at the sea of faces-the trans teen who’d taught her chess, the veteran who shared his nicotine gum, the single mom who’d tucked a wildflower into her hair that first terrifying week. Her mouth went cotton-dry.

    Then Jay climbed up beside her, their green hair blazing in the sunlight. “Most of you know me as the shelter’s resident anarchist,” they began, earning scattered laughs. “But today? I’m just a kid who finally found home.” They turned to Dora, their voice softening. “She’s not a project or a problem. She’s the reason I’m still here. The reason any of us believe change is possible.”

    A sign bobbed near the front: DORA = FAMILY in Miguel’s crayon scrawl. Dora’s vision blurred.

    “They tried to erase her,” Jay continued, louder now. “But you can’t erase love! You can’t padlock the fucking future!”

    The cheer was thunder. Gail squeezed Dora’s hand, her palm sweaty but sure.

    Dora unfolded her notebook, the pages damp with nervous sweat. The speech she’d written-about justice, about belonging-suddenly felt hollow. She looked up, meeting Pastor Mark’s gaze across the parking lot.

    “I’m not Wallace,” she said, the megaphone trembling. “But I’m not just Dora either.” A deep breath. “I’m the kid who shares their last granola bar. The volunteer who stays late to listen. I’m…” Her voice broke. “I’m what happens when we choose each other.”

    Miguel’s abuela whooped. Someone blew a kazoo.

    “They say I don’t exist on paper.” Dora pulled the moth stone from her pocket, its wings catching the light. “But papers burn. Stories?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Stories stay.”

    The crowd erupted. Signs became drumsticks on dumpster lids. Jay leapt off the stage, leading a conga line past the stunned counter-protesters. Even Mrs. Kowalski swayed, her eyes closed and arms raised like she was sixteen again, dancing in a Warsaw square.

    Pastor Mark approached as the sun dipped below the roofline. His shadow stretched long and thin, nearly touching Dora’s sneakers.

    “This won’t change anything,” he said quietly. “The board meets tomorrow. Westfield’s lawyers-”

    “Are welcome to subpoena my diary.” Dora held his gaze. “Page one says, Today, I learned hope is a verb.”

    He flinched. For a heartbeat, she saw it-the ghost of Alex in the tilt of his chin, the tremor of a brother who’d loved and lost. Then he turned, his polished shoes clicking a retreat.

    They lit candles as night fell, the flames reflected in a hundred tear-streaked faces. Gail rested her head on Dora’s shoulder, their linked hands glowing in the flickering light.

    “You were amazing,” Gail murmured.

    Dora watched a moth orbit the nearest candle-its wings pale gold, its path unwavering. “We all were.”

    In her pocket, the stone pulsed once, warm as a heartbeat.

    Somewhere down the block, a car alarm wailed. The crowd cheered, turning discord into music. Dora closed her eyes and let the noise wash over her-a symphony of belonging, louder than any doubt.

    Chapter 24: The Breaking Point

    The shelter’s attic storage room smelled of mothballs and forgotten things. Dora knelt between boxes labeled Christmas Decorations ‘08 and VBS Craft Supplies, her hands trembling as she stuffed a duffel bag with protein bars and Gails spare hoodie. Moonlight bled through the single grime-caked window, casting jagged shadows across the floorboards. Somewhere below, a pipe clanged-the building’s old bones settling-and she froze, half-expecting Pastor Mark’s footsteps on the stairs.

    Three hours earlier

    The community center’s fluorescent lights had hummed like a hive as Dora stood before the town council, her notecards damp with sweat. Gail’s parents flanked her-Robert’s hand a steady weight on her shoulder, Susan’s perfume a citrus shield against the stares.

    “Miss Dora,” Councilwoman Patel began, adjusting her glasses. “You’ve petitioned to address the shelter’s funding cuts. You have three minutes.”

    Dora’s mouth went cotton-dry. She gripped the podium, her reflection warped in its brass surface-a girl made of fragments. Behind her, Pastor Mark’s cologne invaded her senses.

    “The shelter isn’t just beds and soup,” she started, voice wavering. “It’s where Jay learned to trust again. Where Mrs. Kowalski teaches kids to knead dough instead of fear. Where-”

    “Forgive me,” interrupted Mr. Westfield from the front row. He didn’t stand, didn’t raise his voice. “But shouldn’t we focus on legitimate concerns? This... person can’t even prove she exists.”

    The room erupted. Gail shot up, her chair screeching. “She’s right here!”

    Councilwoman Patel banged her gavel. “Order!”

    Dora’s vision tunneled. She saw it then-the future unspooling like rotten thread. Pastor Mark’s resignation. The shelter’s gates chained shut. Gail’s family bankrupt from legal fees.

    She ran.

    Now, crammed between boxes of tinsel and guilt, Dora unearthed her final artifact-Wallace’s old pocketknife, rusted shut. She’d buried it here weeks ago, a makeshift grave for the boy she’d mourned. The blade refused to open, fused by time and saltwater tears.

    “You’re better at goodbyes than I am.”

    Dora whirled. Jay leaned in the doorway, backlit by the hall’s sickly glow. Their new septum ring caught the moonlight-a gift from Gail after the protest arrests.

    “How’d you find me?” Dora whispered.

    Jay tossed an apple core into the shadows. “You left your phone charging in the kitchen. Saw the bus schedule tab open.” They stepped inside, Doc Martens crunching ancient glitter. “Portland? Really? You’d last ten minutes before adopting some alley cats and starting a community garden.”

    Dora hugged the duffel to her chest. “He’s going to destroy them, Jay. Gail’s parents, the shelter... I’m the grenade no one sees until it’s too late.”

    Jay knelt, their knees popping. “Remember when you taught Miguel to read? His mom said you ‘walked in with patience and left with apple sauce in your hair.’” They flicked the pocketknife. “This isn’t you. The girl I know fights for apple sauce moments.”

    “The girl you know is a ghost!” Dora’s voice cracked. “I don’t even have a library card, Jay. Every ID the Mitchells fake for me, Westfield tears apart. I’m a... a rumor with anxiety!”

    Silence pooled between them. Somewhere, a mouse scrabbled through insulation.

    Jay stood abruptly. “Then be a rumor that haunts his ass.” They extended a hand. “C’mon. Gail’s losing her mind at the bus station.”

    The 11:15 to Portland idled at the curb, exhaust curling into the autumn chill. Dora hovered beneath the flickering departures board, her duffel lighter than her bones.

    Gail found her by the vending machines, cheeks flushed from running.

    “You were just going to leave?” Her voice splintered on the last word. “No note? No ‘thanks for the memories’?”

    Dora traced a crack in the linoleum. “Your parents’ savings... the lawsuit...”

    “We knew the risks!” Gail stepped closer, the moth stone swinging from her neck-Dora’s goodbye gift left on her pillow. “You don’t get to martyr yourself because some rich bigot-”

    “It’s not just him!” Dora’s shout echoed through the empty station. A janitor glanced over, then wisely looked away. “Every day I wake up terrified I’ll flicker out. That you’ll look at me and see nothing.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I can’t lose you too.”

    Gail’s resolve crumpled. She cupped Dora’s face, thumbs brushing the tears neither had acknowledged. “You won’t.”

    “You don’t know that.”

    “I do.” Gail’s lips found hers-soft, desperate, a live wire grounding them both. When they broke apart, her forehead rested against Dora’s. “Stay. Please.”

    The bus doors hissed open.

    Dora’s fingers interlaced with Gail’s as they walked home, the duffel abandoned in a trash can. Past the shuttered bakery. Past the park where they’d kissed under fireworks. Past the shelter’s darkened windows.

    In the Mitchells’ driveway, Dora froze. Ms. Elara sat on the porch swing, her braid silver in the security light.

    “You.” Dora’s voice shook. “Did you know? When you changed me-did you know I’d have to choose between existing and belonging?”

    The old woman stood, joints creaking. “Child, magic doesn’t create courage. It reveals it.” She pressed something into Dora’s palm-a seedpod, brittle and star-shaped. “Some roots grow deeper when storms try to rip them out.”

    Dora uncurled her fingers. The pod burst, scattering winged seeds across the lawn.

    At dawn, they found Pastor Mark in the shelter’s garden. He knelt among frost-killed zinnias, a trowel dangling from his hand. The Westfield Properties sign lay shattered by the compost bin.

    Dora stepped over the debris. “We’re reopening the garden today. Need help pulling weeds?”

    He didn’t look up. “Why aren’t you gone?”

    “Turns out I’m stubborn.” She offered a seedling-tomato, heirloom, saved from the first harvest. “Jay’s making signs. Gail’s rallying the volunteers. Even Mrs. Kowalski’s baking ‘protest pierogis.’”

    Pastor Mark stared at the plant, his reflection warped in the trowel’s blade. “I used to help my sister grow cosmos. She’d name each one-Sirius, Andromeda...” His throat worked. “After Dad kicked her out, I salted the earth.”

    Dora knelt, frost seeping through her jeans. “Seeds don’t care about yesterday’s storms.”

    Somewhere, a cardinal sang-one clear note piercing the morning. Pastor Mark took the seedling.

    Together, they broke ground.

    Chapter 25: The Revelation

    The garden’s compost bin reeked of rot and rebirth. Dora knelt beside it, her fingers buried in the damp remains of last week’s zucchini harvest, the moth stone burning a hole in her overalls. Above her, the shelter’s new security lights cast harsh rectangles across the ravaged plots-tomato vines uprooted, sunflower stalks snapped like broken ribs. Somewhere in the alley, a raccoon rustled through trash bags, its nocturnal scavenging a mirror to her own desperate searching.

    “You’ve been digging in the wrong soil.”

    Ms. Elara’s voice sliced through the humidity. Dora startled, sending a clump of coffee grounds tumbling from her palm. The old woman stood framed by the garden gate, her patched raincoat blending with the shadows, a living bruise against the sodium-vapor glow.

    “What do you want?” Dora wiped her hands on her thighs, leaving earthy smears. “Another cryptic warning? Another stone?”

    Ms. Elara stepped into the moonlight, her braid unraveling at the ends. “You think me cruel for erasing your past. But tell me-when you cup a dying moth in your hands, do you mourn the caterpillar it once was?”

    Dora stood, anger tightening her throat. “I’m not some fucking metaphor. I’m real. These people-” she gestured to the shelter’s boarded windows, “-they’re real. And we’re losing everything because of your ‘gift.’”

    The old woman’s laughter sounded like wind through dry cornstalks. “Child, I gave no gift. Only an echo.” She pressed a gnarled hand to Dora’s chest, where her heart thundered. “This is your magic. The choice to keep loving when the world says stop.”

    Three hours earlier

    The shelter’s conference room had become a courtroom. Dora sat between Gail and Jay, their knees brushing in silent solidarity as Pastor Mark presented spreadsheets to the board members-red ink bleeding from the “Community Garden” column.

    “-annual savings of $8,700 if we convert the space to storage,” Pastor Mark concluded, avoiding Dora’s gaze.

    Mrs. Kowalski’s arthritis-swollen hand shot up. “And what of the children? The veterans who tend those plots? You’d trade their peace for shelving units?”

    Mr. Westfield cleared his throat from the Zoom screen dominating the wall. “Peace doesn’t pay the electric bill. My foundation requires fiscal responsibility.”

    Gail stood, her rainbow-painted nails gripping the table. “Responsibility to who? The donors or the people you’re supposed to serve?”

    “Enough!” Pastor Mark’s fist hit the table. “Miss Mitchell, if you can’t respect-”

    “Respect?” Jay’s chair screeched as they rose. “You wanna talk respect? Dora’s out there every day teaching Miguel to read while you lick Westfield’s boots. Who’s really upholding values here?”

    The board erupted. Dora fled, the moth stone searing her thigh with every step.

    Now, in the ruined garden, Ms. Elara pressed a dried poppy pod into Dora’s palm. “The strongest magic grows in cracks.”

    Dora crushed the pod, releasing a cloud of seeds. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one they’re erasing.”

    “Aren’t I?” Ms. Elara’s form flickered-a teenage soldier gripping a protest sign, an elderly woman burning sage at a pipeline blockade, a nonbinary teen stitching their chosen name into a jacket. “Every act of courage leaves echoes. You think your Wallace is gone? He’s here.” She tapped Dora’s sternum. “In every kindness you learned by surviving him.”

    Somewhere in the shelter, a child wailed-Miguel, nightmares again. Dora turned toward the sound instinctively.

    “They need you,” Ms. Elara murmured. “Not the girl you became, but the choice you keep making to stay.”

    The family room’s nightlight cast dinosaur shadows on the walls. Miguel clung to Dora, his tears dampening her collar. “The monster… in the garden…”

    “Shh, mijo.” She rocked him, humming the lullaby Mrs. Kowalski had taught her. “Monsters hate brave kids. Want to see a trick?”

    She opened her palm, revealing the moth stone. In the dim light, its carved wings seemed to flutter. Miguel’s breath hitched. “Magic?”

    “Better.” Dora pressed the stone to his small hand. “Love that outlasts fear.”

    Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Pastor Mark stood frozen in the doorway, his face illuminated by the nightlight’s glow. In his hands-a blanket.

    Dora met his gaze, still rocking Miguel. “He thought the compost bin was a monster.”

    Pastor Mark’s throat worked. “I… the board meeting…”

    Miguel peered up, trusting and sleep-soft. “Pastor Mark? You fight monsters too?”

    The blanket slipped from his hands. For a heartbeat, Dora saw him-not the enforcer of Westfield’s edicts, but the boy who’d once hidden his sibling’s journals under floorboards.

    “Sometimes,” he rasped. “Not well enough.”

    Dawn found Dora pruning dead leaves from the garden’s surviving sunflowers. Gail joined her, wordlessly handing over a steaming mug. They worked in silence until Jay appeared, their arms full of spray-painted planks.

    “Salvaged from the dumpster.” They dropped the boards with a clatter. “New raised beds?”

    Dora traced the graffiti-RESIST in jagged letters. “Westfield’s men will just tear them out.”

    Gail squeezed her shoulder. “Then we’ll rebuild. Every damn time.”

    Ms. Elara’s voice whispered through the dandelions: The deepest roots withstand the harshest storms.

    As the shelter woke around them-Mrs. Kowalski’s hymn drifting from the kitchen, Miguel’s laughter chasing a stray cat-Dora pressed her palm to the soil and chose, again, to grow.

    Chapter 26: The Blueprint

    The shelter’s rec room hummed with the low buzz of a single flickering fluorescent light. Dora stood at the center of a circle of mismatched chairs, her fingers tracing the edges of the moth stone in her pocket. The air smelled of stale coffee and the faint tang of spray paint from Jay’s latest mural-a phoenix rising from ashes that now seemed painfully prophetic. Around her, the shelter’s residents and volunteers leaned forward in their seats, their faces a mosaic of exhaustion and resolve.

    Gail broke the silence first, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Westfield wants us gone. Pastor Mark’s letting him bulldoze the garden tomorrow. So we fight back-harder.”

    Mrs. Kowalski nodded, her knuckles white around a wooden spoon she’d brought from the kitchen. “In ’80, we baked bread in church basements and passed messages in hymn books. The secret?” She tapped her temple. “Make them think you’re everywhere at once.”

    Jay slouched in their chair, green hair catching the dim light as they spun a can of spray paint between their fingers. “I say we turn the garden into a canvas. Paint the whole damn lot with their faces-Westfield, Pastor Dickhead-make it a monument to corporate greed.”

    Dora’s chest tightened. She glanced at the boarded windows, remembering the way the sunflowers had bent toward the light just days ago. “We need something they can’t ignore. Something that shows what this place really means.”

    A hand rose near the back-Miguel’s mother, her toddler asleep against her shoulder. “Last winter, we slept in a bus station. My baby got pneumonia.” Her voice wavered. “This place gave us medicine. Let me tell that story.”

    One by one, voices joined the chorus:

    -A veteran with tremors describing how Dora had steadied his hands to plant tomatoes.-A transgender teen who’d used the shelter’s address to enroll in school.-Mrs. Kowalski’s raspy confession: “After my Jan died, I wanted to lie down too. These kids-” she gestured at Dora and Gail, “-they gave me reasons to rise.”

    Gail began scribbling notes on the back of a donated pizza box. “We document everything. Videos, testimonials, the works. Hit social media, tag news outlets. Make Westfield the villain.”

    “And when they send cops?” Jay challenged, their spray paint can clinking against the floor.

    Mrs. Kowalski hefted her spoon like a scepter. “My babcia stood against tanks with a loaf of rye. We stand with casseroles.”

    Dora felt the moth stone grow warm. She stepped into the center of the circle, the carved wings pressing into her palm. “We rebuild the garden tonight. Every plant, every seed. Then we guard it.”

    The moon hung low as they gathered in the alley-Dora, Gail, Jay, and a dozen residents carrying shovels fashioned from donated kitchenware. The garden’s chain-link fence glinted under the streetlights, the new padlock gleaming like a challenge.

    Jay snorted. “Watch and learn.” They pulled a hairpin from their beanie and jimmied the lock with practiced ease. It sprang open with a click. “Perks of being a delinquent.”

    They worked in shifts under the cover of darkness:

    -Teens digging furrows with serving spoons.-Elders pressing seeds into soil still stinking of gasoline.-Dora on her knees, replanting crushed marigolds as Gail filmed her whispered narration: “This is where Miguel learned butterflies come from…”

    As dawn approached, Jay scaled the fence with a ladder made of soup cans. Their spray paint hissed across the plywood covering Westfield’s demolition notice:

    YOU CAN’T UPROOT US

    Pastor Mark found them at sunrise. He stood at the garden’s edge, his shadow stretching over the resurrected beds. Dora watched his gaze catch on the sunflowers-staked with broom handles now, their stems bandaged with gauze from the shelter’s first-aid kit.

    “This is foolish,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

    Dora wiped dirt from her hands. “You stood here once, didn’t you? With Alex.”

    He flinched.

    “Ms. Elara told me,” she pressed. “They loved cosmos. Named each one after stars.”

    Pastor Mark’s throat worked. He reached for a blossom, its petals still bruised. “They wanted to study botany. My father said it was a phase.”

    The admission hung between them, fragile as a moth’s wing.

    By noon, the shelter’s Wi-Fi hummed with uploads:

    -Miguel’s laughter as he watered seedlings.-The veteran’s tremor-free hands arranging donated tools.-A time-lapse of the garden’s rebirth, set to Jay’s gritty guitar cover of “Rise Up.”

    Gail refreshed the hashtag every thirty seconds: #ThisPlaceGrows trended county-wide by sunset.

    That night, Dora found Jay painting a new mural on the shelter’s exterior wall-a towering dandelion, its seeds scattering into constellations.

    “Westfield’s lawyers sent a cease-and-desist,” Jay said without turning. “Pastor Mark’s freaking out in his office.”

    Dora touched the moth stone. “Will you add something for me?”

    They handed her a can of gold spray paint.

    Her hand shook as she outlined wings beside the dandelion-clumsy, asymmetrical, alive.

    Jay smirked. “Needs work.”

    “So do I,” Dora whispered.

    They painted in silence until the streetlights buzzed to life, their shadows merging on the wall-a girl and a phoenix, stubbornly in bloom.

    Chapter 27: The Confrontation

    The shelter’s chapel was never used for services anymore-its pews stacked with canned goods, its pulpit repurposed as a sorting table for winter coats. But tonight, the room hummed with a different kind of congregation. Dora stood at the center, flanked by Gail and Jay, their shadows stretching long under the flickering fluorescents. The air smelled of dust and resolve.

    Pastor Mark entered last, his polished shoes clicking against the hardwood like a metronome counting down to disaster. He paused at the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the assembled volunteers and guests-Mrs. Kowalski gripping her rosary, Miguel’s mother bouncing her toddler on one hip, a dozen faces usually fragmented by survival now united in rare solidarity.

    “This is inappropriate,” he began, adjusting his tie. “The board-”

    “We’re the board tonight,” Gail interrupted, stepping forward. Her rainbow-painted nails tapped against a binder full of signatures-petitions from shelter residents, letters from local LGBTQ+ groups, Polaroids of the garden’s first harvest. “These people are the shelter. And they want answers.”

    Dora’s palms slicked with sweat. The moth stone in her pocket felt heavier than ever, its carved wings pressing into her thigh like a reminder: This is why you exist. She glanced at Jay, who gave her a nearly imperceptible nod.

    Pastor Mark’s laugh was a dry crackle. “Answers? About what? Our budget shortfalls? The vandalism?” His eyes locked onto Dora. “Or your little crusade to undermine everything we’ve built here?”

    “We built this!” A voice rang out from the back-Mr. Ruiz, the Vietnam vet who taught chess in the rec room. “You just sign the checks.”

    Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. Dora felt the energy shift, the room tilting on an axis of long-suppressed truths. She unclenched her fists.

    “You’re afraid of me,” she said, quiet but clear.

    Pastor Mark froze. The accusation hung in the air, sharper than the scripture quotes plastered on the walls.

    “Don’t be absurd.” He forced a smile, the kind reserved for difficult donors. “I’m trying to protect this community.”

    “From what?” Dora’s voice rose. “From kids needing pronouns respected? From gardens growing where you’d rather pave parking lots?” She moved closer, her sneakers squeaking against the floor. “From me existing without permission?”

    The room held its breath. Somewhere, a pipe clanged in the walls.

    Pastor Mark’s composure fractured. “You waltz in here with no history, no accountability-playing house with the Mitchells, corrupting Gail-”

    “Enough.” Gail’s shout echoed off the stained glass. She thrust the binder at him, photos spilling out-Dora reading to Miguel, Jay planting marigolds, the protest signs painted in the courtyard. “This is what corruption looks like? People caring for each other?”

    Pastor Mark batted the binder away. It hit the floor with a slap, papers scattering like wounded birds. “You think this is a game? Without Westfield’s funding, we lose the pediatric clinic. The addiction counseling. Where will your precious community be then?”

    Dora knelt to gather the photos. Her fingers trembled as she picked up a snapshot of Alex-Pastor Mark’s sibling, cropped out of the family portrait but preserved in the shelter’s old volunteer records. Gail had found it buried in a supply closet.

    “You’ve done this before,” Dora said softly, holding up the photo. “Cut someone out to please a donor.”

    The color drained from Pastor Mark’s face. For a heartbeat, Dora saw the boy he’d been-the one who’d hidden his sister’s journals under floorboards, who’d lied to their parents about her whereabouts long after she’d fled.

    “You don’t know anything about my family,” he whispered.

    “I know you loved them.” Dora stood, the photo a bridge between them. “And you think if you erase everyone like them-like me-you’ll finally stop hurting.”

    A chair screeched as Mrs. Kowalski stood. “My babcia hid Jews in her cellar. When the Nazis came, she told them, ‘You’ll have to burn the whole village to find one good soul.’” Her knotted hands gripped the pew. “Be better than those men, Pastor.”

    The room seemed to contract-the walls pressing in, the dusty cross above the pulpit tilting askew. Pastor Mark backed toward the door, his polished facade crumbling.

    “You want to destroy this place?” His voice broke. “Fine. But don’t pretend it’s noble.”

    Dora blocked his exit, smaller but unyielding. “You’re the one holding the matches.”

    For a moment, something flickered in his eyes-grief, or maybe recognition. Then it hardened. “Get out of my way.”

    “No.”

    The standoff stretched, taut and quivering. Outside, thunder growled-the first drops of rain pinging against barred windows.

    It was Jay who broke the silence. They stepped forward, their green hair glowing faintly in the dim light. “You kicked me out last week for using the ‘wrong’ bathroom. Know where I slept?” They tossed a key onto the floor-the spare to Gails garage apartment. “Turns out Dora’s better at sheltering people than you’ll ever be.”

    The accusation landed like a stone. Pastor Mark looked at the key, then at Dora, then at the photo of Alex still clutched in her hand. His shoulders sagged.

    “Get out,” he repeated, but the fury had bled out, leaving only exhaustion.

    Dora didn’t move. “We’re not leaving. And neither are you.”

    “What?”

    “You’re coming to the town hall tomorrow.” Gail scooped up the binder, her voice steadier now. “To hear what these people really need. Not what Westfield wants them to need.”

    Pastor Mark barked a laugh. “And if I refuse?”

    Dora reached into her pocket, pressing the moth stone into his palm. Its wings bit into his skin. “Then you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what this place could’ve been if you’d actually listened to it.”

    He stared at the stone, his breathing shallow. The rain intensified, drumming a chaotic rhythm on the roof.

    “Get out,” he said a third time, but when Dora turned to leave, he caught her wrist. “Not you.” He nodded to the others. “Them.”

    Gail hesitated, but Dora nodded. The room emptied slowly-Mrs. Kowalski pausing to squeeze Dora’s shoulder, Jay flipping Pastor Mark off with a shaky grin.

    When the door closed, Pastor Mark sank into a pew. “She wanted to study botany,” he said hoarsely. “Alex. They’d smuggled college brochures under their mattress.”

    Dora sat beside him, the moth stone between them. “What happened?”

    “I told my father.” His thumb rubbed the photo’s ragged edge. “I thought… I thought he’d help them. Instead, he called it a phase. Burned their journals.” He looked at Dora, really looked at her, for the first time. “You’re not a phase, are you?”

    “No.”

    He nodded, tears cutting through the dust on his cheeks. “Then God help us both.”

    Outside, the storm broke in earnest. Dora left him there-weeping, praying, or maybe finally listening-and stepped into the rain. Gail waited under the awning, her arms open.

    “What now?” she asked, holding Dora close.

    Dora watched the downpour erase the chalk protest slogans from the sidewalk. “Now we rebuild.”

    Somewhere in the dark, a moth beat its wings against a streetlight, persistent and unafraid.

    Chapter 28: The Hearing

    The shelter's conference room had never felt smaller. Folding chairs scraped against linoleum as board members shuffled papers, their faces illuminated by the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. Dora sat between Gail and Mrs. Kowalski, her fingers tracing the moth stone's wings through her pocket lining. Across the table, Pastor Mark stared at his folded hands, the family photo with Alex's torn edge peeking from his breast pocket.

    Jay slipped into the seat behind them, reeking of spray paint and nervous sweat. "They added three new locks to the garden gate last night," they whispered. "Bastard's scared of dandelions."

    Councilwoman Patel tapped her gavel. "This emergency session will address leadership concerns at New Hope Shelter. Reverend Mark, you're first."

    Pastor Mark stood, his chair screeching. "For fifteen years, I've upheld this institution's values-"

    "Which values?" Mrs. Kowalski muttered, loud enough to ripple through the room.

    "-but recent events have strained our resources." His gaze flicked to Dora. "We must prioritize stability over...experimentation."

    Gail's pen snapped. "He means targeting Dora because she's trans."

    "Order!" Councilwoman Patel warned.

    Dora stood, her knees trembling. "May I speak?"

    The room stilled. Even the HVAC's rattle seemed to pause.

    Three hours earlier

    Dora had found the box buried in the shelter's attic-Alex's box. Faded Polaroids showed a teenager with Pastor Mark's chin and Dora's defiant smile, their Doc Martens kicked up on a church pew. Newspaper clippings chronicled disappearances: Local Teen Vanishes After Family Dispute (1998), Pride Rally Organizer Missing (2003). At the bottom, a postcard from Albuquerque: Tell Mom I'm sorry about her good saucepan. -A

    Gail peered over her shoulder. "Holy shit. He's been searching for them."

    "Not searching." Dora ran her thumb over Alex's face, preserved under peeling laminate. "Hiding."

    Now, Dora laid the box on the conference table. Pastor Mark paled.

    "This shelter isn't about your values," she said. "It's about the people you've failed."

    She passed around Alex's photos-the cropped family portrait, the protest signs, the postcard. Board members shifted uncomfortably as the evidence circulated.

    "Alex needed sanctuary," Dora continued. "You built walls instead."

    Pastor Mark's knuckles whitened. "You don't understand-"

    "I understand fear." Dora met his gaze. "But love isn't a liability. It's the foundation you abandoned."

    Mrs. Kowalski stood, arthritis cream glistening on her knuckles. "My babcia hid Jews in her root cellar. You think Nazis cared about her paperwork?" She slammed a jar of homemade sauerkraut on the table. "This place either shelters people or it doesn't."

    One by one, residents rose-a trans teen clutching hormone pills, a veteran with service dog, Miguel's mother with his IEP paperwork. Their testimonies wove together-a tapestry of small salvations: Doras bedtime stories, Jays mural, the zucchini plant that survived three frosts.

    Councilwoman Patel removed her glasses. "Reverend Mark, this board moves to-"

    "Wait." Dora's voice cut through the murmurs. "I propose a leave of absence. For reflection."

    Gail gripped her arm. "Are you nuts? He'll come back worse!"

    Dora touched the moth stone. "Or he'll finally see."

    Flashback: 1998

    Young Mark pressed his ear to the heating vent, Alex's voice drifting upstairs.

    "-can't stay, Allie. Dad'll kill you."

    "Then come with me."

    Their Doc Martens squeaked toward the door. Mark's baseball trophy dug into his palm.

    "Be safe," he whispered as the screen door slammed.

    Pastor Mark stood slowly, Alex's postcard trembling in his hand. "I resign effective immediately."

    The room erupted.

    "Quiet!" Councilwoman Patel banged her gavel. "Reverend, if this is coercion-"

    "It's penance." He looked at Dora, tears cutting through his stoicism. "You've shown more courage in three months than I have in thirty years."

    As he left, Dora pressed the moth stone into his palm. "Tell Alex the garden gate's always open."

    That night, the shelter hosted an impromptu potluck. Jay projected But I'm a Cheerleader onto the garden wall, its colors bleeding into the fireflies' dance. Dora leaned against Gail, their hands intertwined under a shared blanket.

    "Think he'll actually find them?" Gail nodded toward Pastor Mark's car disappearing down the highway.

    Dora watched a moth batter itself against the projector light. "Some roots grow deeper after the storm."

    As the credits rolled, Mrs. Kowalski passed around Alex's sauerkraut. The tang of survival lingered on every tongue-a promise, a warning, a beginning.

    Chapter 29: The Dream

    Dora woke to the sound of her own heartbeat-a frantic, syncopated rhythm that echoed in the stillness of the Mitchells’ guest room. Moonlight pooled on the floorboards, casting skeletal shadows from the oak tree outside. She sat up, gripping the moth stone until its carved wings bit into her palm. The dream clung to her like cobwebs-her mother’s voice, distorted and watery, calling a name that no longer belonged to her.

    The kitchen smelled of burnt toast and regret. Dora’s mother stood at the stove, her floral apron crisp and unfamiliar. Wallace’s childhood drawings-smeared crayon landscapes-still hung on the refrigerator, held by strawberry-shaped magnets. “Mom?” Dora whispered. Her mother turned, spatula in hand, eyes sliding over her like water over glass. “Have you seen Wallace? He’s late for church again.”

    Dora reached for her, fingers passing through the sleeve of her mother’s robe as if through smoke. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

    Her father appeared in the doorway, Bible tucked under his arm. “Who’s this?” he asked, nodding toward Dora. Her mother shrugged. “Some girl from the shelter, I think. Pastor Mark mentioned her.”

    The walls began to dissolve-wallpaper curling into ash, family photos bleeding colorless. Dora stumbled backward, clutching a fading snapshot of her sister’s graduation. “Wait! Please-”

    Her father’s voice boomed through the disintegrating house. “We’re praying for Wallace. He’s lost his way.”

    Gail found her in the garden at dawn, knees buried in the soil, uprooting dandelions with trembling hands. The shelters’ raised beds lay behind them, their new latticework still smelling of fresh-cut pine.

    “Bad night?” Gail asked, kneeling beside her.

    Dora tossed a clump of weeds into the compost bin. “They didn’t recognize me. In the dream, I mean. My parents… they asked if I’d seen Wallace.”

    Gail stilled. “Do you miss them? Even after everything?”

    Dora sifted soil through her fingers, watching earthworms twist toward the light. “I miss the idea of them. The parents they could’ve been.”

    A mourning dove called from the oak tree. Gail brushed dirt from Dora’s cheek, her touch lingering. “You’re allowed to grieve, you know. Even if they don’t deserve it.”

    Mrs. Kowalski intercepted them in the kitchen, her arms full of zucchini. “Early harvest,” she announced, dumping the vegetables onto the counter. “The aphids are winning, but we’ll outlast them.” She paused, squinting at Dora. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, mój ptaku.”

    “Just tired,” Dora lied, scrubbing her hands at the sink.

    The old woman hummed, unconvinced. She pressed a warm scone into Dora’s palm-raspberry, with a dusting of sugar. “Eat. Grief is heavier on an empty stomach.”

    The shelters’ computer lab felt alien under fluorescent lights. Dora hovered behind Miguel as he pecked at a keyboard, his small fingers stumbling over the letters.

    “M-Miss Dora?” He pointed to the screen, where a pixelated butterfly hovered above a typing game. “It’s stuck.”

    She guided his hand to the spacebar. “Sometimes you have to let things go so they can move forward.”

    The butterfly soared when he released the key. Miguel giggled, unaware of the tears Dora blinked away.

    That night, Dora spread Wallace’s remaining artifacts on Gails’ bedroom floor-a scratched iPod nano, a baseball glove smelling of neatsfoot oil, a single sock with a hole in the toe. Gail watched from the bed, her sketchbook open to a half-finished drawing of the garden.

    “Why keep these?” she asked softly.

    Dora turned the iPod over, tracing the initials W.G. etched clumsily into the casing. “Proof I existed before. Even if it’s just… fragments.”

    Gail slid down beside her, their shoulders touching. “You don’t need proof. We see you.”

    “But what if-” Dora’s voice cracked. “What if the magic fades? What if I wake up tomorrow and none of this is real?”

    Gail laced their fingers together, calluses catching on Dora’s smoother skin. “Then we’ll build it again. Every damn day if we have to.”

    The dream returned at midnight.

    Dora stood in an endless corridor of locked doors, each labeled with a year of Wallace’s life. Behind one, her sister laughed at a joke Dora no longer remembered. Behind another, her father snored in his recliner, the TV flickering static. She pressed her palm to each knob, feeling the vibrations of a life erased.

    “You can’t have both,” Ms. Elara said, materializing beside her with a pocket watch filled with swirling moths. “The past or the future. The boy or the girl.”

    Dora reached for the oldest door-1999, the year she’d learned to ride a bike. “What happens if I open it?”

    Ms. Elara’s smile was sorrow itself. “You’ll remember. And forgetting will feel like dying.”

    The door dissolved to dust. Dora fell forward into light.

    She woke gasping, Gail’s arms already around her. “I’m here,” Gail murmured into her hair. “I’ve got you.”

    Dora clung to her, breathing in the scent of lavender detergent and Gails’ sweat. “What if I’m not strong enough?”

    “You don’t have to be.” Gail pressed a kiss to her temple. “We’re strong for each other.”

    At dawn, Dora knelt in the garden, the moth stone warm in her hand. She buried Wallace’s iPod at the base of the sunflowers, covering it with compost and crushed eggshells.

    “What’re you doing?” Jay asked, sipping cold brew from a mason jar.

    “Planting a different kind of seed,” Dora said. She stood, brushing dirt from her jeans. “Will you help me paint the new benches today? I was thinking rainbows.”

    Jay grinned. “Only if we add glitter.”

    Mrs. Kowalski found the offering later-a zucchini blossom placed atop her recipe box, its petals still damp with dew. Inside the box, nestled between her babcia’s pierogi instructions and a 1983 coupon for free dry cleaning, lay a handwritten note:

    Thank you for teaching me how to grow.

    The old woman pressed it to her chest, her rheumy eyes on the garden where Dora laughed with Jay, and whispered, “Rośnij, mały kwiatku. Rośnij.”

    Grow, little flower. Grow.

    Chapter 30: The Letter

    The shelter’s attic fan groaned against the August heat, its blades stirring dust motes into languid spirals above Dora’s head. She sat cross-legged in the circle of light from a single bare bulb, Wallace’s old shoebox balanced on her knees. Inside lay the artifacts of a ghost-a middle school ID photo with forced smile, a dried corsage from a forgotten dance, a postcard from a beach vacation where her father had called the ocean “God’s baptismal font.”

    Below, the shelter hummed with its afternoon rhythm-Mrs. Kowalski’s radio playing Chopin études, the metallic clang of Jay rearranging donation racks, Gail’s laughter rising from the garden like birdsong. Dora traced the edges of a folded notebook page, its creases softened from weeks in her pocket.

    Dear Mom and Dad,

    The words glared up at her, ink smudged by sweat and hesitation.

    The garden gate squealed on rusted hinges. Dora knelt between rows of late-season tomatoes, their leaves curling brown at the edges. She’d come to weed, but found herself instead cradling a green orb the size of a golf ball-the last fruit from a plant she’d nursed through July’s drought.

    “They’ll ripen indoors,” Gail said, appearing with a cardboard box. She wore paint-splattered overalls, her hair pinned up with a pencil. “Mrs. K says we can use the kitchen windowsill.”

    Dora pressed her thumb into the tomato’s taut skin. “This one’s still bitter.”

    “So we’ll make fried green tomatoes.” Gail knelt beside her, their shoulders brushing. “Or compost it. Let it feed next year’s plants.”

    The moth stone burned in Dora’s pocket. She’d taken to carrying it always, its ridges wearing smooth against her thumb. “What if there is no next year?”

    Gail stilled. Across the alley, Mr. Westfield’s demolition crew shouted over the growl of a bulldozer. The developer had bought the adjacent lot last week-another step in his campaign to erase the shelter’s margins.

    “Hey.” Gail turned Dora’s face toward her. “We’ve survived worse.”

    Dora’s laugh tasted like rust. “I used to pray for erasure. Now I’m fighting to leave traces.”

    The dream returned that night-not of her parents, but of Ms. Elara. They stood in a field of milkweed, the old woman’s braid unraveling into monarch wings.

    You mistake absence for emptiness, she said, pressing a seedpod into Dora’s palm. What’s discarded often nourishes.

    Dora woke with her fist clenched around nothing, the sheets damp with sweat. Gail slept soundly beside her, one arm flung across Dora’s waist.

    In the Mitchells’ kitchen, she found the shoebox waiting like an accusation.

    I’m not Wallace anymore. I don’t know if you’d recognize me-if you even remember having a child. The magic that made me took you too, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m not sorry for becoming myself.

    Dora’s pen hovered. The demolition crew worked quickly. By noon, the shelter’s eastern wall stood exposed-weathered bricks streaked with decades of rain, the garden’s sunflowers now backdropped by rubble. Jay scaled the fire escape with a bucket of paint, their movements jerky with rage.

    “What’re you doing?” Dora called up.

    “Art therapy!” Jay slashed crimson across the bricks-YOU CAN’T BURY US.

    Dora stepped between them. “It’s washable tempera. We’ll remove it tonight.”

    The garden gate clanged. Mr. Westfield stood framed in sunlight, his Italian loafers crunching gravel.

    Dora found the letter again that evening, crumpled beneath her pillow. Gail’s fingerprints smudged the edges where she’d clearly read it.

    “You don’t have to send it,” Gail murmured from the doorway.

    “I know.” Dora smoothed the paper. “But I need to finish it.”

    They sat on the fire escape, legs dangling over the alley. Gail produced two stolen popsicles-grape and orange-the kind Mrs. Kowalski kept for kids.

    I’m not asking forgiveness. I’m saying goodbye. The daughter you raised died years before the magic took him. I wish you could’ve met her.

    Dora signed her name-not Wallace, not some halfway approximation, but Dora Eleanor Mitchell, the name Gails parents had helped her choose.

    “Here.” Gail handed her a matchbook from the shelter’s kitchen. “If you want.”

    The flame caught slowly, eating through apologies and recriminations alike. Dora held the burning paper until the heat seared her fingers, then let the ashes spiral down to mingle with Westfield’s rubble.

    At dawn, Dora slipped into the garden. The tomato plant stood skeletal in the gray light, its remaining fruit scavenged by rats. She uprooted it gently, whispering Mrs. Kowalski’s Polish lullaby, and buried the roots in the compost bin.

    In the freshly turned earth, she planted Ms. Elara’s seedpod.

    “What’s that?” Jay asked, appearing with twin mugs of coffee.

    “Not sure.” Dora patted the soil. “Something that needs ruins to grow.”

    They watched the sunrise gild the protest mural. Somewhere beyond the alley, a bulldozer coughed to life.

    Gail joined them, her smile softer than the dawn. “Ready?”

    Dora laced their muddy fingers together. “Ready.”

    The shelter’s bell rang-not the end, but a beginning.

    Chapter 31: The Choice

    The flyer on the shelter's bulletin board seemed innocent enough-pale blue paper with bold black text announcing "COMMUNITY TOWN HALL: THE FUTURE OF HOPE SHELTER." But Dora's stomach twisted as she read the smaller print: "In light of recent leadership changes and funding challenges, the board invites all community members to discuss our path forward."

    Three weeks had passed since Pastor Mark had begun his sabbatical. Three weeks of tentative peace, of rebuilding the garden, of Jay's murals expanding across previously blank walls. Three weeks where Dora had begun to believe she might actually belong.

    Now this.

    "They're going to talk about me," she whispered to herself, fingers tracing the date-tomorrow evening at the community center.

    "Not everything's about you, superstar," Jay teased, appearing beside her with a stack of donated blankets. Their green hair was freshly buzzed on the sides, and they'd added a small lightning bolt design above one ear. "Could be budget stuff. Or maybe they finally noticed the kitchen sink's been leaking since 2018."

    Dora tried to smile, but anxiety coiled tighter in her chest. "The timing feels... deliberate."

    Jay's expression softened. "Yeah. Maybe." They gestured toward the office. "Acting Director Regina asked for you, by the way. Something about the summer program."

    Regina Chen had been appointed temporary shelter director after Pastor Mark's departure-a board member with nonprofit experience who'd always been kind to Dora, if a bit reserved. Still, Dora's palms grew damp as she knocked on the office door.

    "Come in," Regina called.

    The office had changed in subtle ways-Pastor Mark's austere cross replaced by a framed photo of shelter volunteers; his military-precise stacks of papers now organized in colorful folders. Regina looked up from her laptop, her reading glasses perched on her nose.

    "Dora, thank you for coming. Please, sit."

    Dora perched on the edge of the chair, hands folded tightly in her lap.

    "I'm finalizing the summer youth program schedule," Regina began, "and I see you're down to lead the gardening workshop series." She peered over her glasses. "Are you still comfortable with that role?"

    Dora blinked, surprised by the straightforward question. "Yes. Absolutely."

    "Good." Regina smiled briefly. "I also wanted to make you aware of tomorrow's town hall. The board feels transparency is important during this transition period."

    "What exactly will be discussed?" Dora asked, her voice carefully neutral.

    Regina removed her glasses. "Funding priorities. Volunteer policies. Program direction." She paused. "And yes, some community members have expressed... concerns about certain changes at the shelter."

    "You mean me."

    Regina didn't deny it. "There's been talk. Mr. Westfield's allies on the Chamber of Commerce haven't been subtle."

    Dora's chest tightened. "I thought-with Pastor Mark gone-"

    "Problems rarely have a single source, Dora." Regina's tone was gentle but firm. "Pastor Mark's journey toward understanding is his own. But the shelter exists within a community that isn't always as accepting as we'd like."

    "So what happens now?"

    "That depends partly on you." Regina handed her a printed agenda. "You're welcome to attend. To speak, if you wish. Or not. The choice is yours."

    The choice. As if it were that simple.

    Gail found her later in the garden, aggressively pruning dead leaves from the tomato plants.

    "Careful, you'll traumatize them," Gail said, handing Dora a bottle of water.

    Dora took it without looking up. "There's a town hall tomorrow. About the shelter."

    "I know. Mom texted me." Gail sat on the edge of the raised bed. "She's planning to speak in support of the new programs."

    Dora snipped another withered branch. "Regina basically told me I'm on the agenda. Not by name, but..." She finally met Gail's eyes. "They're going to talk about whether someone like me belongs here."

    Gail's jaw tightened. "Then we'll be there to remind them exactly who you are and everything you've done for this place."

    "That's just it." Dora set down the shears. "Who am I? To them, I'm still a mystery-the girl with no past, no records." She plucked a cherry tomato, rolling it between her fingers. "Maybe it's time I told them."

    "Told them what?"

    "Everything. Who I am. Who I was."

    Gail's expression shifted from confusion to understanding. "You mean-"

    "I'm going to come out. Publicly. At the town hall."

    Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant chatter of shelter guests in the courtyard.

    "Are you sure?" Gail finally asked. "That's... big."

    "I'm tired of hiding pieces of myself." Dora squashed the tomato, red juice staining her fingers. "I'm tired of people like Westfield thinking they can erase me if they just keep questioning my right to exist."

    Gail took her sticky hand. "Then I'm right there with you."

    That evening, Dora sat cross-legged on her bed in the Mitchells' guest room-her room now, with its pale yellow walls and bookshelf Gail's dad had built. Her notebook lay open before her, blank page awaiting words that wouldn't come.

    How did you explain something like this? How did you tell a room full of strangers that you weren't always who you appeared to be, without feeding into their worst suspicions?

    A knock interrupted her thoughts. Susan Mitchell stood in the doorway, a mug of tea in each hand.

    "Gail mentioned tomorrow's meeting," she said, offering Dora a steaming cup. "Thought you might need this."

    Dora accepted it gratefully. "Thanks."

    Susan sat beside her, the bed dipping slightly. "She also mentioned your decision."

    Heat rose in Dora's cheeks. "I'm not trying to cause trouble."

    "I know that." Susan's voice was soft. "But I want to make sure you're doing this for the right reasons." When Dora looked confused, she continued. "Are you coming out because you want to, or because you feel forced?"

    Dora stared into her tea, the question resonating somewhere deep. "I don't know if there's a difference anymore."

    "There is." Susan touched her arm. "One path leads to freedom. The other to resentment."

    "But if I don't, they'll keep trying to push me out. Keep questioning my right to be there."

    "That may happen regardless."

    Dora looked up. "Then what's the point?"

    "The point is that you get to decide how much of yourself to share, and when, and with whom." Susan's eyes crinkled with a sad smile. "Coming out isn't something you owe anyone, Dora. Not even to stop them from talking about you."

    The words settled over Dora like a weighted blanket-uncomfortable at first, then strangely comforting.

    "I think I want to," she said finally. "Not because they deserve to know, but because I'm tired of feeling like I have something to hide."

    Susan squeezed her hand. "Then we'll be right there with you."

    After Susan left, Dora returned to her notebook. This time, the words came more easily. Not a speech, exactly, but a constellation of truths she'd been carrying alone for too long.

    Morning brought rain-a gentle summer shower that beaded on the garden's tomatoes and made the shelter's old roof leak in three new places. Dora helped Jay position buckets under the worst spots, both of them pretending the day was ordinary.

    "Heard you're speaking tonight," Jay said finally, as they mopped up a puddle near the rec room.

    "Word travels fast."

    "Small shelter, big ears." Jay wrung out the mop. "For what it's worth, I think you're braver than all those board members combined."

    Mrs. Kowalski found her at lunch, pressing a foil-wrapped package into her hands. "My babcia's recipe," she whispered. "For courage."

    Inside was a jam-filled cookie still warm from the kitchen's oven. Dora bit into it, sweet raspberry melting on her tongue, and felt tears prick her eyes.

    By evening, the rain had stopped, leaving the world washed clean. Dora changed three times before settling on simple black jeans and the blue daisy-collared shirt she'd worn on her first full day as herself. Gail braided her hair, now long enough to brush her shoulders.

    "Ready?" Gail asked, securing the braid with an elastic.

    Dora met her eyes in the mirror. "No. But I'm going anyway."

    The community center hummed with voices when they arrived. Rows of folding chairs faced a small stage where Regina and the board members sat behind a table. Dora recognized familiar faces from the shelter-volunteers, regular guests, staff members-alongside community figures she knew only by sight: the mayor, small business owners, church leaders.

    Mr. Westfield sat in the front row, his silver hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

    Dora's courage nearly failed her then. But Gail's warm hand found hers, and beyond her, Susan and Robert Mitchell nodded encouragement. Jay waved from where they sat with a group of shelter teens. Even Mrs. Kowalski had come, her arthritic hands clutching her rosary.

    Regina opened the meeting with a status update on the shelter's programs. Budget reports followed, then a discussion of building repairs needed. Finally, she reached the last agenda item:

    "Community Questions and Concerns."

    Mr. Westfield stood immediately. "I'd like to address the elephant in the room," he began, not waiting for recognition. "This shelter has strayed from its founding mission under... recent influences. Certain individuals have been allowed to set a tone that makes many community members uncomfortable."

    Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Dora's heart pounded so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it.

    "While Pastor Mark takes his sabbatical," Westfield continued, "I believe we should return to a more traditional approach. One that reflects the values of those who fund this work."

    "And what values would those be, exactly?" Gail's mother called out from her seat, her tone deceptively pleasant.

    Westfield's smile tightened. "Christian values. Family values. The recognition that there are certain natural orders that shouldn't be... confused."

    More murmurs, some supportive, others angry.

    "If I may," Regina interjected, "the shelter's mission is to provide safe haven and resources to all in need, regardless of background. That mission hasn't changed."

    "Perhaps it should," another voice called-a man Dora recognized as one of Westfield's business associates. "If we're supporting lifestyles that go against God's plan."

    Dora felt something crystallize inside her. Before she could second-guess herself, she was on her feet.

    "Excuse me." Her voice came out steadier than she expected. "I'd like to speak."

    Regina nodded. "Please come up, Dora."

    The walk to the microphone seemed endless. She could feel every eye in the room, hear the whispered questions: "Who is she?" "Isn't that the mysterious girl?" "The one staying with the Mitchells?"

    Dora unfolded her notes, then set them aside. The truths she needed to share were written on her heart.

    "My name is Dora," she began. "I've been volunteering at Hope Shelter for the past few months. I help in the garden. I read to kids. I sort donations." She took a breath. "And yes, I'm transgender."

    The word hung in the air like a thunderclap. Someone gasped. Westfield's face darkened.

    "I wasn't always Dora," she continued, her voice gaining strength. "But I've always been this person-someone who cares deeply, who wants to help, who believes everyone deserves dignity." She looked directly at Westfield. "You've questioned who I am, where I came from. You've suggested I don't belong at the shelter."

    She gestured to the crowd. "But here's what you don't understand. The shelter isn't just a building. It's not just a service. It's a promise-that there's a place for everyone who needs one. That nobody gets left outside in the cold."

    Dora's eyes sought out Jay, Mrs. Kowalski, the teens she'd helped with homework. "I've found family there. I've found purpose. And I've tried every day to make it better for everyone who walks through those doors."

    Her hands trembled, but her voice remained clear.

    "I know my existence makes some people uncomfortable. But I'm not going to disappear to make things easier. I choose to stay. I choose to fight for my place-not just for myself, but for everyone who's ever been told they don't belong."

    The room had gone completely silent. Dora could hear her own heartbeat, the soft whir of the ceiling fans, the distant call of a mourning dove outside.

    "I'm Dora," she said finally. "I'm transgender. And I belong at Hope Shelter just as much as anyone else in this room."

    She stepped back from the microphone, suddenly lightheaded. The silence stretched for one heartbeat, two, three-

    Then Mrs. Kowalski stood, her arthritis-bent frame straightening with effort. "I've known this girl since she first arrived," she said, voice wobbling but determined. "She brings sunshine to that old building. Makes my bread rise better." A few people chuckled. "If she doesn't belong there, then neither do I."

    Jay stood next. Then Miguel and his mother. One by one, shelter guests and volunteers rose-not all of them, but enough. A living testimony that Dora wasn't alone.

    Regina called the meeting back to order, her expression unreadable. "Thank you for your courage, Dora. And for reminding us all why the shelter exists." She looked around the room. "I believe we have some decisions to make as a community. Not tonight, but soon."

    As Dora made her way back to her seat, legs still shaky, Gail pulled her into a fierce hug.

    "You did it," she whispered. "You chose to be completely yourself."

    Over Gail's shoulder, Dora caught Mr. Westfield's hard stare, the set of his jaw promising this wasn't over. But for now-for tonight-she had spoken her truth. She had claimed her place.

    And for the first time since she'd become Dora, she felt not just real, but fully alive.

    Chapter 32: The Support

    The morning after the town hall, sunlight streamed through the Mitchells’ kitchen windows, painting the room in gold. Dora sat at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea, the steam curling into shapes she couldn’t decipher. The events of the previous evening played in her mind like a film reel-Mrs. Kowalski’s trembling voice defending her, Jay’s mural-smeared hands raised in solidarity, Gail’s fingers interlaced with hers as the room erupted in uneasy applause. But it was Mr. Westfield’s icy glare that lingered, a shadow at the edge of her newfound light.

    “You’re famous,” Gail teased, sliding into the chair beside her. She wore yesterday’s clothes, her hair mussed from a sleepless night. On her phone, a local news headline blared: Transgender Volunteer Sparks Debate at Hope Shelter Town Hall. The article featured a photo of Dora at the microphone, her chin lifted, the shelter’s sunflower mural blazing behind her like a halo.

    Dora pushed the phone away. “Famous or infamous?”

    “Both, probably.” Gail’s smile faded. “Mom says three donors already pulled funding. Westfield’s friends on the Chamber are making noise about ‘reviewing the shelter’s mission.’”

    The tea turned bitter in Dora’s mouth. “And Pastor Mark?”

    “Resigned an hour ago. Regina’s interim director now.” Gail traced the rim of her mug. “He left something for you.”

    The envelope sat on Pastor Mark’s-Regina’s-desk, stark white against the polished wood. Inside, Dora found a faded Polaroid and a handwritten note. The photo showed two teenagers on a pier, their arms slung around each other-a younger Mark and someone with his eyes but softer features, their hair cropped short, a pride flag pin glinting on their denim jacket.

    Her name was Alex, the note read. She was my sister. I’ll try to be worthy of your mercy.

    Dora slipped the photo into her pocket, the edges digging into her palm like a lifeline.

    By noon, the shelter buzzed with uneasy energy. Volunteers clustered in the hallway, their whispers dissolving when Dora approached. In the family room, Miguel waved her over to a half-finished puzzle. “Did you really used to be a boy?” he asked, scattering pieces with his sneaker.

    Jay materialized behind them, their green hair vibrant under the fluorescents. “Miguel, my dude, that’s like asking if a butterfly used to be a caterpillar. Technically true, but missing the point.” They flopped onto the couch, arm brushing Dora’s. “You okay?”

    Dora studied the puzzle-a galaxy of stars, half-formed constellations. “I don’t know. It feels… loud.”

    “Loud’s better than silent.” Jay handed her a piece shaped like Ursa Major. “Silence is where shit festers.”

    Regina’s first act as director was to remove the “Modest Attire Required” sign from the lobby. Her second was to reinstate the garden. By dusk, volunteers and guests alike knelt in the soil, uprooting weeds and salvaging trampled zucchini plants. Dora worked beside Mrs. Kowalski, the old woman’s knuckles brushing hers as they tamped dirt around fresh basil sprouts.

    “You remind me of her, you know,” Mrs. Kowalski said suddenly. “My granddaughter. She’s studying biology in Chicago. Wants to cure climate change.” Her laugh rasped like wind through dry leaves. “Thinks she can save the world with compost and stubbornness.”

    Dora smiled. “Sounds familiar.”

    The board meeting convened at sunset. Through the conference room window, Dora watched Mr. Westfield pace the parking lot, his phone pressed to his ear. Inside, Regina outlined a new donor strategy-grassroots fundraising, partnerships with LGBTQ+ organizations, a volunteer-led transparency committee.

    “And the garden?” Dora asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

    Regina slid a budget sheet across the table. “We’re expanding it. Maybe add a greenhouse.”

    When the vote came, only Westfield’s ally dissented.

    Gail found Dora on the fire escape later, her silhouette framed by the shelter’s new mural-a phoenix rising from ash, painted in Jay’s signature neon strokes. Below, the city hummed, indifferent and alive.

    “Remember our first kiss?” Gail asked, leaning into her. “You panicked and said you had to feed Mrs. Kowalski’s cat.”

    “There was no cat.”

    “Exactly.” Gail turned, her breath warm against Dora’s cheek. “I’m done hiding.”

    The kiss, when it came, was nothing like their careful basement embraces. Gail’s lips were chapped, her hands anchoring Dora’s waist as the mural’s colors bled into the twilight. From the alley, someone whooped-Jay, probably-but Dora didn’t pull away. Let them see. Let the world adjust.

    At midnight, Dora unlocked the shelter’s storage closet. Inside, boxes of donated clothes spilled onto the floor-discarded prom dresses, threadbare flannels, a sequined jacket that shimmered like a moth’s wing. In the back, she unearthed a dusty typewriter, its keys stiff but functional.

    She fed a blank page into the roller and typed:

    Dear Alex,You don’t know me, but your brother gave me this photo…

    Somewhere in the city, a train whistled-a long, lonely sound that might have been a dirge or a lullaby. Dora pressed the moth stone to her chest and kept writing.

    By dawn, the garden’s first sunflower had bloomed, its face turned stubbornly toward the light.

    Chapter 33: The Reckoning

    The shelter’s boardroom buzzed with uneasy energy, its cracked leather chairs and faded diplomas bearing witness to decades of debates. Today, the air felt heavier-charged with the weight of a decision that would ripple far beyond these walls. Dora sat between Gail and Mrs. Kowalski, her fingers tracing the moth stone in her pocket. Across the table, Mr. Westfield leaned back in his seat, his tailored suit and polished shoes a stark contrast to the shelter’s patched carpets. His presence loomed like a storm cloud, his allies on the board nodding as he shuffled papers with deliberate calm.

    Regina Chen, now interim director, called the meeting to order. “This hearing addresses concerns about the shelter’s direction and funding,” she began, her voice steady but edged with fatigue. “We’ll hear testimonies first.”

    The Fracture
    Mr. Westfield’s lawyer spoke first-a man with a voice like a spreadsheet. “My client’s concerns about reputational risk are well-documented. The shelter’s recent…associations”-his gaze flicked to Dora-“have led to a 37% drop in donations from upstanding community members.”

    Gail’s knee bounced under the table. “He means you existing,” she muttered.

    Dora clenched her fists. The numbers were real-she’d seen the empty donation bins, heard the whispers at the grocery store. But so was the garden she’d rebuilt, the mural Jay had painted, the homework club Miguel’s mother credited with keeping him off the streets.

    Mrs. Kowalski stood abruptly, her cane thumping the floor. “I’ve been here twenty years,” she said, her voice trembling but clear. “This place saved me when my husband died. But it’s not the cross on the wall or the money in the bank that does the saving. It’s the people.” She pointed at Dora. “That girl taught my arthritis-riddled hands how to grow basil again. You want to measure that in percentages?”

    The room erupted-applause, jeers, a teen volunteer snapping, “Let her speak!”

    Regina banged her gavel. “Order! Ms. Mitchell, you’re next.”

    The Testimony
    Dora’s legs trembled as she approached the podium. The moth stone burned in her palm, its wings biting her skin. She’d practiced this speech a dozen times, but the words scattered like spooked birds.

    “I’m Dora,” she began. A hiccup of silence. Then, louder: “I’m transgender. I’m a volunteer. I’m someone’s daughter, even if my own parents don’t remember me.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. “This shelter isn’t just a building. It’s the first place I felt safe enough to breathe. To be seen.”

    She turned to Mr. Westfield. His jaw twitched.

    “You’ve asked who I really am,” she said. “But maybe the better question is, who are we? A place that turns people away because they don’t fit? Or a place that says, ‘Come as you are’?”

    Jay whooped from the back. Someone else clapped. Dora’s courage solidified.

    “You want to talk about risks? The real risk is losing what makes this place holy-not the sermons, but the saving.”

    The Truth
    Mr. Westfield stood, adjusting his cufflinks. “This is touching, but let’s be practical. Without funding, this shelter closes. And let’s be clear”-he leveled his gaze at Dora-“your presence here is divisive. Good intentions don’t pay the bills.”

    Regina leaned forward. “We’ve received over fifty letters from community members supporting Dora and the new programs.”

    “Letters don’t sign checks,” Westfield snapped.

    Gail shot to her feet. “Then maybe we don’t need your checks!” She pulled a crumpled spreadsheet from her pocket. “We’ve raised $12,000 through grassroots donations this month alone. The summer fair brought in triple what your last fundraiser did.”

    Murmurs rippled through the room. Westfield’s face darkened.

    Miguel’s mother stood, her son’s IEP paperwork clutched in her hands. “Before Dora, my boy hated school. Now he reads to the little kids here. That’s worth more than your money.”

    One by one, shelter guests and volunteers rose-a trans teen clutching hormone pills, a veteran with a service dog, Jay holding a can of spray paint like a scepter. Their testimonies wove together-a tapestry of Doras bedtime stories, rebuilt gardens, and small acts of defiance.

    The Verdict
    Regina cleared her throat. “The board moves to vote on Mr. Westfield’s proposal to remove Dora and revise the volunteer policy.”

    Dora’s heart pounded. She glanced at Gail, who mouthed, Breathe.

    The votes were tallied in silence.

    “The motion fails,” Regina announced. “Six to three.”

    Westfield stood, his chair screeching. “You’ll regret this.”

    “Doubt it,” Jay called out. “Your steakhouse sucks anyway!”

    Laughter erupted, cutting the tension like a knife.

    The Aftermath
    At dusk, Dora found Mrs. Kowalski in the garden, pruning dead leaves from the tomato plants.

    “Need help?” Dora asked.

    The old woman smiled. “Always.”

    They worked in companionable silence, the soil cool under their hands. Mrs. Kowalski handed Dora a seedling-a fragile zucchini sprout. “You remind me of my granddaughter. Stubborn. Kind. Too brave for your own good.”

    Dora tucked the plant into the earth. “Think it’ll survive?”

    Mrs. Kowalski patted her hand. “It’s got you.”

    Gail waited at the gate, her smile tinged with exhaustion. “Westfield’s pulling his funding.”

    Dora linked their fingers. “Then we’ll plant something new.”

    Above them, the shelter’s sign creaked in the wind-Hope Lives Here.

    In the parking lot, Jay revved their motorcycle, tossing Dora a helmet. “Adoption hearing’s tomorrow. Ready to be a Mitchell?”

    Dora laughed, the sound lighter than air. “Born ready.”

    As they sped toward the courthouse, the sunset blazed-a promise, not an ending. The roots they’d planted would hold.

    Chapter 34: The Name

    The courthouse hallway hummed with anticipation, its marble floors buffed to a high shine that reflected the morning light in liquid pools. Dora sat between Gail and Susan Mitchell, her palms pressed to the wooden bench to steady their trembling. Through the tall windows, sunlight streamed over a group of shelter residents clustered in the parking lot-Mrs. Kowalski clutching her rosary, Jay adjusting their "Proud Mentor" pin, Miguel waving a hand-drawn sign dotted with glitter hearts.

    "All rise," the bailiff called.

    Dora's knees nearly buckled. Gail slipped a hand into hers-anchoring, familiar-as they filed into the courtroom. The judge's bench loomed ahead, its polished surface reflecting the sunflower mural painted across Dora's shirt. She focused on that echo of color as the judge, a woman with silver-streaked locks and eyes that missed nothing, reviewed the paperwork.

    "This is highly unorthodox," the judge said, tapping the file. "No birth records, no prior documentation..."

    Susan leaned forward, her voice steady. "Your Honor, we've submitted affidavits from over fifty community members, school enrollment records, and verification of Dora's volunteer work. She's been an integral part of our family and this town for months."

    The judge studied Dora. "And you, young lady. Why should I approve this petition?"

    Dora's throat tightened. She thought of the moth stone's warmth against her chest, of Mrs. Kowalski's hands guiding hers as they kneaded dough that always rose despite the odds. Of the polaroid in her pocket-her and Gail laughing under the shelter's repainted sign, sunlight glinting off fresh letters: Hope Lives Here.

    "Because I'm real," she said, voice clear. "Not just in how I look or what I do, but in how I love and am loved." She gestured to the window where her chosen family waited. "The Mitchells taught me that belonging isn't something you're born into-it's something you build through trust and care. And I've been building mine every single day."

    The judge's gaze softened. She stamped the file with a decisive thud. "Congratulations, Dora Mitchell."

    Rain lashed the windshield as Robert drove them home. Gail whooped, unfastening her seatbelt to hug Dora across the backseat. "You’re stuck with us now!"

    "Gail, seatbelt!" Susan chided, but she was smiling.

    Dora pressed her forehead to the cool glass, watching the world blur. Mitchell. The name settled into her bones, warmer than any magic. At the shelter, a banner hung over the entrance: WELCOME HOME, DORA. The residents erupted into cheers as she stepped inside-Miguel showering her with dandelion fluff, Jay setting off a confetti cannon that left glitter in the rafters for weeks.

    Only later, in the quiet of the Mitchells' attic, did the weight of it hit. Dora spread the adoption decree on the floor, tracing the inked letters. Gail found her there, two mugs of cocoa in hand.

    "You okay?"

    Dora nodded, throat tight. "I just… never thought I’d have proof."

    "Proof of what?"

    "That I’m allowed to exist like this-fully, completely me."

    The letter arrived on a Tuesday, slipped under the shelter’s back door. The envelope was plain, the handwriting shaky but deliberate.

    *Dear Dora,

    Your courage gave me the strength to reach out to my brother. He’s trying, in his way. The garden you mentioned in the news article-Alex loved cosmos. Maybe next spring, we could plant some together.

    Thank you for being his mirror.

    -A.*

    Dora read it three times, then pressed it to her chest. At the bottom of the envelope, a polaroid fluttered out-two teenagers on a pier, their arms slung around each other. She pinned it beside the adoption decree, the two documents forming a bridge between past and future.

    "Ready?" Gail asked as they approached the courthouse again, the morning of the legal name confirmation hearing.

    Dora adjusted her binder-stiff and new, bought with her first paycheck from the shelter’s youth program. "It’s just paperwork."

    But it wasn’t. The clerk’s bored expression sharpened as Dora stated her reason for the petition. "To align with my true identity," she said, chin lifted.

    The gavel fell. "Granted."

    Outside, Jay waited with a spray-painted banner: DORA MITCHELL: OFFICIALLY A BADASS. The shelter teens whooped, tossing biodegradable glitter that caught the light like crushed stars.

    That night, Dora stood before the shelter’s full-length mirror-the one Gail had salvaged from a dumpster and repainted with vines. She wore her binder, a thrifted blazer, and the daisy-collared shirt from her first week as herself. The reflection stared back, steady and sure.

    "Knock knock," Mrs. Kowalski said, leaning in the doorway. She held a polaroid camera-an ancient thing with a leather strap. "For the records."

    Dora laughed but posed by the garden window where the sunset gilded her profile. The flash popped, freezing the moment: a girl, whole and named, her shadow stretching toward tomorrow.

    At the bonfire celebration, Dora found Jay teaching Miguel to skateboard in the parking lot. "Hey mentor," they teased, tossing her a sparkler. "Ready to save the world?"

    "Just this corner of it," Dora said, lighting the sparkler from the flames.

    As the fire crackled, Gail laced their fingers together. "What now?"

    Dora watched the sparks rise-bright, fleeting, beautiful. "We keep building."

    Somewhere in the dark, a moth brushed her cheek-soft as a secret, gone before she could blink.

    In her room that night, Dora opened a fresh journal-its pages blank, its spine uncreased. She wrote:

    Today, the law caught up with what my heart always knew. I am Dora Eleanor Mitchell-daughter, sister, friend. My story doesn’t start with erased records or unanswered questions. It starts here, now, with hands that hold mine and a future we shape together.

    The past is a shadow, but the present? The present is a garden.

    She closed the book, its cover warm under her palm. Outside, the moon hung full and bright, its light spilling over the shelter’s new sign-Hope Lives Here-and the freshly turned earth where cosmos seeds slept, waiting for spring.

    Chapter 35: The Reunion

    The letter arrived on a morning thick with the scent of impending rain-a single envelope slipped under the shelter’s back door, its edges frayed from travel. Dora almost missed it, too preoccupied with helping Jay repaint the garden shed after a summer storm had stripped its vibrant mural to ghostly outlines. The paper felt heavy in her hands, the ink smudged in places as if the writer had hesitated mid-sentence.

    Dear Dora,You don’t know me, but your courage gave me the strength to reach out. Mark showed up at my door last week-shaking, holding a photo I thought he’d burned years ago. He said you taught him that forgiveness isn’t a weakness. I’m not sure I believe that yet, but I’m willing to try.Thank you for being the mirror he needed.-Alex

    A polaroid fluttered out-two teenagers on a weathered pier, their arms slung around each other. The younger Mark grinned, his face unlined by sermons or shame, while Alex’s cropped hair caught the sunlight, a pride pin gleaming on their denim jacket. Dora traced the image, the moth stone warm in her pocket.

    “Everything okay?” Jay called from the shed, their green hair streaked with cerulean paint.

    Dora tucked the letter into her back pocket. “Just a friend.”

    The community center buzzed with the clatter of folding chairs and the hum of a malfunctioning microphone. Summer had transformed the shelter’s annual fundraiser from a somber luncheon into a vibrant street fair, complete with Jay’s graffiti-inspired face-painting booth and Mrs. Kowalski’s infamous “Rebel Pierogi” stand. Dora adjusted the sunflower crown Gail had woven for her, its petals brushing her temples as she helped Miguel arrange mismatched plates on the donation table.

    “Do I have to wear this?” Miguel tugged at his bowtie, a hand-me-down from Gail’s father.

    “Only if you want pierogi privileges,” Dora said, straightening his collar.

    Gail appeared, balancing a tower of recycled mason jars. “Westfield’s here.”

    Dora followed her gaze. Mr. Westfield stood at the edge of the parking lot, his tailored suit at odds with the rainbow chalk art underfoot. He studied the banner above the grill-HOPE LIVES HERE painted in Jay’s signature neon-before turning sharply on his heel.

    “Think he’ll cause trouble?” Miguel whispered.

    Dora watched the retreating figure. “Some storms just pass through.”

    Three hundred miles away, Pastor Mark sat in a diner booth, his coffee gone cold. The vinyl seat creaked as he shifted, his fingers worrying the polaroid’s edges. The bell above the door jingled.

    Alex stood framed in the doorway, their hair now streaked with silver, a tattoo of dandelion seeds drifting up their forearm. For a heartbeat, Mark saw the sibling who’d taught him to skip stones, who’d hidden his baseball glove when their father called it a “distraction from scripture.”

    “You came,” Mark said, rising too quickly.

    Alex slid into the booth, their gaze lingering on the photo. “You kept it.”

    “I tried not to.” The admission hung between them, raw and unvarnished.

    A waitress appeared, refilling Mark’s cup. Alex ordered tea-peppermint, no sugar-a habit unchanged since childhood.

    “Why now?” Alex asked, their voice softer than Mark remembered.

    He unfolded Dora’s letter, the creases worn from rereading. “You don’t have to be who they made you.”

    Back at the fair, Dora knelt beside the community mural-a sprawling canvas where shelter guests and volunteers had painted their hopes in bold strokes. A trans teen added a rising phoenix; a veteran sketched a service dog with wings. In the corner, Mrs. Kowalski’s arthritic hand had left a single word: Persist.

    “Need a hand?”

    Dora turned. A stranger stood behind her-early thirties, with Mark’s nose and a smile that crinkled their eyes. They held a brush already dipped in gold.

    “Alex?” Dora whispered.

    “Figured I’d see what all the fuss was about.” Alex crouched, adding a cosmos flower to the mural’s edge. “He’s trying, you know. Sent me a care package-Bible verses mixed with PFLAG pamphlets. Progress, I guess.”

    Dora laughed, the sound mingling with the distant chords of Jay’s garage-band cover of “Brave.” “How long are you staying?”

    Alex nodded to a duffle bag by the pierogi stand. “Long enough to teach Mark how to apologize properly.”

    The bonfire roared as dusk painted the sky in watercolor streaks. Gail passed around s’mores, her fingers sticky with marshmallow, while Jay led a chorus of off-key showtunes. Dora sat cross-legged in the grass, the flames casting shadows on Alex’s face as they recounted their first Pride parade-1999, a hand-painted sign and shoes they’d outrun their father in.

    “You’re staying, then?” Mrs. Kowalski asked, handing Alex a plate of kielbasa.

    “Long enough to make up for lost time.” Alex glanced at Dora. “And to meet the girl who thawed a glacier.”

    Miguel tugged Dora’s sleeve. “Can we plant cosmos next spring? For Alex’s brother?”

    “Former brother,” Alex corrected gently.

    Miguel frowned. “But family’s forever, right?”

    The fire popped, sending embers spiraling into the dark. Dora watched them rise-bright, fleeting, beautiful-and thought of polaroids and pierogis and the stubborn roots of forgiveness.

    “Yeah,” she said, squeezing Miguel’s hand. “It is.”

    Somewhere in the shadows, a moth brushed Pastor Mark’s cheek as he lingered at the edge of the light. He didn’t join them-not yet-but for the first time in decades, he didn’t turn away.

    Chapter 36: The Bonfire

    The shelter’s courtyard shimmered with strands of fairy lights, their glow soft against the deepening twilight. A pyramid of logs and kindling stood at the center, waiting to be lit. Dora adjusted the sunflower crown Gail had woven for her-its petals now edged with gold from the setting sun-and watched as volunteers and guests spilled into the space, their laughter mingling with the crackle of anticipation. Mrs. Kowalski’s pierogi stand emitted buttery steam, Jay’s latest mural-a phoenix rising over a field of cosmos-loomed on the back wall, and Miguel darted through the crowd, waving a sparkler like a tiny torch.

    Gail slipped her hand into Dora’s, their fingers intertwining. “Ready?” she murmured, her breath warm against Dora’s ear.

    Dora nodded, though her pulse fluttered. This wasn’t just a celebration; it was a farewell.

    The bonfire roared to life as the last sliver of sun vanished. Flames licked the sky, casting long shadows that danced with the crowd. Dora stood at the edge of the light, the moth stone a familiar weight in her pocket. She’d carried it every day since her transformation, its ridges worn smooth by her thumb. Tonight, it felt different-warmer, almost humming.

    “Showtime,” Jay said, nudging her toward the makeshift stage-a pallet draped with a quilt from the shelter’s donation pile.

    The crowd quieted as Dora stepped forward. Faces she’d come to love stared back: Mrs. Kowalski wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron, Miguel perched on his mother’s shoulders, Jay’s green hair glowing neon in the firelight. Even Pastor Mark lingered at the edge of the courtyard, his posture less rigid than she remembered, a polaroid peeking from his breast pocket.

    “When I first came here,” Dora began, her voice steady despite the ache in her throat, “I thought belonging meant being someone else. Someone with a past, a family, a name that fit.” She touched the sunflower crown. “But you taught me that family isn’t something you’re born into-it’s something you build. Through kindness. Through showing up. Through choosing each other, again and again.”

    Miguel whooped, his sparkler drawing arcs in the dark. Laughter rippled through the crowd.

    “This place,” Dora continued, gesturing to the shelter, “isn’t just walls and roof beams. It’s the hands that knead bread, the voices that read bedtime stories, the stubborn roots that grow even when the soil’s been salted.” Her gaze found Pastor Mark. He looked away, but not before she saw him touch the polaroid of Alex.

    “We’re not angels,” she said, echoing Jay’s mural. “We’re just people trying. And that’s enough.”

    The applause was a living thing-warm, insistent, alive. Gail pressed a kiss to her temple as she stepped down, and Jay handed her a marshmallow skewer with a flourish. “For the heroine of the hour.”

    The fire burned lower, embers spiraling upward to meet the stars. Dora wandered to the garden, now lush with late-summer bounty. Moonlight silvered the zucchini leaves, the cosmos Alex had helped plant, the sunflowers standing sentinel along the fence. She knelt, brushing her fingers over a bloom, when the air shifted.

    “You’ve tended it well.”

    Ms. Elara stood beside her, her patched raincoat replaced by a dress that seemed woven from starlight. The moth stone in Dora’s pocket flared hot.

    “You’re leaving,” Dora said, not a question.

    The old woman smiled, her eyes reflecting galaxies. “My work here is done. Yours is just beginning.”

    Dora’s throat tightened. “What if I’m not ready?”

    “You’ve been ready since the moment you chose to stay.” Ms. Elara cupped Dora’s face, her touch like sunlight. “The magic was never in the stone. It was in you. You are in THE ONE and anything is possible.”

    The moth stone pulsed once, then crumbled to dust in Dora’s palm. Where it fell, a new cosmos sprouted-its petals edged in gold.

    “Wait-” Dora reached for her, but Ms. Elara was already stepping into the shadows, her form dissolving into a swirl of fireflies.

    “Look to the roots,” her voice whispered on the wind.

    Gail found her there, tears cooling on her cheeks. “Hey,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around Dora from behind. “You okay?”

    Dora leaned into her, watching the fireflies dance. “She’s gone.”

    “But we’re here.” Gail turned her gently, pressing their foreheads together. “And we’re not going anywhere.”

    They returned to the bonfire, where Jay was leading a raucous rendition of “Lean on Me.” Mrs. Kowalski handed Dora a pierogi, still warm from the griddle. “Eat,” she ordered. “Growing girls need strength.”

    Miguel tugged her sleeve. “Can we plant more flowers tomorrow?”

    “Absolutely,” Dora said, tousling his hair.

    Pastor Mark approached as the crowd thinned, his hands deep in his pockets. “Alex sent a letter,” he said abruptly. “They’re coming to visit next month.”

    Dora studied him-the loosened tie, the absence of his usual rigid posture. “Are you ready?”

    He glanced at the polaroid, now tucked safely in his wallet. “I’m trying.”

    It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t absolution. But it was a start.

    The fire died to coals, the stars wheeling overhead. Dora lay with her head in Gail’s lap, Jay sprawled beside them, tracing constellations.

    “That one’s you,” Jay said, pointing to Cassiopeia. “All stubborn and shine.”

    “And that’s you,” Gail countered, indicating Orion. “Flashy and dramatic.”

    Dora laughed, the sound blending with the crickets’ song. She thought of Ms. Elara’s final words, of roots deepening in storm-tossed soil, of the shelter’s garden thriving against all odds.

    Miguel’s voice piped up from his nest of blankets. “Dora? Do you think the fireflies are magic?”

    She watched one land on her palm, its light pulsing softly. “Yeah,” she said. “But not the wand-waving kind. The kind that stays.”

    As dawn tinged the horizon, the courtyard empty save for scattered embers, Dora pressed a hand to the shelter’s sun-warmed bricks. Somewhere inside, Gail and Jay slept tangled on a couch, Mrs. Kowalski snored in her rocking chair, and Miguel dreamed of dragons and dandelions.

    She knelt by the newest cosmos, its golden petals unfurling. “Thank you,” she whispered-to the shelter, to the stars, to the girl she’d been and the woman she’d become.

    The fireflies answered, their dance a promise: This is not an ending. This is the work of beginning.

    In her pocket, a seedpod cracked open, ready to grow.

    Chapter 37: The Date

    The sky bled into twilight-streaks of violet and tangerine dissolving into a deep indigo as Dora adjusted the picnic basket on her arm. She’d spent hours preparing: sandwiches cut into careful triangles, strawberries dipped in chocolate, and a thermos of lemonade chilled with mint from the shelter’s garden. Gail had promised to handle the location, swearing secrecy with a grin that made Dora’s stomach flutter.

    “You’re sure this isn’t a prank?” Dora called over her shoulder as Gail led her through the overgrown path behind the Mitchells’ house. Fireflies blinked in the tall grass, and the air hummed with cicadas.

    “Would I lie to you?” Gail teased, her flashlight bobbing ahead. “Besides, after the summer we’ve had, you deserve more than a diner booth.”

    The path opened abruptly into a clearing Dora had never seen-a small meadow ringed by oak trees, their branches strung with fairy lights that flickered like captive stars. A checkered blanket lay spread atop a hillock, flanked by citronella candles and a bouquet of cosmos plucked from the shelter’s garden.

    “Gail…” Dora breathed, setting down the basket. “How did you-?”

    “Jay helped.” Gail shrugged, but her cheeks flushed. “They’ve got a knack for ‘borrowing’ extension cords.”

    They settled onto the blanket, knees brushing. Dora unpacked the food with exaggerated care, her hands steady despite the nervous thrill in her chest. This wasn’t their first kiss, or even their first time alone, but it was the first time they’d named the thing between them-a date-and the weight of that word felt sacred.

    Gail bit into a sandwich, groaning. “You put pesto in here? Are you trying to marry me?”

    Dora laughed, the sound mingling with the rustle of leaves. “Maybe I’m just showing off.”

    “It’s working.” Gail licked a dab of aioli from her thumb, her gaze lingering.

    As dusk deepened, they traded stories-mundane and profound. Gail recounted her disastrous first day at high school, complete with a locker malfunction and a mortifying encounter with a crush. Dora, emboldened by the night’s magic, described sneaking into the library as Wallace to read fashion magazines, her heart racing at every footstep.

    “I used to practice walking in heels behind the nonfiction stacks,” she admitted, popping a strawberry into her mouth. “The librarian, Mrs. Chen, definitely knew. She’d just cough loudly whenever someone came near.”

    Gail’s smile softened. “I wish I’d known you then.”

    “You’d have hated me.” Dora traced the rim of her cup. “I was all slouched shoulders and mumbled apologies.”

    “Nah.” Gail brushed a crumb from Dora’s lip, her touch lingering. “I’d have recognized you. The real you.”

    The air shifted. Gail’s hand found hers, their fingers intertwining as naturally as roots seeking water. Above them, the Milky Way sprawled-a luminous bridge between what was and what could be.

    “I applied to college,” Gail said suddenly, her thumb stroking Dora’s knuckles. “Community college, but… they’ve got a social work program. Figured I could help with the youth center full-time.”

    Dora’s heart swelled. “You’d be amazing at that.”

    “Yeah?” Gail leaned back on her elbows, moonlight gilding her profile. “What about you? Still set on horticulture?”

    Dora nodded, plucking a blade of grass. “I want to study restorative gardening-how green spaces can heal communities. Maybe even start a nonprofit.”

    “Doctor Dora Mitchell.” Gail grinned. “Has a nice ring.”

    “Shut up.” Dora shoved her playfully, but the title settled into her bones, warm and possible.

    They lapsed into silence, the kind that thrums with unspoken truths. Gail’s head tilted toward Dora’s shoulder, her breath steadying. In the distance, an owl called, its cry slicing through the stillness.

    “Do you ever…” Dora hesitated. “Do you ever miss who you were before all this?”

    Gail sat up, considering. “Before you? I was kind of a mess. All anger and no direction.”

    “I meant before the shelter. Before me.”

    “Oh.” Gail’s gaze turned inward. “Sometimes I miss how simple things felt. But then I remember-simple wasn’t real. It was just… small.” She cupped Dora’s face, her touch firm. “You made my world bigger.”

    Dora’s throat tightened. She’d spent so long fearing she’d borrowed this life-that her joy was a loan eventually due-but here, under Gail’s certainty, the fear dissolved.

    A meteor streaked across the sky, its tail blazing silver. Gail pointed, childlike wonder in her voice. “Make a wish!”

    Dora closed her eyes. Let this last. Let us grow.

    When she opened them, Gail was watching her, soft and intent. “What did you wish for?”

    “Same as always.” Dora leaned in, her lips grazing Gail’s ear. “You.”

    The kiss began slowly-a question, an answer. Gail’s hands slid to Dora’s waist, anchoring her as the world tilted. Dora had kissed boys before, clumsy rehearsals in darkened bedrooms, but this was different. Gail tasted like lemonade and possibility, her sighs harmonizing with the rustling trees.

    They broke apart, foreheads touching. Gail’s laugh was breathless. “Took you long enough.”

    “Says the girl who panicked and talked about fertilizer during our first almost-kiss.”

    “That was strategic!” Gail protested. “Romance requires buildup.”

    Dora nipped her jaw. “You’re ridiculous.”

    “Yours, though.”

    The words hung between them, fragile and immense. Gail froze, eyes widening as if she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Dora’s heart hammered-not with fear, but recognition.

    “Say it again,” she whispered.

    Gail swallowed. “You’re mine. And I’m… I’m yours. If you want.”

    Dora kissed her-deeply, surely, pouring every unsung hope into it.

    Dora squeezed her hand. “Always! In love together.”

    Dora turned in her arms, kissing her once more-a promise, a beginning.

    In her journal later, she wrote: Tonight, I learned that love isn’t a destination. It’s the courage to keep choosing someone, even when the path is uncertain. Gail is my compass, my collaborator, my safe harbor. Together, we’ll build a world where we both belong. Funny how the people who change the world never set out to. They just… refuse to stop caring.

    She closed the notebook, the finality of the gesture softer than she’d expected. Outside, dawn tinged the horizon-pale gold bleeding into blue. Somewhere in the shelter’s garden, a new cosmos bud stretched toward the light, its roots deep, its future unwritten.

    The miracle wasn’t in the transformation, or even the survival. It was in the choosing-to tend, to persist, to love without guarantee.

    Miracles need maintenance. Some miracles weren’t magic. They were simply love.

    Life Passed

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Organizational: 

    • Title Page

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    triquetra

    Life Passed

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Novel Based on the Short Story

    Can Marcus cope with yet another of his clients slipping the bonds of Earth?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love




    Dramatis Personae

    The Chambers Family Circle

    Helen Chambers - A terminally ill woman of profound spiritual wisdom who serves as mentor and guide to those facing life's greatest transitions. Confined to bed but possessing insights that bridge the physical and spiritual worlds.

    Michelle Chambers Johnson - Helen's younger sister, a dedicated professional who works long hours but maintains deep spiritual connections. Keeper of ancient wisdom and facilitator of sacred bonds.

    Marcus - A compassionate hospice worker who tends to Helen with devotion and skill, harboring a secret that will transform not just his own life, but the spiritual fabric of the community.

    The Next Generation

    Laura - A young woman whose family circle built the ancient altar generations ago. Inheritor of Celtic wisdom and keeper of dangerous knowledge about what sleeps in the mountain.

    Gladys - Laura's mother, a practitioner whose bloodline connects directly to the original Celtic settlers and their protective rituals.

    The Awakened Circle

    Tabitha - A boisterous and overconfident practitioner whose mistake at the ancient altar set current events in motion. Currently seeking spiritual growth and redemption in the Celtic lands of Ireland.

    The Opposition

    Elias Vire - Pastor of Eternal Light Baptist Church, a charismatic preacher whose Sunday sermons have taken on an increasingly militant tone against what he perceives as supernatural corruption in the community.

    Deacon Amon Crane - Elias's devoted second-in-command, a man whose fervor for the cause burns almost as brightly as his leader's, and whose methods grow more aggressive with each passing week.

    The Community

    Nurse Jessica Walters - A dedicated healthcare professional who normally tends to Helen but whose absence on a crucial day will set transformative events in motion.

    The Wiccan Circles - Multiple groups of practitioners who have quietly maintained the spiritual balance of Cedar Hollow for generations, now finding themselves under increasing scrutiny and threat.

    The Congregation - Members of Eternal Light Baptist Church who have begun to see their neighbors through the lens of spiritual warfare, convinced that evil walks among them in human form.

    The Ancient Forces>

    The Fire Elemental - An ancient force of destruction and transformation, bound for centuries within the mountain altar until Tabitha's careless awakening gave it taste of freedom and hunger for a human vessel.

    The Celtic Triquetra Spirits - Protective forces woven into three sacred necklaces, representing the eternal bond of maiden, mother, and crone, and the power that flows between those who wear them.

    Life Passed -00-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Contests: 

    • All Souls Day 2008 Story Contest

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transformations
    • Magic

    Character Age: 

    • Child

    TG Themes: 

    • Proxy / Substitute / Stand-In
    • Sweet / Sentimental

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)
    triquetra

    Life Passed

    A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Preface to the Completed Novel

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Can Marcus cope with yet another of his clients slipping the bonds of Earth?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love



    Preface

    The Ancient Altar

    Deep in the shadow of Whispering Pine Mountain, where mist clings to granite faces like forgotten prayers, stands an altar older than memory. Carved from a single block of black stone veined with silver, it bears the weathered marks of Celtic spirals and triquetra knots that seem to shift in the changing light. For centuries, it slumbered beneath a canopy of ancient oaks, its power dormant, its purpose lost to time.

    The altar remembers when the first Celtic settlers brought their sacred knowledge to these peaks, when druids and wise women gathered beneath the stars to weave protection into the very bedrock of the mountain. It remembers the binding rituals that contained elemental forces within its stone heart, keeping the balance between the seen and unseen worlds.

    But memory, like stone, can crack.

    Three months ago, when the autumn leaves blazed red as fire, a woman named Tabitha approached the altar with her circle sisters. She was loud, boisterous, overconfident in her abilities—everything a practitioner should not be when dealing with forces beyond mortal comprehension. Her laughter echoed off the stone as she traced the ancient symbols with careless fingers, speaking words of awakening that should have been whispered with reverence.

    The altar stirred.

    Silver veins pulsed with sudden light, and the triquetra carvings began to glow with an inner fire. The binding spells, weakened by centuries of neglect, cracked like ice in spring. Something vast and hungry pressed against the thinning barriers—a fire elemental that had been contained since the first rituals were performed on this sacred ground.

    Tabitha felt the power surge beneath her hands and laughed with delight, never realizing she had torn a hole in the fabric between worlds. The elemental tasted freedom for the first time in generations, its essence seeping into the mountain's heart like molten gold through fractured stone.

    When the wildfire came weeks later, racing through the dry timber with unnatural hunger, it was no accident. The fire elemental had found its moment, and when a man named Elias Vire stumbled into the flames seeking to save what he thought was a trapped child, the ancient force found its vessel.

    The altar stands silent now, its silver veins dim but not dark. It waits, patient as stone, for the cycle to complete itself. For in awakening the fire, Tabitha had set in motion events that would transform not just one man, but an entire community—and three women whose Celtic necklaces would prove to be more than mere jewelry.

    The mountain remembers. The altar remembers. And soon, all debts will be paid.

    Welcome to Cedar Hollow

    Nestled in a valley where Whispering Pine Mountain meets the rolling foothills of the Appalachian range, Cedar Hollow appears to be nothing more than a quiet mountain town where time moves slowly and neighbors still wave from their front porches. Main Street stretches for exactly six blocks, lined with businesses that have served the same families for generations: Murphy's General Store, the Copper Kettle Diner, Hartwell's Hardware, and the Cedar Hollow Community Bank.

    The town's 3,200 residents live in a mixture of Victorian houses built during the logging boom, modest ranch homes from the 1960s, and newer constructions that climb the hillsides like hopeful prayers. Three churches serve the spiritual needs of the community: Cedar Hollow Methodist, St. Mary's Catholic, and the newer Eternal Light Baptist Church, whose Sunday sermons have grown increasingly fervent in recent months.

    What visitors don't see—what the tourist brochures don't mention—is that Cedar Hollow sits at the convergence of ancient ley lines, where Celtic settlers once found the spiritual energy so strong they built their most sacred altar deep in the mountain's embrace. The town has always attracted those who walk between worlds: healers, wise women, and practitioners of the old ways who understand that some places hold power that transcends ordinary understanding.

    Lately, that power has been stirring.

    In Cedar Hollow, the line between the sacred and the mundane has always been thin. Now, as ancient powers stir and modern conflicts ignite, that line is about to disappear entirely. What follows is the story of transformation—of individuals, of community, and of the very nature of what it means to live authentically in a world where love and fear wage eternal war for the human soul.

    The mountain watches. The altar waits. And in a small house on Maple Street, a conversation is about to begin that will change everything.

    Life Passed -01-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    triquetra

    Life Passed

    A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Chapter One: Marcus' Hidden Truth

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Can Marcus cope with yet another of his clients slipping the bonds of Earth?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love




    Chapter One: Marcus' Hidden Truth

    As her vital organs shut down one by one, the terminal nature of her condition had become undeniably apparent. Where there should have been the tiny, vibrant beauty she was meant to be, paralysis had weighted her down with unmoving mass.

    The medical monitor's steady beeping provided a rhythmic backdrop as I watched Helen Chambers rest peacefully in her bed, having just finished the carefully prepared meal I'd brought her. She was a gem of a woman—a brilliant spirit imprisoned within a body that had betrayed her.

    "Marcus, thank you for another wonderful meal!" Helen's voice carried genuine warmth despite her weakness. "The tastes that you bring together through your creativity in the kitchen are amazing. Even more so with all of my dietary restrictions. Thanks, sweetie."

    The smile that spread across Helen's face was worth more than any paycheck. It was moments like these that reminded me why I'd chosen hospice care, despite how my tender heart sometimes made the work feel impossible.

    "You are welcome, Helen. I'm glad that you enjoyed it. I certainly enjoyed creating your meal for you."

    "You certainly take good care of me. I admire all your creativity in the way that you do your work. It's clear to me that it's a work of love for you."

    Her words warmed something deep inside me—a recognition that felt both comforting and dangerous. "Is there anything that I can get for you?"

    "No dear, I'm fine for now."

    "Then I will get your tray and do some cleaning up."

    "I'll take a nap. Have fun, Marcus."

    I did have fun cleaning, though it also gave me precious time to think. In the quiet moments between tasks, I allowed myself to hope—perhaps foolishly—that I could somehow save Helen. I wished I could turn the tide of her illness through sheer attentiveness. My devotion to her comfort kept her free from pain, and I felt that if I could make things as physically comfortable as possible while promoting a pleasant environment, I could make her quality of life the best it could be.

    Somehow, becoming Helen's friend and companion had come naturally to me in ways that surprised even myself. There was an ease in our relationship that transcended the typical caregiver-patient dynamic, as if we'd known each other far longer than the few months I'd been caring for her.

    After finishing the housework, I went quietly into Helen's room to check on her well-being. Though I'd been monitoring her vital signs from the kitchen, it put my mind at ease to look in on her directly. As I entered, she stirred to life, her eyes opening with surprising clarity.

    "Marcus, do you believe in reincarnation?"

    The question caught me off guard, though Helen often surprised me with her philosophical inquiries. "I do believe, Helen. I hope that I have learned from my life this time so that I will have become a better person."

    "How do you believe it works when one life passes to another?"

    I settled into the chair beside her bed, drawn into the conversation despite the weight of the topic. "We all hear stories of people moving away from this life, passing into an overwhelming white light. I feel that within that white light, a great energy surrounds us, and for a moment all the lives that we have lived are revealed. In that clarity of being known in all truth, the sum of what we have become through our lives is made known. Fate decides somehow, based on how well and what we have learned in our lives, as well as the lessons that are yet to be learned. Fate decides the kind of life that would teach that lesson and molds us to be born into that new life with a clean slate."

    Helen's eyes sparkled with interest. "What if when you are joined with the omniscience, in that moment of clarity, you determine how the creative energy is used to bring new life?"

    "Perhaps the difference between letting it happen and taking an active role in it signals that some lessons have been learned." I paused, considering her words more deeply. "Hmm, can a person believe in both reincarnation and ghosts?"

    "Well, I do. I feel that there can be a time spent interacting with the living before that rendezvous with the white light. And I also believe that in the process of passing into the other dimension, beings of pure energy and spirit can act as mentors for a time before they complete their journey beyond."

    "You have an interesting take on this, Marcus. It's clear that you've given this some thought."

    I had given it thought—more than I cared to admit. "I believe that the time at the end of our life is important. I feel fortunate to show care and compassion to ease the transition. How we face death is at least as important as how we face life. That is how I manage to cope with all the emotions."

    Helen's eyebrow lifted in what I recognized as acknowledgment of my reference to Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. She smiled and closed her eyes, her vitals confirming that she had slipped back into sleep.

    It was a wonder that I was working in hospice care, tender-hearted as I was. However, I had shown that I possessed quiet strength and could keep my head in a crisis. I didn't let what might be paralyze me, nor would I be consumed by what had happened. I didn't carry the emotion from one case to another, thanks to the mandatory day off between cases that allowed me to empty myself of tears so I could give my best to my next charge.

    The sound of the front door opening interrupted my thoughts. Michelle Chambers Johnson, Helen's younger sister, had arrived home from work. She typically worked long hours and was deeply dedicated to her career, but today was different—she was home in the afternoon.

    What surprised me most was that she wore her Celtic Triquetra knot necklace openly, the intricate knotwork catching the light as she moved. Some associated the symbol with Wicca, but for me, it represented something beautiful—the three lives of women as maiden, mother, and matron. Helen had requested that I place the necklace's twin around her neck after I'd done her makeup that morning.

    "Marcus, would you like to sit with me in the living room for a moment and talk?"

    "Of course, Michelle. Was there anything in particular that you wanted to talk about?"

    She smoothed her skirt underneath her as she sat down in a chair, and I took the one opposite from her. There was something different in her demeanor—a purposefulness that made me slightly nervous.

    "I'd like to talk about you. You have been so wonderful both to Helen and me. We've both noticed something about you that is not consistent with your character in that you are hiding something. I know you to be honest in everything else, so it puzzles me and my sister. We both love you and we want to help if we can. I know this is personal, but in order to help, I must ask—what are you hiding, Marcus?"

    My heart began to race. "Michelle, I don't know what you are talking about! I guess everyone in my work has a little professional detachment. Perhaps that is what you both are perceiving."

    But Michelle's gaze didn't waver. "Who are you really, deep down inside?"

    She knows! The thought hit me like a lightning bolt. You see, deep down inside, I knew that I was female. I had always known, but I feared what I might lose if I became the victim of stigma associated with people who changed their gender expression from what society felt I was supposed to have. I had paused too long thinking, and now I could not give an answer that would deflect her from questioning me.

    The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken truth. Helen's gentle breathing from the next room seemed to encourage me, as if her presence was giving me strength. The Celtic Triquetra around Michelle's neck caught the afternoon light, and I thought of its twin around Helen's neck—symbols of connection, of sisterhood, of acceptance.

    Finally, I found the courage to tell the truth.

    "I'm female."

    The words hung in the air between us, and I felt as if I'd just stepped off a cliff into unknown territory. There was no taking them back now.

    Life Passed -02-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Mature / Thirty+

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    triquetra

    Life Passed

    A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Chapter Two: The Power of Authentic Love

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    How will Marcus' confession be received that she has a female soul?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love




    Chapter Two: The Power of Authentic Love

    My confession of being female hung in the air between Michelle and me like a bridge I'd finally found the courage to cross. Her response would determine whether I'd found sanctuary or stepped into another kind of exile.

    "Oh Sweetie!" Michelle's face lit up with understanding rather than shock. "You express female gender in a lot of ways. Only the way that you represent yourself by your outward appearance is inconsistent with that expression. We love you and if you choose to totally express female gender in all aspects of your life, we will support you in any way that we can."

    The relief that washed over me was so profound I felt my knees weaken. After years of hiding, of professional detachment serving as armor against vulnerability, someone had seen my truth and embraced it completely.

    "I appreciate your compassion, Michelle. I'm not sure that I am ready for such a step right now. I'm glad that you two would be okay if I were to transition."

    Michelle's smile deepened, and she reached into her purse with deliberate purpose. "I have something for you. You see, I felt that you have a sister spirit within you. From what you have discussed with both Helen and me, your spirit seems to be compatible with ours."

    She handed me a small velvet box, and my hands trembled slightly as I accepted it. Inside, nestled against dark fabric, lay another Celtic Triquetra knot necklace—identical to the ones Helen and Michelle wore, yet somehow uniquely meant for me.

    "The necklaces that I thought were twins were actually triplets," I whispered, understanding flooding through me. "And I have the third one."

    "Thank you, Michelle, and I will properly thank Helen when she is awake," I told her, rising to give her a heartfelt hug and a kiss on the cheek. As she lifted the necklace from the box and placed it around my neck, something profound shifted within me. The weight of the Celtic knot against my chest felt like coming home.

    My emotions overwhelmed me, and tears of joy streamed down my face—tears for being welcomed as family, for being acknowledged as female, for finally belonging somewhere as my authentic self.

    "You are welcome, my dear. I hope that you will wear it always as Helen and I will wear ours. We won't mind if you wear it inside your clothes until the day that you can find it within yourself to be open about who you really are inside."

    "Thank you for understanding. With this necklace and what it represents, I might have the faith to now go where my heart will take me."

    The Celtic Triquetra felt warm against my skin, as if it recognized its rightful owner. In Celtic tradition, it represented the three aspects of the feminine divine—maiden, mother, and crone—but for us, it symbolized something even more powerful: chosen family, unconditional love, and the sacred bond of sisterhood that transcended blood relations.

    Michelle would have spoken again, but the peaceful moment shattered as medical alarms pierced the afternoon quiet. Helen's monitors were screaming warnings that made my blood run cold.

    "Michelle, call 911!" I commanded, my hospice training overriding everything else. I never asserted myself so forcefully unless the situation was truly dire, and this was.

    I ran to Helen's room, my feet moving with practiced efficiency while my heart hammered against my ribs. Snatching up the AED from its place beside Helen's bed, I quickly tucked the new necklace inside my scrub top to keep it safe during the emergency procedures.

    Helen lay unresponsive, her face peaceful despite the chaos of alarms. I began CPR immediately, counting compressions and breaths with mechanical precision while my mind raced. After one complete cycle yielded no response, I positioned the AED pads on her chest with steady hands.

    "Analyzing rhythm," the machine announced in its emotionless voice. "Shock advised."

    "Clear!" I called out, though Michelle was still in the other room on the phone with emergency services. The shock delivered, Helen's body jerked, but her eyes remained closed.

    "Marcus, they have dispatched EMTs. They should be here in five minutes. I will meet them and direct them to you and Helen."

    "Thank you, Michelle."

    The AED attempted two more shocks, each one a desperate gamble against the inevitable. When it finally announced "No shock advised," I resumed CPR, my arms burning with effort but my determination unwavering. This was Helen—the woman who had seen my truth, who had welcomed me into her spiritual family, who had just given me the gift of belonging.

    The EMTs arrived with professional efficiency, and I stepped back to let them work their own kind of magic. One took Helen's medical history from Michelle while the other administered epinephrine directly into Helen's IV line.

    For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. Then Helen's eyes fluttered open, and she drew a shaky breath.

    "She's back," the EMT announced, but I could see in her eyes that this was likely temporary—a brief reprieve rather than a true recovery.

    As they transferred Helen to the stretcher, I caught her gaze. Even weakened, her eyes held a depth of love and understanding that spoke directly to my soul. The Celtic Triquetra beneath my scrub top seemed to pulse with warmth, as if responding to some unseen energy flowing between us.

    The ambulance ride to the hospital passed in a blur of sirens and medical chatter. Michelle and I followed in her car, the weight of unspoken knowledge heavy between us. Helen's time was running short, and somehow, we all knew it.

    But as I touched the hidden necklace at my throat, I sensed that Helen's greatest gift to me was yet to come. The power of three—maiden, mother, and crone—was awakening, and with it, possibilities I couldn't yet imagine.

    The hospital loomed ahead, and I realized that whatever happened next would change all our lives forever. The Celtic sisterhood was complete, and Helen's final act of love was about to transform everything we thought we knew about life, death, and the magic that binds souls together across time and space.

    Life Passed -03-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Preteen or Intermediate

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    triquetra

    Life Passed

    A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Chapter Three: The Sacred Trinity

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Can Minuet understand what to do with the gift of Life Passed to her by Helen?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love




    Chapter Three: The Sacred Trinity

    My confession of being female and Michelle's acceptance had created a profound moment of spiritual connection between us. But as Helen's medical alarms shattered the peaceful afternoon, that moment of belonging transformed into something far more urgent and mystical.

    The EMTs had successfully revived Helen with epinephrine, but as we followed the ambulance to the hospital, I could feel the Celtic Triquetra necklace warming against my chest. Something profound was happening—something that went beyond medical intervention.

    In the cardiac treatment room, Helen lay surrounded by monitors and machines, her breathing shallow but steady. The DNR order meant that when her time came, there would be no heroic measures—only love, acceptance, and whatever supernatural forces had been awakened by our completed sisterhood.

    "Sweetie, you are one with Helen and me now, we are sisters," Michelle whispered as we sat in the waiting room. "Helen's homecoming nears. If you open yourself to the supernatural, you may be able to share the totality of the experience."

    The weight of her words settled over me like a sacred mantle. "What are you telling me, Michelle?"

    I didn't care what anyone thought at this point, so I pulled the necklace out from my scrub top and wore it proudly for all to see. The Celtic Triquetra caught the harsh hospital lighting, its intricate knotwork seeming to pulse with its own inner radiance.

    "You know that Helen's medical wishes dictate that she not be kept alive artificially. This may be the time when we both have to say goodbye to her. It is a most powerful time, full of possibilities if you are open to them."

    The truth of it hit me like a physical blow. Helen was dying, and somehow, Michelle was preparing me for something beyond ordinary grief. "I'm ready to say goodbye to Helen if it comes to that. I'm open to any possibility."

    "Good. They will be calling for us soon."

    No sooner had she spoken when Nurse Walters walked purposefully into the waiting room. "Mrs. Johnson? Helen called for you, and time is short."

    The three of us walked quickly through the hospital corridors, our footsteps echoing with the urgency of approaching finality. When we reached Helen's bedside, I instinctively moved to one side and took her hand while Michelle took the other. The Celtic Triquetra necklaces—all three of them—seemed to resonate with each other, creating an invisible triangle of connection around Helen's bed.

    "Thank you for coming, sisters," Helen whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with profound love.

    "I love you, Helen. Blessed be!" The words came from somewhere deeper than conscious thought.

    "I love you too, Helen. Thank you for my gift."

    Helen's eyes sparkled with the same mischievous wisdom I'd come to cherish. "I hope you like your next gift as well, sister. I love both of you with all my heart."

    The monitors began their final alarm sequence, but this time, the DNR order meant we could only hold her hands and bear witness. As Helen's physical form released its hold on life, I felt my eyes rolling back as consciousness slipped away from me.

    The Spiritual Realm
    Suddenly, I was more alive than I had ever been. The sensation was overwhelming—I felt completely congruent and utterly different simultaneously. Looking down at myself, I realized I existed as pure energy, pure spirit. For the first time, I saw myself as I had only glimpsed in dreams: a twelve-year-old girl who hadn't yet begun puberty, radiant with authentic possibility.

    At my feet lay my corporeal body, still appearing as male as I had forced myself to portray to the world, collapsed unconscious on the hospital floor. Michelle still clutched Helen's hand, weeping over her sister's passing, while Nurse Walters rushed to attend to my unconscious form.

    "Sister, it is time for me to pass my life to you."

    I turned to find Helen beside me, her spiritual form blazing with accumulated life energy. She appeared more vibrant than she had in months, free from the physical limitations that had imprisoned her.

    "Helen, I don't understand."

    "How could you, sweetie? The white light beckons to me, and my life force glows with the energy that I have added through living. That energy ordinarily would be used to transform me physically into the person I would be for my next life."

    "Would?" The word hung between us, heavy with implication.

    "I feel that you should not have to wait for your next life to put an end to your suffering. I intend to use that life energy to put right what once went wrong for you."

    The magnitude of her offer struck me like lightning. "No, Helen! Your next leap may be the leap all the way home. Giving me that gift could cost you everything."

    "Yet it is my gift to give." Her spiritual form pulsed with determination. "Do you know why your spirit is still a girl instead of a woman?"

    The truth came to me with crystal clarity. "I feel that it is because I have not allowed myself to experience puberty yet the way I should have, in mind and body."

    "Are you open to that possibility now? Are you ready to be your true self?"

    Every fiber of my being resonated with the answer. "I am, Helen. You have given me the gift of understanding. When I get back, I will start transition. I will be true to myself and to you and Michelle, my sisters."

    Helen's energy seemed to intensify, and I sensed we were approaching the crucial moment. "Sometimes, sisters have to act as mothers when mother isn't available. Are you ready to accept her in that role?"

    The rightness of it overwhelmed me. "Michelle would make a great mother. Yes, I will gladly accept Michelle as my mother."

    The Transformation
    Helen's energy aura, which had been bright before, suddenly overwhelmed me in a blinding flash. I felt myself speeding toward a white light, but instead of moving toward it, the white light engulfed me completely. Every cell of my being was suffused with Helen's life force, her love, her accumulated wisdom, and her final gift of authentic existence.

    The sensation was indescribable—like being unmade and remade simultaneously, every atom of my being restructured by love itself. I felt my spirit and body aligning for the first time in my existence, the profound incongruence that had defined my life dissolving into perfect harmony.

    When consciousness returned, the familiar surroundings of the hospital room greeted me, but everything had changed. Nurse Walters towered over me as she helped me to my feet, but now her height was appropriate—I was looking up at the world through the eyes of a twelve-year-old girl.

    Everything was right because now the physical me matched the spiritual me. I was Minuet, a preadolescent girl with my entire authentic life ahead of me.

    Michelle had come around the bed and wrapped me in a protective hug, whispering urgently in my ear, "Play along, we'll talk in the car."

    "Sweetie, I was so worried about you," she said loudly enough for the nurse to hear. "Is my daughter really alright?"

    "She's fine. Her vitals are strong. She just fainted when Miss Chambers died."

    The nurse's matter-of-fact tone suggested that reality had somehow adjusted to accommodate Helen's supernatural gift. To everyone except Michelle and me, I had always been Minuet, Michelle's twelve-year-old daughter.

    "Minnie, let's get you home. The nurses have to see about Helen now anyway, so we should give them a chance to take care of things."

    "Thank you, Momma." The word felt natural, right, as if I had been saying it my entire life.

    Looking down at myself, I marveled at Helen's attention to detail. I was dressed exactly as I had appeared in spirit form: a long A-line dress made of pink velvet paired with white knee socks and black Mary Janes, with a matching purse on my shoulder. My hair was styled in two pigtails with pink ribbons tying up the ends. No makeup, but I didn't need any—I had the natural glow of youth and authenticity.

    The walk to the car felt eternal, both of us maintaining careful silence lest we say something that might shatter the delicate illusion that protected us. Once the car doors slammed shut, I felt relief wash over me like taking a deep breath after holding it for hours.

    New Memories, New Life
    "It worked," Michelle breathed, her voice filled with wonder. "Helen passed her next life on to you early. Do you remember being Marcus?"

    The question opened floodgates of memory that were both familiar and strange. "Yes, but that is like another lifetime. I remember more clearly being raised with our mother until she died, and then you taking care of both Helen and me after that. Oh yes, and that sweet nurse Jessica who cared for Helen ordinarily, but she called in sick and we had to care for her today. I'm glad that I learned CPR so I could help Helen while you called for help, Momma."

    Michelle's eyes filled with tears of amazement. "I remember both lives too. You were a great big help, Minuet. You have a great big heart, and you could be a medical professional again if that's where your heart leads you."

    The weight of loss suddenly hit me. "I miss Helen, Momma."

    "You don't have to miss me yet. I'm still around."

    Helen's voice came from behind me, and I turned to see her spiritual form, even more abundant with energy than before the white flash. She appeared as a shimmering presence that only Michelle and I could perceive.

    "What happened, Helen?" I asked, reaching toward her luminous form.

    "I found out that the leap home is not one that can be taken on our own energy, but with the ability granted to us when we are ready. The Goddess told me that in passing my life to you, I had shown myself worthy to pass into the beyond and go home myself. I've been given leave to be with you to help you through this transition before I make that trek into the great beyond."

    The relief was overwhelming. "I'm glad for you that you are about at the end of your journey, Helen. I'm glad for me that you will be along to guide me at the starting of my journey."

    A question that had been nagging at me finally surfaced. "When time folded over on itself as a result of all that creative energy you summoned, how come we three seem to be the only ones who have a clue about what was?"

    Helen's laughter tinkled like silver bells. "You don't need me for that answer since your mommy came up with that wrinkle. It's the triplet necklaces, and in a real way, our sisterhood held a power of three that was beyond any understanding of TV show writers. We three are bound together in a way that defies understanding."

    Michelle nodded, touching her own necklace. "And when Helen leaves this plane of existence, Momma?"

    "We'll still be bound together, and where she goes, we will, when our time comes, follow and be reunited there."

    I looked between them, my new twelve-year-old perspective making everything feel both profound and simple. "Is that true, Helen? And in how many lives will we be together, physically, that is?"

    "That would be telling, sprite!" Helen's eyes twinkled with ancient mischief. "In the place that I am going, physicality isn't really meaningful. Even with me gone in a way, in a way I will always be with you."

    The frustration of being spoken to in riddles bubbled up. "I guess I should have expected being talked to in riddles since I'm the child here."

    "If you are a child, sweetie, then I am much more of one. At least you are comfortable in this universe of ours, but I'm going beyond all. I'm sorry if riddle speak frustrates you, but it's the only way of representing something so alien."

    Understanding flooded through me. "I'm sorry, Helen. While I am in the muck, this is something that I asked for. I know some of the rules and I will discover the others. I cannot even imagine what awaits you. I guess when I can, then I will be where you are now. I'll be waiting for my homecoming."

    "That's okay, sprite. I have a feeling that getting you up to speed was just what the doctor ordered. I could never let one of my sisters down if I had any choice in it."

    One more question burned in my mind. "Helen, why am I a child now?"

    Her expression grew tender with understanding. "Sweetie, that's where your spirit was stuck. If you had become a woman of the same age that Marcus was, then you would still be incongruent since your spirit was stuck as a little girl. Bringing your spirit and body together with congruency will allow you to grow up the way you might have if you had been able to let out your true self when you were thirteen the first go around."

    The pieces finally clicked into place. "You were trying to prepare me for this before I became Minuet, and I didn't understand then, but I believe I do now. Thank you for looking out for my best interest, Helen."

    "Think nothing of it, sweetie. Sisters do for each other. As you have done for me, I do for you, as around the circle our love flows."

    We shared a metaphysical hug—not the pressing together of physical forms, but a spiritual closeness where I felt Helen's presence as strongly as any physical embrace. The love was the same, perhaps even stronger. When Michelle joined us in a group spiritual hug, I felt the power of three and put to rest any doubts that anything would truly separate us from each other.

    "One thing that you are right about, young lady, is that physically now you are a child and will be one for the foreseeable future. Your body needs much more sleep, especially after a day as trying as this, and even more as you start turning into the woman you will grow up to be. It's bedtime for you now, munchkin. Please be a good girl and take your bath, then get dressed for bed."

    The prospect of my first night as Minuet filled me with both excitement and trepidation. As we pulled into the driveway of what were now my childhood memories told me was home, I realized that Helen's greatest gift wasn't just the physical transformation—it was the chance to grow up authentically, supported by a love that transcended death itself.

    The Celtic Triquetra necklace rested warm against my chest, a constant reminder that I was part of something eternal, something that would guide me through whatever challenges lay ahead in this new life that had been passed to me.

    Life Passed -04-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Teenage or High School

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    triquetra

    Life Passed

    A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Chapter Four: Death and Rebirth

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Can Minuet fit in to being a little girl in the family that she loves?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love




    Chapter Four: Death and Rebirth

    Michelle's gentle insistence that I take my bath and get ready for bed had marked the end of my first day as Minuet. But as I settled into the warm bathwater, marveling at how natural it felt to see my authentic twelve-year-old female body for the first time, I realized that Helen's greatest gifts were still unfolding.

    The pink velvet dress hung carefully on my bedroom door, and as I dried off with fluffy towels that smelled like home, I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. The girl looking back at me had always existed in my dreams, but now she was real—pigtails slightly damp from the bath, cheeks flushed with youth and possibility, eyes bright with the wonder of authentic existence.

    "Minnie, are you almost ready for your story?" Michelle's voice carried up the stairs, warm with maternal affection that felt both new and eternal.

    "Almost, Momma!" The word still sent shivers of joy through me. I slipped into my nightgown—soft cotton with tiny pink flowers—and padded barefoot to my bedroom.

    My room was exactly as my new memories told me it should be: walls painted in soft lavender, a bookshelf filled with fairy tales and adventure stories, a desk where I'd supposedly done homework for years. The bed was covered with a quilt that Michelle had made, its pattern of interlocking Celtic knots echoing the Triquetra necklace that now rested on my nightstand.

    The Princess Story
    Michelle appeared in my doorway, her expression soft with love and exhaustion. The day had transformed her as much as it had me—she'd lost her sister and gained a daughter in the span of hours, yet she carried the transition with remarkable grace.

    "All ready for bed, munchkin?"

    "Yes, Momma. Will you really tell me the princess story?"

    She settled beside me on the bed, smoothing the covers around me with practiced maternal gestures. "Of course, sweetie. Though I have a feeling you know this story better than I do."

    The irony wasn't lost on either of us. As Marcus, I had created this story during Helen's worst pain episodes, weaving it from imagination and hope to soothe both of us when medical interventions fell short. Now, as Minuet, I would hear it as it was meant to be heard—by a little girl who needed to believe in magic and transformation.

    "Once upon a time," Michelle began, her voice taking on the cadence of countless bedtime stories, "in a kingdom where the mountains touched the clouds, there lived a little girl who didn't know she was a princess."

    I snuggled deeper into my pillows, the Celtic Triquetra necklace warm against my chest even through my nightgown. Helen's presence felt close, as if she were listening from just beyond the veil.

    "The little girl lived in a tower—not because she was imprisoned, but because she was afraid to come down and let the world see who she really was. She spent her days caring for others, bringing them food and comfort, but she never allowed herself to receive the same kindness."

    Michelle's voice caught slightly, and I realized she was thinking of Marcus, of how I had hidden my true self behind professional duty and fear.

    "One day, two fairy godmothers came to visit the tower. They were sisters, bound by magic older than the kingdom itself, and they could see through the little girl's disguise. 'Why do you hide your crown?' asked the first fairy godmother. 'We can see it shining, even when you cannot.'"

    The story continued, weaving together themes of recognition, acceptance, and transformation. The fairy godmothers gave the hidden princess three gifts: a necklace that would connect her to her true family, the courage to reveal her authentic self, and finally, the magic to transform her body to match her spirit.

    "But the greatest gift," Michelle continued, her hand stroking my hair, "was not the transformation itself, but the love that made it possible. For you see, the first fairy godmother had to give up her own magic to grant the princess her true form. It was the ultimate act of love—one sister passing her life to another so that the princess could finally grow up as she was meant to be."

    Tears slipped down my cheeks as the story reached its climax. Helen's sacrifice, rendered as fairy tale, felt both magical and heartbreakingly real.

    "And did the princess live happily ever after?" I whispered, though I knew the answer.

    "She lived authentically ever after," Michelle corrected gently. "Which is better than happy, because authentic includes all the feelings—joy and sorrow, love and loss, but always, always truth."

    Helen's Guidance
    As Michelle kissed my forehead and prepared to leave, Helen's presence materialized in the room. She appeared more translucent than before, her spiritual energy clearly diminishing, but her love remained as strong as ever.

    "Did you like your story, sprite?" Helen asked, settling into the chair beside my bed.

    "It was beautiful. Thank you for making it real."

    "You made it real, sweetie. I just provided the magic to help it along." Helen's expression grew serious. "But I need to prepare you for what's coming. My time as your guide is limited, and there are forces awakening that will challenge everything we've built."

    Michelle, who could see and hear Helen as clearly as I could, sat back down on the bed. "What kind of forces?"

    "The fire that's been reported in the forest isn't natural. When Tabitha's circle disturbed that ancient altar months ago, they awakened something that should have remained sleeping. A fire elemental, ancient and angry, seeking a vessel for its rage."

    The warmth of my bedtime story evaporated, replaced by a chill of foreboding. "What does it want?"

    "To burn away what it sees as corruption. And unfortunately, it's found a willing host in Elias Vire, the preacher who's been speaking against demons and unnatural influences." Helen's form flickered, as if the effort of warning us was draining her remaining energy.

    "The man from the shopping center?" I remembered the encounter Laura had mentioned, though my new memories were still settling into place.

    "The same. He was caught in the forest fire when the elemental first awakened, and instead of being destroyed, he absorbed part of its essence. Now he believes his survival was divine intervention, and he's determined to cleanse the world of what he sees as evil magic."

    Michelle's protective instincts flared. "He's targeting the circles?"

    "He's targeting anyone who practices the old ways. But more than that, he's drawn to power, and the three of us—our bond, our necklaces, our transformation—we shine like a beacon to his elemental sight."

    The implications settled over us like a heavy blanket. My first day as Minuet, which had been filled with wonder and love, now carried the shadow of approaching conflict.

    "What do we do?" I asked, my twelve-year-old voice small in the darkness.

    "We prepare. We learn. We grow stronger." Helen's voice carried the weight of ancient wisdom. "And we remember that love is always more powerful than hate, even when hate burns with elemental fire."

    The Growing Threat
    Helen rose from the chair, her form becoming even more ethereal. "I must go now. Michelle, tomorrow you'll need to contact Tabitha. She's returned from Ireland with knowledge we'll need. And Minuet, you'll be meeting other young practitioners soon. There's a girl named Laura whose family has connections to the ancient altar. She'll become important to you."

    "Will I see you tomorrow?" I asked, suddenly afraid of losing my spiritual guide so soon after finding my authentic self.

    "For a while longer, sprite. But each time I appear, I use energy that brings me closer to my final journey. We must use our remaining time wisely."

    As Helen began to fade, she added one final warning: "The elemental grows stronger with each passing day, and Elias's sermons are gathering followers. They see magic as the enemy, never realizing that the greatest magic is love itself. Stay close to each other, trust in your bond, and remember—the power of three is greater than any single force, no matter how ancient or angry."

    With that, Helen disappeared, leaving Michelle and me alone in my bedroom. The Celtic Triquetra necklace had grown warm during Helen's visit, and I could feel its connection to Michelle's matching pendant across the room.

    "Momma, are you scared?"

    Michelle considered the question carefully. "I'm concerned, sweetie. But I'm not afraid. We have something Elias doesn't understand—we have love that transcends death itself. Helen proved that today when she transformed you. That kind of love is the most powerful force in any universe."

    She tucked the covers around me one more time. "Now get some sleep, munchkin. Tomorrow we start learning how to protect what we've been given."

    As Michelle turned off the light and closed my door, I lay in the darkness thinking about Helen's warnings. Somewhere in the forest, an ancient fire burned with elemental rage, and a preacher who had once been a frightened girl named Ruth was gathering followers for a crusade against everything I now represented.

    But I was no longer Marcus, hiding behind professional detachment and fear. I was Minuet, surrounded by love, protected by ancient magic, and part of a sisterhood that had already proven death could not break their bonds.

    The Celtic Triquetra necklace pulsed gently against my chest, and I felt Helen's love flowing through it like a warm current. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I would face them as my authentic self, supported by chosen family and guided by wisdom that spanned the boundary between life and death.

    The princess in the story had lived authentically ever after. Now it was time for me to do the same, even if it meant standing against the elemental fire that threatened to consume everything we held dear.

    Life Passed -05-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Teenage or High School

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    triquetra

    Life Passed

    A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Chapter Five: New World Adjustment

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Can Minuet help against the treat coming against the family that she loves?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love




    Chapter Five: New World Adjustment

    Helen's warning about the approaching supernatural threat and my first night as Minuet had left me both exhausted and exhilarated. But as I woke up in my new twelve-year-old body the next morning, sunlight streaming through the lavender curtains of what were now my childhood memories, I realized that Helen's greatest challenge was just beginning to unfold.

    The Celtic Triquetra necklace had grown warm against my chest during the night, and I could sense something stirring in the forest beyond our mountain community. The fire elemental that Helen had warned us about was no longer dormant—it was actively seeking, hunting, drawn by the very magic that had transformed me.

    "Good morning, munchkin," Michelle called from downstairs, her voice carrying the practiced cheerfulness of a mother trying to maintain normalcy despite extraordinary circumstances. "Breakfast is ready!"

    I padded downstairs in my nightgown, marveling again at how everything seemed larger from my new perspective. Michelle had prepared pancakes shaped like hearts, and the domestic scene felt both wonderfully normal and surreally magical.

    "Did you sleep well, sweetie?" Michelle asked, studying my face with the careful attention of someone still adjusting to our new reality.

    "I had strange dreams," I admitted, settling into my chair. "There was fire in the forest, and someone was calling for help, but when I tried to reach them, the flames got bigger."

    Helen's spiritual form materialized at the kitchen table, her energy more subdued than the night before. "The elemental is testing its connection to you, sprite. Your transformation has created ripples in the spiritual realm that it can sense."

    Michelle poured orange juice with steady hands, though I could see the tension in her shoulders. "How much time do we have before it becomes a real threat?"

    "Not long," Helen replied gravely. "The man it's possessing—Elias Vire—is fighting the elemental's influence, but his mind is interpreting the experience through a fractured religious lens. He believes he survived the forest fire through divine intervention, and now he's convinced that witches conjured the flames that marked him."

    The Growing Disturbance
    As we ate breakfast, the local news played on the kitchen television, reporting on a series of suspicious fires that had broken out during the night. A New Age bookstore in the next town over had been completely destroyed, and an herb shop had suffered significant damage. The fire department was baffled by the intensity and seemingly supernatural behavior of the flames.

    "He's testing his power," Helen observed, her form flickering slightly. "Each time Elias denies his connection to the elemental, it grows stronger and more destructive. The fires aren't random—they're targeting places associated with alternative spiritual practices."

    I felt a chill run through me despite the warm kitchen. "Is he coming for us?"

    "Eventually. The Celtic Triquetra necklaces shine like beacons to elemental sight. Our bond, our transformation, everything we represent—it's exactly what he's been conditioned to see as corruption that must be purged."

    Michelle reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "We won't let anything happen to you, Minnie. Helen didn't give you this gift just so we could lose it to some fire-obsessed preacher."

    "But we can't face him alone," Helen continued. "There are others in the community who practice the old ways—circles that have been meeting quietly for years. It's time to bring them together."

    The Call to Unity
    After breakfast, Michelle began making phone calls while I helped with the dishes, trying to process the magnitude of what we were facing. My first full day as Minuet was supposed to be about adjustment and discovery, but instead, we were preparing for a supernatural war.

    "Tabitha's back from Ireland," Michelle announced after her third call. "She's learned things about elemental containment that we'll need. She wants to meet with us this afternoon."

    Helen's expression grew thoughtful. "Tabitha carries guilt about what happened. Her circle's ritual at the ancient altar is what awakened the elemental in the first place, though they didn't realize it at the time. She's spent months in Ireland studying with Celtic priests, learning how to undo what she accidentally set in motion."

    "Will she be able to help?" I asked, surprised by how young my voice sounded when I was worried.

    "She'll be essential," Helen replied. "But Tabitha alone won't be enough. We'll need the Moonrise Circle, the Oakwood Coven, and probably the Riverside Gathering. The elemental's power grows with each act of destruction, and Elias's congregation is already starting to rally behind his message of purification."

    The weight of our situation began to settle over me. Here I was, barely twenty-four hours into my new life as an authentic twelve-year-old girl, and already I was being drawn into a conflict that could destroy everything Helen had sacrificed to give me.

    First Signs of Opposition
    Around noon, Michelle and I drove into town to pick up groceries, maintaining the appearance of normal life while secretly scouting for signs of the growing threat. The mountain community of Cedar Hollow had always been a place where different spiritual traditions coexisted peacefully, but I could sense that balance shifting.

    Outside the post office, a small group had gathered around a man I didn't recognize—tall, lean, with burn scars visible on his hands and neck. Even from a distance, I could feel the heat radiating from him, and the Celtic Triquetra necklace beneath my shirt grew uncomfortably warm.

    "That's him," I whispered to Michelle. "That's Elias Vire."

    Michelle's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "We need to get home. Now."

    But as we drove past, Elias's head turned toward our car with predatory precision. His eyes—which should have been brown or blue—flickered with an inner flame that had nothing to do with human genetics. For a moment, our gazes locked, and I felt the full force of the elemental's rage and hunger.

    The fire spirit recognized me as something it needed to destroy, while the man it possessed saw only a young girl who represented everything his fractured faith had taught him to fear. The combination was terrifying in its intensity.

    "He knows," I breathed as we turned the corner. "He knows what I am."

    "Then we're out of time," Michelle said grimly, reaching for her phone. "I'm calling an emergency gathering for tonight."

    The Ancient Threat Awakens
    That afternoon, Tabitha arrived at our house carrying an armload of ancient texts and looking like she'd aged years during her time in Ireland. She was a woman in her forties with graying hair and eyes that had seen too much, but her embrace was warm and her energy immediately comforting.

    "Michelle, I'm so sorry about Helen," she said, then turned to me with wonder. "And you must be Minuet. Helen told me about you in my dreams."

    "You can see her too?" I asked hopefully.

    "Sometimes. The veil is thin around those who've touched the ancient powers." Tabitha settled into our living room, spreading her books and notes across the coffee table. "I need to tell you both what I learned in Ireland, and it's not good news."

    Helen materialized beside Tabitha, her spiritual form more solid in the presence of someone else who understood the old ways. "Tell them about the altar, Tabitha. Tell them what we really awakened."

    Tabitha's expression grew grave. "The altar my circle found wasn't just ancient—it was a prison. Our ancestors built it to contain a fire elemental that had been terrorizing the region for centuries. When we performed our ritual there, thinking it was just a sacred site, we accidentally broke the containment."

    "And now it's loose," Michelle said, understanding flooding her voice.

    "Worse than that. It's found a host in Elias Vire, someone whose mind was already fractured by religious extremism. The elemental feeds on his rage and self-righteousness, while he interprets its power as divine validation of his crusade against what he sees as unnatural influences."

    I felt a chill of foreboding. "What does it want?"

    "To burn away what it perceives as corruption. And unfortunately, our magic—especially the transformation Helen performed—shines like a beacon to its senses. It sees us as the source of imbalance that must be purged."

    Helen's form flickered with distress. "There's more, isn't there, Tabitha? Something you learned about the elemental's true nature."

    Tabitha nodded reluctantly. "The fire spirit wasn't always destructive. Originally, it was a force of passion and transformation—the sacred fire that burns away the false to reveal the true. But centuries of imprisonment twisted it into something that can only see destruction as purification."

    "So it can be redeemed?" I asked, hope rising in my chest.

    "Theoretically. But it would require someone to reach through all that accumulated rage and hatred to touch the original spirit of transformation. And that person would have to be willing to risk everything—including their own life—to heal something that's been broken for centuries."

    The implications of her words settled over us like a heavy blanket. The elemental could be saved, but only through an act of love so profound it could transform centuries of twisted rage back into its original purpose.

    The Gathering Storm
    As evening approached, cars began arriving at our house—practitioners from various circles throughout the mountain region. I watched from my bedroom window as women and men of all ages gathered in our backyard, many wearing their own versions of sacred jewelry and carrying items of power.

    "Are you ready for this, sprite?" Helen asked, appearing beside me at the window.

    "I don't think anyone could be ready for this," I admitted. "But I'm not going to hide from what I am anymore. You gave me this life so I could live it authentically, and that includes facing whatever threatens our community."

    "That's my brave girl," Helen said with pride. "Remember, you're not just Minuet now—you're part of something larger. The Celtic sisterhood, the ancient traditions, the power of love that transcends death itself."

    Michelle appeared in my doorway. "It's time, sweetie. They want to meet you."

    I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and prepared to face the gathered circles as myself—Minuet, the girl who had been passed a life of authentic possibility, now standing at the center of a supernatural conflict that would determine the fate of everyone she'd come to love.

    The Celtic Triquetra necklace pulsed warmly against my chest as I walked downstairs, and I could feel Helen's presence beside me, Michelle's protective love surrounding me, and the ancient magic of the sisterhood flowing through my veins.

    Whatever Elias Vire and his fire elemental brought against us, they would face not just individual practitioners, but a united community bound by love, wisdom, and the unbreakable bonds of chosen family. The real battle for our community's soul was about to begin, and I would stand at its center—not as a victim, but as a young woman finally living her authentic truth.

    The gathering storm was upon us, but we would meet it together, armed with the most powerful force in any universe: love that transcends death, transforms the broken, and redeems even the most twisted souls.

    Life Passed -06-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Child

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    triquetra

    Life Passed

    A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Chapter Six: Embracing the New Reality

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Can the community meet the threat posed by possessed evangelist Elias Vire?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love




    Chapter Six: Embracing the New Reality

    My first night as Minuet and Helen's warning about the growing supernatural threat had left me both exhausted and exhilarated. But as I woke up in my new twelve-year-old body the next morning, sunlight streaming through the lavender curtains of what were now my childhood memories, I realized that the real test of my transformation was about to begin.

    The Celtic Triquetra necklace had grown warm against my chest during the night, and I could sense something stirring in the forest beyond our mountain community. The fire elemental that Helen had warned us about was no longer dormant—it was actively seeking, hunting, drawn by the very magic that had transformed me.

    "Good morning, munchkin," Michelle called from downstairs, her voice carrying the practiced cheerfulness of a mother trying to maintain normalcy despite extraordinary circumstances. "Breakfast is ready!"

    I padded downstairs in my nightgown, marveling again at how everything seemed larger from my new perspective. Michelle had prepared pancakes shaped like hearts, and the domestic scene felt both wonderfully normal and surreally magical.

    "Did you sleep well, sweetie?" Michelle asked, studying my face with the careful attention of someone still adjusting to our new reality.

    "I had strange dreams," I admitted, settling into my chair. "There was fire in the forest, and someone was calling for help, but when I tried to reach them, the flames got bigger."

    Helen's spiritual form materialized at the kitchen table, her energy more subdued than the night before. "The elemental is testing its connection to you, sprite. Your transformation has created ripples in the spiritual realm that it can sense."

    Michelle poured orange juice with steady hands, though I could see the tension in her shoulders. "How much time do we have before it becomes a real threat?"

    "Not long," Helen replied gravely. "The man it's possessing—Elias Vire—is fighting the elemental's influence, but his mind is interpreting the experience through a fractured religious lens. He believes he survived the forest fire through divine intervention, and now he's convinced that witches conjured the flames that marked him."

    The Community Gathering
    After breakfast, Michelle began making phone calls while I helped with the dishes, trying to process the magnitude of what we were facing. My first full day as Minuet was supposed to be about adjustment and discovery, but instead, we were preparing for a supernatural war.

    "Tabitha's back from Ireland," Michelle announced after her third call. "She's learned things about elemental containment that we'll need. She wants to meet with us this afternoon."

    Helen's expression grew thoughtful. "Tabitha carries guilt about what happened. Her circle's ritual at the ancient altar is what awakened the elemental in the first place, though they didn't realize it at the time. She's spent months in Ireland studying with Celtic priests, learning how to undo what she accidentally set in motion."

    "Will she be able to help?" I asked, surprised by how young my voice sounded when I was worried.

    "She'll be essential," Helen replied. "But Tabitha alone won't be enough. We'll need the Moonrise Circle, the Oakwood Coven, and probably the Riverside Gathering. The elemental's power grows with each act of destruction, and Elias's congregation is already starting to rally behind his message of purification."

    The weight of our situation began to settle over me. Here I was, barely twenty-four hours into my new life as an authentic twelve-year-old girl, and already I was being drawn into a conflict that could destroy everything Helen had sacrificed to give me.

    First Public Appearance
    Around noon, Michelle and I drove into town to pick up groceries, maintaining the appearance of normal life while secretly scouting for signs of the growing threat. The mountain community of Cedar Hollow had always been a place where different spiritual traditions coexisted peacefully, but I could sense that balance shifting.

    Outside the post office, a small group had gathered around a man I didn't recognize—tall, lean, with burn scars visible on his hands and neck. Even from a distance, I could feel the heat radiating from him, and the Celtic Triquetra necklace beneath my shirt grew uncomfortably warm.

    "That's him," I whispered to Michelle. "That's Elias Vire."

    Michelle's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "We need to get home. Now."

    But as we drove past, Elias's head turned toward our car with predatory precision. His eyes—which should have been brown or blue—flickered with an inner flame that had nothing to do with human genetics. For a moment, our gazes locked, and I felt the full force of the elemental's rage and hunger.

    The fire spirit recognized me as something it needed to destroy, while the man it possessed saw only a young girl who represented everything his fractured faith had taught him to fear. The combination was terrifying in its intensity.

    "He knows," I breathed as we turned the corner. "He knows what I am."

    "Then we're out of time," Michelle said grimly, reaching for her phone. "I'm calling an emergency gathering for tonight."

    The Ancient Threat Awakens
    That afternoon, Tabitha arrived at our house carrying an armload of ancient texts and looking like she'd aged years during her time in Ireland. She was a woman in her forties with graying hair and eyes that had seen too much, but her embrace was warm and her energy immediately comforting.

    "Michelle, I'm so sorry about Helen," she said, then turned to me with wonder. "And you must be Minuet. Helen told me about you in my dreams."

    "You can see her too?" I asked hopefully.

    "Sometimes. The veil is thin around those who've touched the ancient powers." Tabitha settled into our living room, spreading her books and notes across the coffee table. "I need to tell you both what I learned in Ireland, and it's not good news."

    Helen materialized beside Tabitha, her spiritual form more solid in the presence of someone else who understood the old ways. "Tell them about the altar, Tabitha. Tell them what we really awakened."

    Tabitha's expression grew grave. "The altar my circle found wasn't just ancient—it was a prison. Our ancestors built it to contain a fire elemental that had been terrorizing the region for centuries. When we performed our ritual there, thinking it was just a sacred site, we accidentally broke the containment."

    "And now it's loose," Michelle said, understanding flooding her voice.

    "Worse than that. It's found a host in Elias Vire, someone whose mind was already fractured by religious extremism. The elemental feeds on his rage and self-righteousness, while he interprets its power as divine validation of his crusade against what he sees as unnatural influences."

    I felt a chill of foreboding. "What does it want?"

    "To burn away what it perceives as corruption. And unfortunately, our magic—especially the transformation Helen performed—shines like a beacon to its senses. It sees us as the source of imbalance that must be purged."

    Helen's form flickered with distress. "There's more, isn't there, Tabitha? Something you learned about the elemental's true nature."

    Tabitha nodded reluctantly. "The fire spirit wasn't always destructive. Originally, it was a force of passion and transformation—the sacred fire that burns away the false to reveal the true. But centuries of imprisonment twisted it into something that can only see destruction as purification."

    "So it can be redeemed?" I asked, hope rising in my chest.

    "Theoretically. But it would require someone to reach through all that accumulated rage and hatred to touch the original spirit of transformation. And that person would have to be willing to risk everything—including their own life—to heal something that's been broken for centuries."

    The Gathering Storm
    As evening approached, cars began arriving at our house—practitioners from various circles throughout the mountain region. I watched from my bedroom window as women and men of all ages gathered in our backyard, many wearing their own versions of sacred jewelry and carrying items of power.

    The Moonrise Circle arrived first, led by a woman named Sarah whose silver pentacle caught the fading sunlight. Behind them came the Oakwood Coven, their leader Marcus (not to be confused with my former identity) carrying a staff carved with Celtic knotwork. The Riverside Gathering brought up the rear, their youngest member barely older than my apparent age.

    "Are you ready for this, sprite?" Helen asked, appearing beside me at the window.

    "I don't think anyone could be ready for this," I admitted. "But I'm not going to hide from what I am anymore. You gave me this life so I could live it authentically, and that includes facing whatever threatens our community."

    "That's my brave girl," Helen said with pride. "Remember, you're not just Minuet now—you're part of something larger. The Celtic sisterhood, the ancient traditions, the power of love that transcends death itself."

    Michelle appeared in my doorway. "It's time, sweetie. They want to meet you."

    Breaking Into the New Reality
    I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and prepared to face the gathered circles as myself—Minuet, the girl who had been passed a life of authentic possibility, now standing at the center of a supernatural conflict that would determine the fate of everyone she'd come to love.

    The Celtic Triquetra necklace pulsed warmly against my chest as I walked downstairs, and I could feel Helen's presence beside me, Michelle's protective love surrounding me, and the ancient magic of the sisterhood flowing through my veins.

    In the backyard, the assembled practitioners had formed a loose circle around a small fire pit. Candles flickered in the gathering dusk, and the air hummed with collective energy. As I stepped outside, conversations quieted and all eyes turned toward me.

    "Everyone," Michelle said, her voice carrying clearly across the gathering, "I'd like you to meet my daughter, Minuet. She's... new to our community, but she carries the blessing of Helen's final gift."

    Sarah from the Moonrise Circle stepped forward, her expression kind but curious. "We felt the disturbance when Helen passed. The magical resonance was unlike anything we've experienced. You must be very special, child."

    "I don't know about special," I replied, finding my voice stronger than expected. "But I know that Helen gave me something precious, and I won't let anyone destroy it."

    Marcus from the Oakwood Coven nodded approvingly. "Spoken like a true practitioner. The elemental may be ancient and powerful, but it's never faced a united community before."

    "Actually," Tabitha interjected, consulting her notes, "that's not entirely true. According to the Irish records, the last time this particular elemental was active, it took the combined efforts of seven circles and a blood sacrifice to contain it."

    The gathering fell silent at her words. Seven circles—and we had only three, plus a few individual practitioners.

    "Then we need to find the other circles," I said, surprising myself with my determination. "And we need to find another way. No one else is going to die for this."

    Helen's spiritual form appeared at the edge of the circle, visible to all the practitioners present. "The child speaks wisdom. The old ways required sacrifice because they relied on force. But love is stronger than force, and redemption is more powerful than destruction."

    "Helen," Sarah breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. "You're still here."

    "For now," Helen confirmed. "But my time grows short. The elemental's power increases with each passing hour, and Elias's congregation grows larger with each sermon. We must act soon, or Cedar Hollow will burn."

    As if summoned by her words, a distant glow appeared on the horizon—another fire, larger than the previous ones, painting the night sky orange. The elemental was testing its strength, and Elias was learning to control his terrible gift.

    "The war council begins now," Michelle declared, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had inherited Helen's role as spiritual guide. "We have until dawn to find a way to save our community."

    The gathered practitioners moved closer to the fire, their faces grim but determined. I found myself standing between Michelle and Tabitha, the Celtic Triquetra necklace warm against my chest, feeling the weight of destiny settling around my shoulders like a cloak.

    Whatever Elias Vire and his fire elemental brought against us, they would face not just individual practitioners, but a united community bound by love, wisdom, and the unbreakable bonds of chosen family. The real battle for our community's soul was about to begin, and I would stand at its center—not as a victim, but as a young woman finally living her authentic truth.

    The gathering storm was upon us, but we would meet it together, armed with the most powerful force in any universe: love that transcends death, transforms the broken, and redeems even the most twisted souls.

    As the distant fire grew brighter and the night deepened around us, I realized that my transformation from Marcus to Minuet was only the beginning. The real test of who I was meant to become was just starting, and the fate of everyone I loved hung in the balance.

    The Celtic sisterhood was complete, the ancient magic was awakening, and the final confrontation between love and hate, redemption and destruction, was about to begin. I was ready to face whatever came next, supported by the eternal bonds that Helen had forged between us and guided by the wisdom that love, not force, would ultimately triumph.

    The fire on the horizon pulsed like a heartbeat, and I felt the elemental's rage calling to something deep within me. But I also felt Helen's love, Michelle's protection, and the gathered strength of our united community. Whatever darkness approached, we would meet it with light.

    The war for Cedar Hollow's soul had begun, and I, Minuet—the girl who had been passed a life of authentic possibility—stood ready to defend everything that mattered.

    Life Passed -07-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Novel > 40,000 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Preteen or Intermediate

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    triquetra

    Life Passed

    A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Chapter Seven: Laura's Friendship

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Can Helen and Minuet form a new triad with Laura to protect the community?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love




    Chapter Seven: Laura's Friendship

    The gathering of multiple Wiccan circles in our backyard and my preparation to face them as Minuet for the first time—had left me both nervous and determined. But as I stepped outside into the circle of flickering candles and concerned faces, I realized that my greatest challenge wasn't the supernatural threat we faced, but finding my place in a community I'd never truly belonged to before.

    The assembled practitioners had formed a loose circle around the fire pit, their faces illuminated by dancing flames that seemed to pulse with their own inner life. Sarah from the Moonrise Circle stepped forward first, her silver pentacle catching the firelight as she studied me with kind but curious eyes.

    "Everyone," Michelle said, her voice carrying clearly across the gathering, "I'd like you to meet my daughter, Minuet. She's... new to our community, but she carries the blessing of Helen's final gift."

    "We felt the disturbance when Helen passed," Sarah replied, her expression growing thoughtful. "The magical resonance was unlike anything we've experienced. You must be very special, child."

    "I don't know about special," I replied, finding my voice stronger than expected. "But I know that Helen gave me something precious, and I won't let anyone destroy it."

    Marcus from the Oakwood Coven nodded approvingly. "Spoken like a true practitioner. The elemental may be ancient and powerful, but it's never faced a united community before."

    "Actually," Tabitha interjected, consulting her notes from Ireland, "that's not entirely true. According to the Celtic records, the last time this particular elemental was active, it took the combined efforts of seven circles and a blood sacrifice to contain it."

    The gathering fell silent at her words. Seven circles—and we had only three, plus a few individual practitioners.

    "Then we need to find the other circles," I said, surprising myself with my determination. "And we need to find another way. No one else is going to die for this."

    Laura's Arrival
    As if summoned by my words, a car pulled into our driveway, its headlights cutting through the gathering dusk. A woman in her forties emerged, followed by a girl who appeared to be my age—twelve, with long auburn hair and eyes that sparkled with mischief and intelligence.

    "That's Gladys Morrison and her daughter Laura," Michelle whispered to me. "They're from the Riverside Gathering. Laura's... special, like you."

    The girl—Laura—approached our circle with confident steps, but I noticed she kept glancing at me with undisguised curiosity. When our eyes met, I felt an immediate connection, as if we'd known each other for years rather than seconds.

    "Sorry we're late," Gladys called out, her voice carrying a slight Irish accent. "Laura insisted on bringing something." She gestured to her daughter, who carried a small wooden box carved with Celtic knotwork.

    "What's in the box?" I asked, drawn to Laura despite my nervousness about meeting someone new.

    Laura's face lit up with a grin that transformed her from merely pretty to absolutely radiant. "Family heirlooms. My grandmother always said they'd be important someday." She opened the box to reveal three more Celtic Triquetra necklaces, but these were different from ours—older, more intricate, with silver inlay that seemed to glow in the firelight.

    Helen's spiritual form materialized beside the fire pit, visible to all the practitioners present. "The Morrison line," she said with wonder in her voice. "Laura, your family built the original altar that contained the elemental centuries ago."

    Laura's eyes widened. "You're Helen! Mom told me about you. And you're Minuet." She turned to me with excitement. "I've been dreaming about you for weeks. We're supposed to be friends, aren't we?"

    The directness of her question caught me off guard, but something deep inside me responded with certainty. "I think we are."

    Instant Connection
    As the adults continued their war council, discussing strategy and magical defenses, Laura and I found ourselves sitting together on the porch steps, away from the intensity of the main gathering. The Celtic Triquetra necklace around my neck had grown warm when Laura approached, and I noticed hers was doing the same.

    "So," Laura said, swinging her legs as she sat beside me, "you used to be someone else, didn't you? I can see it in your eyes—like you've lived more than twelve years."

    Her perceptiveness startled me. "How did you know?"

    "My grandmother had the Sight. She said it sometimes skips generations, but I got it too. I can see people's true selves, their past lives, their spiritual ages." She studied my face carefully. "You were a grown-up who took care of sick people. But inside, you were always supposed to be a little girl."

    The relief of being understood so completely by someone my apparent age was overwhelming. "Helen made it possible for me to be who I really am. But it's scary, being twelve again when I remember being an adult."

    "I bet it is. But you know what? You get to grow up the right way this time. And you won't have to do it alone." Laura reached over and squeezed my hand. "I've been waiting for you, Minuet. My grandmother told me stories about the three sisters who would come together when the fire awakened. She said one would be wise, one would be strong, and one would be brave. I think you're the brave one."

    "What about you? What are you?"

    Laura's grin returned. "I'm the one who knows all the secrets. Like how to braid hair properly, and which lip gloss looks best with your skin tone, and how to talk to boys without turning red." She paused, her expression growing more serious. "And I know things about the old magic too. Things my family has been guarding for generations."

    Sharing Secrets
    As the evening deepened and the adult conversation grew more intense, Laura and I retreated to my bedroom, where she immediately began examining everything with the enthusiasm of someone making a new best friend.

    "Oh, I love your room!" she exclaimed, spinning around to take in the lavender walls and Celtic quilt. "It's so perfectly you. And look—" She pulled out her own Celtic Triquetra necklace, holding it next to mine. "They're responding to each other."

    Indeed, both necklaces were glowing softly, their intricate knotwork seeming to pulse in rhythm with our heartbeats.

    "Laura," I said carefully, "can I tell you something? Something I haven't told anyone else?"

    "Of course. Best friends share secrets."

    The casual way she claimed our friendship made my heart soar. "When Helen transformed me, I didn't just get a new body. I got new memories too—memories of growing up as Michelle's daughter. But I can still remember everything from before. It's like having two complete childhoods."

    Laura nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. Magic like that has to create a complete reality, or it wouldn't hold. But you're worried about which memories are real?"

    "Exactly. Sometimes I feel like I'm pretending to be someone I've never actually been."

    "You want to know a secret?" Laura sat cross-legged on my bed, her expression growing conspiratorial. "I've been having dreams about you since I was eight. In the dreams, you were always Minuet, always twelve, always my best friend. So maybe the new memories aren't fake—maybe they're just the way things were always supposed to be."

    The possibility sent shivers through me. "You really think so?"

    "I know so. My grandmother said that when the ancient magic awakens, it doesn't just change what is—it changes what was, making everything align with how the universe intended things to be." Laura reached over and touched my hand. "You were always meant to be Minuet. The magic just helped you catch up to your true timeline."

    The Warning
    Our conversation was interrupted by a soft knock on my door. Michelle peeked in, her expression troubled.

    "Girls, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we need you downstairs. Gladys has something important to share about Laura's family history."

    We hurried back to the gathering, where Gladys stood beside the fire pit with an ancient leather journal in her hands. The other practitioners had formed a tighter circle, their faces grave in the flickering light.

    "The Morrison family has been the guardians of the elemental's prison for over three centuries," Gladys began, her Irish accent becoming more pronounced as she spoke of her heritage. "My great-great-grandmother was one of the original circle that bound the fire spirit to the altar."

    She opened the journal, revealing pages covered in Celtic script and detailed drawings of the altar site. "According to our records, the elemental wasn't always destructive. Originally, it was a force of transformation and passion—the sacred fire that burns away the false to reveal the true."

    "What changed it?" Tabitha asked, leaning forward intently.

    "Centuries of imprisonment. The binding spell was meant to be temporary, just long enough to teach the elemental to control its power. But the circle that cast it was wiped out by plague before they could complete the ritual. The elemental has been trapped and growing more twisted with rage ever since."

    Helen's spiritual form flickered with distress. "And now it's found a host in Elias Vire."

    "Worse than that," Gladys continued. "According to the journal, the elemental will grow stronger with each act of destruction it commits through its host. If we don't stop it soon, it will become powerful enough to break free of Elias entirely and manifest as pure destructive force."

    Laura grabbed my hand, her necklace pulsing with urgent light. "Grandmother always said that when the fire awakened, three young guardians would rise to face it. She said they would carry the power of the ancient bloodlines and the wisdom of the new age."

    "Three guardians?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.

    "You, me, and..." Laura's eyes searched the gathering. "The third one isn't here yet. But she's coming. I can feel it."

    The First Test
    As if summoned by Laura's words, the peaceful evening was shattered by the sound of sirens in the distance. The glow on the horizon that we'd noticed earlier had grown brighter, and now we could see flames dancing above the treeline.

    "He's testing his power again," Helen said, her spiritual form becoming more agitated. "But this time, he's targeting something specific."

    Michelle's phone buzzed with an emergency alert. Her face went pale as she read the message. "The community center is on fire. That's where the children's art classes are held—all their paintings and projects are stored there."

    "He's destroying innocence," Sarah breathed. "Targeting the pure creativity of children."

    I felt a surge of anger that surprised me with its intensity. The Celtic Triquetra necklace around my neck grew hot against my skin, and I could sense Laura's doing the same.

    "We have to stop him," I said, my twelve-year-old voice carrying a determination that seemed to come from somewhere beyond my apparent age.

    "Absolutely not," Michelle said firmly. "You're children. This is too dangerous."

    "We're not ordinary children," Laura replied, her own necklace now glowing bright enough to illuminate her face. "We're the guardians. This is what we were born for."

    Helen's spiritual form moved between us and the adults. "The girls are right. The elemental is drawn to power, and right now, Minuet and Laura represent the strongest magical forces in our community. If we're going to face Elias, they'll need to be part of it."

    "But they're twelve years old!" Gladys protested.

    "So was Joan of Arc when she first heard her calling," Helen replied gently. "And these girls have advantages that Joan never had—they have each other, they have our guidance, and they have the wisdom of the ancient bloodlines flowing through them."

    The Bond Awakens
    As the distant fire grew brighter and the sirens multiplied, Laura and I found ourselves standing together in the center of the circle, our necklaces pulsing in perfect synchronization. I could feel her thoughts touching mine, her courage strengthening my resolve.

    "What do we do?" I asked, looking between Helen's spiritual form and the gathered practitioners.

    "First, you learn," Helen replied. "Laura, your family's journal contains the original binding ritual. Study it tonight. Minuet, you need to understand the full extent of your transformation—you're not just a girl who was given a new life, you're a conduit for ancient magic that flows through the Celtic bloodlines."

    "And second?" Laura asked.

    "Second, you prepare to meet your third sister. She's coming, drawn by the same forces that brought you two together. When she arrives, the real battle can begin."

    The fire on the horizon pulsed like a heartbeat, and I felt the elemental's rage calling to something deep within me. But I also felt Laura's friendship, Helen's love, Michelle's protection, and the gathered strength of our united community.

    "I'm scared," I admitted, my young voice small in the darkness.

    "Good," Helen said with a gentle smile. "Fear keeps you careful. But don't let it keep you from becoming who you're meant to be. You're not just Minuet anymore—you're one of the three guardians, and the fate of our community rests in your hands."

    Laura squeezed my hand tighter. "We'll face it together. That's what best friends do."

    As the gathering began to disperse, each circle returning to their homes to prepare for the battles ahead, I realized that my transformation from Marcus to Minuet was only the beginning. The real test of who I was meant to become was just starting, and I would face it with the best friend I'd been waiting my whole life to meet.

    The Celtic sisterhood was growing, the ancient magic was awakening, and somewhere in the darkness, our third guardian was making her way toward us. The war for Cedar Hollow's soul had begun, and we three girls—bound by friendship, magic, and destiny—would stand at its center.

    The fire on the horizon called to us with elemental rage, but we would answer with something far more powerful: the unbreakable bonds of chosen sisterhood and the ancient wisdom that love, not force, could transform even the most twisted souls.

    Our real adventure was just beginning.

    Life Passed -08-

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • Fiction

    Genre: 

    • Transgender
    • Crossdressing

    Character Age: 

    • Preteen or Intermediate

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    triquetra

    Life Passed

    A Transgender Paranormal Fantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Chapter Eight: Girl 102 Education

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Can Laura and Minuet in the middle of Girl 102, face the challenge
    of Elias and his followers and the revelation of Ruth?

    Copyright 2008, 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.

    Author's Note:

    This book, in it's entirety, is available on my Patreon. BCTS will get weekly postings on Tuesdays to complete it here. Patreon Free Members can read my new complete book by chapters, Things We Do for Love




    Chapter Eight: Girl 102 Education

    My meeting with Laura and the formation of our instant friendship had opened a door to possibilities I'd never imagined. But as we sat together in my bedroom that night, sharing secrets and marveling at how our Celtic Triquetra necklaces pulsed in harmony, I realized that Helen's warnings about the growing supernatural threat were about to become terrifyingly real.

    "Minuet," Laura said, her voice taking on a serious tone as she examined the ancient journal her mother had brought, "there's something else I need to tell you. Something about why my family has been guarding these secrets for so long."

    I looked up from where I'd been practicing the hair-braiding technique she'd taught me, sensing the shift in her mood. "What is it?"

    "The altar where Tabitha's circle accidentally awakened the fire elemental—my ancestors built it. Not to worship the elemental, but to contain it." Laura's fingers traced the Celtic knotwork on the journal's cover. "According to our family records, the elemental wasn't always destructive. Originally, it was a force of transformation and passion—the sacred fire that burns away the false to reveal the true."

    The implications sent a chill through me. "What changed it?"

    "Centuries of imprisonment. The binding spell was meant to be temporary, just long enough to teach the elemental to control its power. But the circle that cast it was wiped out by plague before they could complete the ritual." Laura's eyes met mine. "The elemental has been trapped and growing more twisted with rage ever since."

    Helen's spiritual form materialized beside my bed, her energy more agitated than I'd ever seen it. "And now it's found a host who interprets its power through a lens of religious extremism. Elias Vire believes his survival of the forest fire was divine intervention, and he's convinced that witches conjured the flames that marked him."

    Girl 102 Begins
    Despite the growing threat, Laura insisted that my education in authentic girlhood couldn't wait. "You've got twelve years of catching up to do," she declared the next morning, arriving at our house with an armload of magazines, makeup samples, and what she called her "emergency friendship kit."

    "First lesson," Laura announced, settling cross-legged on my bedroom floor, "is understanding that being a girl isn't about the clothes or the makeup—though those can be fun. It's about the connections we make with each other."

    She was right. As she taught me about different hairstyles, showed me how to apply lip gloss without looking like I'd been eating berries, and explained the unwritten rules of middle school social dynamics, I felt something I'd never experienced before: the easy camaraderie of female friendship.

    "Now," Laura said, pulling out a small mirror, "let's talk about confidence. The most important thing about being a girl is knowing that you belong exactly where you are."

    Looking at my reflection—really seeing myself as Minuet for the first time—I felt a profound sense of rightness. The twelve-year-old girl looking back at me had always existed; Helen had simply given her the chance to live.

    "Laura," I said carefully, "can I tell you something? About what it was like before?"

    "Of course. Best friends share everything."

    "I remember being Marcus, but it feels like watching someone else's life through a window. The feelings were real, but the body never felt like mine. Now, for the first time, everything matches."

    Laura nodded thoughtfully. "My grandmother used to say that some souls get born into the wrong circumstances, and it takes magic to set things right. She said the universe always finds a way to correct itself, usually through love."

    The Shopping Expedition
    Later that week, Michelle agreed to take Laura and me into town for what Laura called "essential supplies"—which apparently meant everything from proper hair accessories to age-appropriate clothing that would help me blend in with other twelve-year-olds.

    "Remember," Laura whispered as we walked through the mall, "act natural. We're just two friends having fun."

    But acting natural proved more challenging than expected. Everything felt simultaneously familiar and foreign—I had memories of shopping trips with Michelle and Helen, but I also retained Marcus's adult perspective on the world. The result was a strange double vision that left me feeling slightly off-balance.

    "You're overthinking it," Laura observed as we browsed through a store filled with colorful clothes designed for our age group. "Just pick what makes you happy."

    I selected a soft purple sweater that reminded me of my bedroom walls and a pair of jeans that felt comfortable and age-appropriate. Laura chose a green top that brought out her eyes, and for a moment, we were simply two girls enjoying a shopping trip together.

    That's when I felt it—a sudden heat from the Celtic Triquetra necklace beneath my shirt, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of being watched.

    "Laura," I whispered urgently, "something's wrong."

    She felt it too. Her own necklace had begun to warm, and her eyes darted around the store with sudden alertness. "We need to find your mom. Now."

    But as we made our way toward the store's entrance, a familiar figure blocked our path. Elias Vire stood near the mall's central fountain, his burn-scarred hands clearly visible as he gestured to a small crowd that had gathered around him.

    "The demons walk among us," his voice carried clearly across the space, "disguised as innocence itself. They wear the symbols of their dark masters openly, believing themselves protected by their unholy bonds."

    His eyes—which flickered with an inner flame that had nothing to do with human genetics—locked onto mine with predatory precision. Even from a distance, I could feel the fire elemental's rage and hunger, recognizing me as something it needed to destroy.

    The First Confrontation
    "We need to get out of here," Laura breathed, but it was too late. Elias had begun walking toward us with deliberate steps, his small crowd of followers trailing behind him.

    "You there," he called out, his voice carrying an authority that made other shoppers stop and stare. "Children wearing the marks of corruption. Do your parents know what symbols you bear?"

    The Celtic Triquetra necklaces beneath our shirts had grown almost painfully hot, and I could see Laura struggling not to reach for hers. Several adults in the crowd looked uncertain, caught between concern for children and the magnetic pull of Elias's charismatic presence.

    "We're just shopping," I said, surprised by how steady my young voice sounded. "We're not bothering anyone."

    "Bothering?" Elias's laugh held no warmth. "Child, you carry the mark of those who would corrupt the natural order itself. That trinket around your neck—do you even know what it represents?"

    Before I could answer, the air around us began to shimmer with heat. The fire elemental was responding to Elias's agitation, and I realized with growing horror that he might actually manifest flames in the middle of a crowded mall.

    That's when Helen appeared.

    Helen's Intervention
    Helen's spiritual form materialized between Elias and us, visible to everyone present though they might not have understood what they were seeing. To most, she probably appeared as a trick of the light or a momentary distortion in the air. But to Elias, she was unmistakably real.

    "Ruth," Helen said softly, her voice carrying across the space with supernatural clarity. "I see you, child. I see the pain that was done to you, and I see the fear that drives you now."

    Elias stumbled backward as if he'd been struck. "You... you're one of them. The demons who—"

    "I'm someone who understands what it means to be trapped in the wrong life," Helen continued, her spiritual energy creating a protective barrier around Laura and me. "Someone who knows that love, not hate, is the only force capable of true transformation."

    The fire elemental within Elias raged against Helen's presence, but something deeper—some buried part of Ruth that still existed beneath layers of trauma and twisted theology—responded to her words with desperate longing.

    "The children are under my protection," Helen declared, her form growing brighter. "And if you truly serve the divine, you'll recognize that love is always stronger than fear."

    For a moment, the two forces—Helen's love and the elemental's rage—seemed perfectly balanced. Then Elias shook his head violently, as if trying to dislodge Helen's words from his mind.

    "Lies," he snarled, but his voice lacked its earlier conviction. "Demonic deceptions designed to—"

    He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he seemed to see something in Helen's spiritual form that the rest of us couldn't perceive. Without another word, he turned and strode away, his followers trailing behind him in confusion.

    The Aftermath
    Michelle found us moments later, having felt the disturbance through her own Celtic Triquetra necklace. "What happened? I felt the necklaces calling out."

    "Elias," Laura said simply. "He found us."

    "But Helen protected us," I added, looking around for any sign of her spiritual presence. She had faded after Elias's departure, leaving only the lingering warmth of her love.

    As we drove home, the weight of what had just occurred settled over us. The supernatural threat Helen had warned about was no longer theoretical—it was active, hunting, and specifically targeting anyone who carried the ancient symbols of the Celtic sisterhood.

    I said quietly as we pulled into our driveway. "Helen called him Ruth. What does that mean?"

    Michelle and Laura exchanged glances. "It means," Michelle said carefully, "that Elias wasn't always Elias. And if Helen saw Ruth in him, then there might still be hope for redemption."

    "But redemption for who?" Laura asked. "The man who just threatened us, or the person he used to be?"

    As we entered the house, I realized that my education in being an authentic twelve-year-old girl would have to include lessons I'd never expected: how to face supernatural enemies, how to protect the people I loved, and how to believe in the possibility of redemption even when confronted by seemingly pure hatred.

    The Celtic Triquetra necklace rested warm against my chest, a reminder that I was part of something larger than myself—a sisterhood bound by love, protected by ancient magic, and strong enough to face whatever darkness threatened our community.

    But as I looked out my bedroom window that night, I could see a distant glow on the horizon where another suspicious fire had broken out. Elias was testing his powers, and each act of destruction made him stronger.

    The real battle for our community's soul was just beginning, and I was no longer just Minuet, the girl who had been given a second chance at authentic life. I was one of the guardians, and the fate of everyone I loved depended on learning to use the magic that Helen had awakened within me.

    The fire on the horizon pulsed like a heartbeat, and I felt the elemental's rage calling to something deep within me. But I also felt Laura's friendship, Helen's love, Michelle's protection, and the ancient wisdom flowing through the Celtic sisterhood.

    Whatever came next, we would face it together—three girls bound by magic, friendship, and the unbreakable bonds of chosen family. The war for Cedar Hollow's soul had begun, and love would be our greatest weapon.

    Romance In a Carnival Mirror

    Author: 

    • Sasha Nexus

    Audience Rating: 

    • General Audience (pg)

    Publication: 

    • 7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

    Genre: 

    • Transgender

    Character Age: 

    • Teenage or High School

    Permission: 

    • Posted by author(s)

    Romance in a Carnival Mirror

    A Transgender Paranormal Romantasy

    From the Paranormal Visitor Universe

    Chapter 1: Midnight Escape

    By Sasha Zarya Nexus

    Both kindred spirits June and Goldie who found each other at the Carnival are hunted by the Shadowmaster.
    Will June's sacrificial love overcome the Shadowmaster and save her friends?

    Copyright 2025 by Sasha Zarya Nexus.
    All Rights Reserved.


    Chapter 1: Midnight Escape

    The clock on the kitchen wall glowed 12:07 AM, its steady tick the only sound in the hush of the Walsh house. June pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the frantic flutter of her heart beneath her pajama shirt. She held her breath and listened-her father’s snores rumbled from the bedroom down the hall, a low, reassuring thunder. Good. He wouldn’t wake.

    She crept across the linoleum, careful to avoid the squeaky third tile, and slipped on her battered sneakers. Her backpack waited by the door, packed with a flashlight, a half-empty water bottle, and, wrapped in a scarf at the very bottom, her most precious possession: the moth-shaped brooch. She’d found it at a thrift store last spring, its wings iridescent and delicate as spun sugar. She’d never dared wear it outside, but tonight… tonight was different.

    Tonight, the Solstice Carnival had come to town.

    June eased open the back door, wincing as the hinges whined. She paused, heart in her throat. The snoring continued, unchanged. She exhaled, a shiver of relief running through her. The night air was thick with the scent of honeysuckle and cut grass, and somewhere in the distance, the faint, dizzying music of the carnival drifted on the breeze-calliope notes and laughter, bright and wild.

    She hurried down the porch steps and into the backyard, the grass cool and damp against her ankles. She ducked behind the hedge, keeping to the shadows as she made her way to the alley. Her phone buzzed in her pocket-a text from her friend Morgan:

    u coming?

    She typed back, almost there, and tucked the phone away.

    The town was different at night. Houses hunched in silence, their windows dark. The old oak trees along Maple Street stretched their branches overhead like watchful sentinels. June moved quickly, every sense on high alert, her mind racing with what-ifs: What if Dad woke up and found her gone? What if someone from school saw her? What if she lost her nerve at the last second and turned back?

    But each step closer to the carnival, the fear faded, replaced by a fluttery, electric anticipation. She could see the Ferris wheel now, its lights spinning slow and hypnotic above the treetops. She could hear the shouts and laughter, the barkers calling out for customers, the music swelling and fading.

    She stopped at the edge of the fairgrounds, breathless. The carnival gates were open, spilling golden light onto the cracked pavement. Banners fluttered overhead, painted with strange, swirling designs-moths and mirrors and stars. The air buzzed with possibility.

    Her phone buzzed in her pocket again-a text from her friend Morgan:

    Caught n Grounded Sry

    She thought. "No Morgan tonight and for a while. Bummer. Guess I gotta do this solo. I can do this!"

    June reached into her backpack and unwrapped the moth brooch. She pinned it to the inside of her jacket, just over her heart, where no one else could see but she could feel its weight-a secret, a promise.

    She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped through the gates.

    For the first time in months, she felt almost real.

    Chapter 2: Hall of Mirrors
    The carnival was a living thing at night-colors brighter, shadows deeper, every sound sharp and strange. June drifted through the crowd, her hands buried in her jacket pockets, the moth brooch pressing cool and steady against her chest. She kept her head down, dodging clusters of laughing teens and families with sticky-fingered kids, eyes fixed on the glowing path ahead.

    She’d made it. She was here. But now, surrounded by so many faces, a new anxiety crept in. What if someone recognized her? What if she did something wrong, something that gave her away?

    She tried to focus on the sights instead: the cotton candy clouds spinning pink and blue, the ring toss games with their impossible prizes, the carousel horses frozen mid-gallop, manes flying. Everything shimmered with possibility. But June couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was an intruder, a shadow slipping through the light.

    A cluster of girls from her school passed by, giggling, and June ducked behind a popcorn stand, heart pounding. She waited, counting her breaths, until their voices faded into the music. She needed somewhere to hide, somewhere to catch her breath.

    That’s when she saw it: the Hall of Mirrors.

    It stood at the edge of the midway, its entrance framed by curling silver letters and flickering lanterns. The sign above the door read:

    SEE YOUR TRUEST SELF!

    June hesitated. She’d heard stories about this attraction-how the mirrors didn’t just show your reflection but something deeper, something secret. It was probably just a trick of the lights, some clever glasswork. Still, the idea tugged at her, both thrilling and terrifying.

    She glanced over her shoulder. The girls from school were gone. The crowd had thinned. She could slip inside, just for a minute, and no one would ever know.

    Her feet moved before she’d made up her mind. She slid through the velvet curtains, into the hush of the Hall.

    Inside, the world changed. The noise of the carnival faded, replaced by a soft, echoing silence. The air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender and dust. Mirrors lined the walls, each one tall and narrow, their surfaces warped and glimmering. The only light came from a row of tiny bulbs overhead, casting everything in a dreamy, golden haze.

    June moved slowly, her reflection following her in a hundred different shapes-tall, short, stretched, squashed. She paused in front of one that made her look impossibly thin, her eyes huge and haunted. Another shrank her to child-size, her features blurred and indistinct.

    She laughed, a shaky sound, and kept walking. It was just glass, just tricks. Nothing to be afraid of.

    But then she turned a corner and stopped.

    There, in a mirror framed in silver filigree, she saw herself-not as she was, but as she wished she could be. Her hair was longer, her face softer, her body curved in ways that felt right. She wore a dress she’d only ever imagined, sunlight catching on the moth brooch pinned proudly at her collar.

    June stared, transfixed. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

    The reflection smiled at her-her smile, but brighter, braver. June reached out, fingertips brushing cool glass. The image shimmered, almost as if it wanted to step forward, to become real.

    A sudden noise-a crash, a burst of laughter from outside-snapped her back. June jerked her hand away, heart racing. What was she doing? This was just a trick, a fantasy. She didn’t belong here, not really.

    She turned, stumbling away from the mirror, her cheeks burning. As she hurried toward the exit, she bumped into a display, sending a stack of carnival flyers tumbling to the floor.

    “Sorry!” she whispered, scooping them up with shaking hands. She shoved them back onto the table and slipped out through the curtains, back into the noise and light.

    Outside, the music and laughter crashed over her like a wave. June pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the moth brooch pulse beneath her fingers.

    She’d seen something in that mirror-something she’d never dared to hope for. And for the first time, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, it could be real.

    Chapter 3: Reflection of Truth
    June’s breath came in short, uneven gasps as she hurried away from the Hall of Mirrors, her mind spinning with the impossible image she’d just seen. She tried to tell herself it was just a trick-a clever illusion, nothing more-but the memory of that reflection lingered, bright and aching.

    She kept her eyes down, weaving through the thinning crowd, desperate to find a quiet corner where she could collect herself. But everywhere she turned, she saw mirrors-on game booths, on the carousel, even in the glossy windows of food trucks. Each one caught her in a different light, distorting her face, her body, until she felt like she was unraveling.

    She ducked behind a lemonade stand, pressing her back to the cool metal. Her hands shook as she wiped sweat from her brow. The moth brooch beneath her jacket felt heavier than ever, as if it were anchoring her to the spot.

    What if that’s who I really am? The thought was a whisper, fragile and dangerous. What if I could be her?

    A burst of laughter jolted her from her thoughts. She glanced up and saw a group of boys from school-Liam among them-tossing rings at a bottle game. June shrank back, heart hammering. Liam had been her best friend once, before everything got complicated, before she’d started pulling away. Now, he barely looked at her in the halls-except for the rare times he did, and his eyes seemed to burn with confusion and something like hurt.

    She couldn’t let him see her now-not with her guard down, not after what she’d just seen.

    As she edged away, her foot caught on something. She stumbled, knocking into a cardboard display stacked with glossy flyers. They scattered across the ground in a colorful, fluttering mess.

    “Hey, watch it!” snapped the vendor, glaring at her over the counter.

    “Sorry,” June mumbled, cheeks flaming. She dropped to her knees, frantically gathering the flyers. Her hands shook so badly she could barely grip the slick paper. Each flyer showed a cartoonish version of the Hall of Mirrors, with the words:

    SEE YOUR TRUEST SELF! TONIGHT ONLY!

    She stuffed the flyers back onto the display and scrambled to her feet, avoiding the vendor’s gaze. Her heart pounded in her ears as she darted away, desperate to disappear.

    She found herself in a narrow alley between two tents, the noise of the carnival muffled and distant. June pressed her back to the canvas, closing her eyes. She tried to slow her breathing, to push away the swirl of shame and longing and fear.

    But the image from the mirror wouldn’t leave her. It shimmered behind her eyelids, stubborn and bright.

    What if it’s possible? she thought again, the hope sharp and painful. What if I could be her, even just for a night?

    A sudden gust of wind rattled the tent, sending a shiver up her spine. June opened her eyes and looked down at the moth brooch, its wings catching the faint light.

    She pressed her palm over it, drawing strength from its presence. For a moment, she let herself believe that the girl in the mirror was real-that she was real.

    Then, footsteps echoed nearby. June straightened, pulling her jacket tight. She couldn’t stay hidden forever. Not tonight.

    With a shaky breath, she stepped out of the alley and back into the carnival lights, the memory of her truest self burning in her chest.

    Chapter 4: Collision with Goldie
    June’s pulse still hadn’t slowed as she slipped back into the carnival’s main avenue. The world felt too loud, too bright, every sound scraping against her nerves. She kept her head down, weaving through the crowd, desperate for a place to hide-or at least to breathe.

    She didn’t see the girl until they collided.

    “Oof!” The other girl staggered back, nearly dropping the rainbow-striped tote bag slung over her shoulder. June stumbled, mumbling a frantic, “Sorry!” as she tried to steady herself.

    “No worries!” The girl’s voice was warm, her smile even warmer. She had a shock of golden hair, cropped short and spiked at the top, and wore a faded denim jacket covered in enamel pins: pride flags, cartoon cats, a tiny, grinning moth. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and something softer, something kind.

    June’s cheeks flushed. She ducked her head, hoping the shadows would hide her embarrassment. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

    “Neither was I.” The girl grinned, shifting her tote bag. “Carnival’s a little overwhelming, huh?”

    June nodded, her voice caught somewhere between her heart and her throat. “Yeah. It’s… a lot.”

    The girl glanced at her, head tilted. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

    June hesitated, the memory of the mirror still raw and bright. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled up inside her. “Just… too many people, I guess.”

    The girl’s expression softened. “I get that. I’m Goldie, by the way.” She stuck out her hand, her nails painted a cheerful yellow.

    June hesitated, then shook her hand. “I’m June.”

    “Pretty name.” Goldie’s smile widened. “Want to walk with me? I was just about to grab some kettle corn. It’s my favorite thing here, and I swear it tastes like actual magic.”

    June managed a small laugh, the tension in her chest easing just a little. “Sure. I could use some magic.”

    They fell into step together, Goldie leading the way through the maze of booths and games. She chatted easily, telling June about the weirdest carnival foods she’d ever tried (deep-fried pickles, definitely a mistake) and her quest to win the world’s ugliest stuffed animal from the ring toss.

    June listened, grateful for the distraction. Goldie’s energy was infectious, her laughter bright and genuine. For the first time all night, June felt the knot of anxiety in her stomach loosen.

    As they reached the kettle corn stand, Goldie glanced at June. “You here with anyone?”

    June shook her head. “Just… needed to get out. Be somewhere different for a while.”

    Goldie nodded, understanding flickering in her eyes. “Yeah. Sometimes you have to find your own space, you know?”

    June nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief. She didn’t have to explain herself, not here, not to Goldie.

    They shared a bag of kettle corn, the sweet-salty crunch grounding June in the moment. Goldie nudged her gently. “Hey, if you ever want company, or just someone to talk to… I’m around. No pressure.”

    June smiled, the warmth in her chest almost unfamiliar. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

    For the first time that night, June felt less like a shadow and more like someone real-someone who belonged.

    Chapter 5: The Fortune Teller’s Tent
    The kettle corn was nearly gone by the time June and Goldie wandered past the edge of the midway, drawn by the flicker of colored lanterns and the faint scent of incense. Here, the crowds thinned, replaced by a hush that felt almost sacred. Tucked between the Ferris wheel and a row of faded prize booths stood a tent, its velvet curtains deep purple and embroidered with silver stars.

    A sign in curling gold letters read:

    Madame Zara – Seer of Secrets, Revealer of Truth

    Goldie nudged June with her elbow. “Ever had your fortune told?”

    June shook her head, nerves fluttering. “I don’t know if I want to know my future.”

    Goldie grinned. “Maybe it’s not about knowing. Maybe it’s about hoping.”

    Before June could reply, a voice called out from inside the tent, low and musical. “Come in, girls. The night is young, and the cards are eager.”

    Goldie winked and ducked inside. June hesitated, then followed, drawn by curiosity and something she couldn’t name.

    Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and something sweet. The tent was small, lit by dozens of candles and draped with shimmering scarves. At the center sat Madame Zara, her dark eyes lined with kohl, a cascade of silver jewelry at her throat. She gestured for them to sit at the round table before her.

    Goldie plopped down, fearless, while June perched on the edge of her chair, twisting her hands in her lap.

    Madame Zara smiled, her gaze lingering on June. “You carry many questions, child. Tonight, the carnival’s magic is strong. Sometimes, it brings answers. Sometimes, it brings more questions.”

    Goldie laughed. “That sounds about right.”

    Zara shuffled a worn deck of tarot cards, her rings clicking softly. “Let us see what the fates wish to reveal.”

    She dealt three cards for Goldie: The Sun, The Chariot, and The Star. “You are on a journey of healing,” Zara intoned, “and you shine brighter than you know.”

    Goldie beamed, squeezing June’s hand under the table. “Told you. Hope.”

    Then Zara turned to June, her gaze suddenly sharp and kind all at once. “Would you like a reading, dear?”

    June hesitated, then nodded.

    Zara drew three cards for her: The Moon, The Tower, and The Lovers.

    A hush fell. Zara’s voice softened. “You are standing at the edge of a great change. The Moon is your hidden self, longing to be seen. The Tower is upheaval, but also freedom. The Lovers… that is the choice to embrace your truth, and to let yourself be loved for it.”

    June’s throat tightened. She looked away, blinking hard.

    Zara reached into a small wooden box and drew out a brooch shaped like a moth, its wings shimmering in the candlelight. She pressed it into June’s palm, closing her fingers gently around it.

    “This is for you,” Zara whispered. “Wear it close to your heart, and when you feel lost, let it remind you: transformation is always possible.”

    June stared at the brooch, her heart pounding. The metal was cool and impossibly light. She felt Goldie’s hand squeeze hers, grounding her.

    “Thank you,” June managed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

    Zara nodded, her eyes crinkling with a secret smile. “Go enjoy the carnival, girls. Magic is everywhere tonight.”

    As they stepped out of the tent, the night felt changed-somehow brighter, the air shimmering with possibility. June tucked the moth brooch into her jacket, feeling its presence like a promise.

    For the first time, she wondered if hope could be magic after all.

    Chapter 6: Liam’s Confrontation
    The air outside the fortune teller’s tent felt heavier now, thick with the scent of rain and electricity. June tucked the moth brooch deeper into her jacket, her fingers tracing its delicate wings. Goldie was already scanning the midway for their next adventure, but June’s mind was still tangled in Madame Zara’s words.

    They hadn’t gone far when June felt the prickle of eyes on her. She turned, and her heart lurched. Liam stood near the ring toss booth, hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze fixed on her. The crowd seemed to thin around him, the carnival lights flickering strangely above his head.

    Goldie noticed the tension in June’s posture. “You okay?”

    June swallowed. “I… I’ll catch up. Just need a minute.”

    Goldie hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll grab us some sodas. Meet you by the carousel?”

    “Yeah,” June said, forcing a smile.

    As Goldie disappeared into the crowd, June steeled herself and walked toward Liam. Each step felt like wading through water. She hadn’t really talked to him in months, not since the silences between them had grown too wide to cross.

    Liam’s expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched. “Didn’t expect to see you here, June.”

    She flinched at the way he said her name, like he was still testing it on his tongue. “It’s a free country,” she replied, trying for lightness.

    He glanced away, then back, eyes narrowed. “You’ve changed. You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t talk to anyone.”

    June’s fingers tightened around the edge of her jacket. “People change.”

    He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Why didn’t you tell me? About… all of this?” He gestured vaguely, as if the word itself was too heavy to say.

    June’s throat tightened. “I didn’t know how.”

    A muscle jumped in Liam’s jaw. “I thought we were friends.”

    “We were,” June whispered. “But it got complicated.”

    He looked at her, something dark flickering in his eyes. “You lied to me.”

    June shook her head. “I never lied. I just… couldn’t say it out loud.”

    A strange, cold wind swept through the midway, making the lanterns overhead shudder. Liam’s eyes seemed to darken, his whole posture shifting. For a moment, June felt like she was looking at a stranger-a shadow flickering behind his familiar features.

    “You should go home, June,” he said, voice suddenly flat and distant. “This place isn’t safe for people like you.”

    June’s heart thudded. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    He leaned in, his breath icy. “Just go. Before something bad happens.”

    The words hung in the air, heavy and wrong. June took a shaky step back, feeling the weight of the moth brooch against her heart.

    Liam turned and melted into the crowd, swallowed by the shifting lights and shadows.

    June stood frozen for a moment, the world tilting around her. She pressed a hand to her chest, steadying herself. Something was wrong with Liam-something deeper than anger or hurt. It felt like a warning, but also like a threat.

    She forced herself to move, weaving back through the crowd toward the carousel where Goldie waited. The night felt darker now, the carnival’s magic edged with danger.

    But June kept going, the moth brooch a small, secret comfort against the unknown.

    Chapter 7: The Shadowmaster’s First Strike
    June’s mind raced as she hurried back toward the carousel, Liam’s warning echoing in her ears. The carnival lights seemed to pulse and flicker, casting strange, shifting shadows across the midway. She spotted Goldie waving near the carousel, two sodas in hand, and forced herself to smile as she approached.

    “Everything okay?” Goldie asked, concern knitting her brow.

    “Yeah,” June lied, taking a soda and sipping gratefully. “Just… weird vibes tonight.”

    Goldie nodded, glancing around. “It does feel kind of… off, doesn’t it?”

    As they walked together, June tried to shake the unease, but the feeling only grew. The air felt thicker, the music from the calliope slower, almost warped. They passed a booth that had been covered in rainbow flags and LGBTQ+ posters earlier in the evening. Now, the posters were blank, the flags vanished as if they’d never existed.

    June stopped in her tracks. “Didn’t there used to be-?”

    Goldie frowned. “Yeah. That’s… weird.”

    They moved on, but the changes kept coming. A face-painting booth that had been offering pride flag designs now only had a faded chart of generic smiley faces. The crowd seemed quieter, the laughter thinner, as if some invisible force was pressing down on everyone at once.

    Suddenly, a burst of static crackled through the air. June looked up and saw the marquee above the main stage flicker. Her heart froze as her deadname appeared in huge, glowing letters, scrolling across the sign for all to see.

    Goldie gasped. “June-”

    June’s breath caught, shame and panic flooding her. She wanted to disappear, to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. The crowd didn’t seem to notice, their eyes glazed and distant, but June felt exposed, raw and vulnerable.

    The lights above the stage flickered, then went out completely, plunging the midway into darkness. For a moment, there was only silence.

    Then, from somewhere deep in the shadows, a voice echoed-low, oily, and ancient. “You can’t hide from the truth, little moth. Not here. Not tonight.”

    June’s skin prickled. She clutched the brooch beneath her jacket, feeling its warmth pulse in time with her racing heart.

    Goldie grabbed her hand. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”

    They stumbled away from the stage, weaving through the confused crowd. June’s mind spun-how had her deadname ended up on the marquee? Who could have done that? Or… what?

    They ducked behind a row of food trucks, breathless and shaken. Goldie squeezed June’s hand, her voice fierce. “Whatever’s happening, you’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

    June nodded, swallowing hard. The carnival felt different now-less like a place of wonder, more like a maze of secrets and threats. But with Goldie by her side, she felt a flicker of hope.

    Somewhere, hidden in the carnival’s shadows, something had noticed her. Something wanted to hurt her. But June wasn’t going to let it win-not tonight.

    Chapter 8: Madame Zara’s Bargain
    The carnival’s magic felt poisoned now, every shadow stretching longer, every sound edged with menace. June and Goldie huddled behind the food trucks, the muffled chaos of the midway just out of sight. June’s hands shook as she clung to Goldie’s, her mind still reeling from the marquee’s cruel betrayal.

    Goldie squeezed her hand. “We need help. Real help. That wasn’t just a prank, June. Something’s wrong here.”

    June nodded, her throat tight. “I know who might know what’s happening.” She pulled the moth brooch from her jacket, its wings glimmering faintly even in the darkness. “Madame Zara. She… she gave me this. She said it would help me when I felt lost.”

    Goldie nodded, determination flashing in her eyes. “Then let’s find her.”

    They slipped through the thinning crowds, keeping to the shadows. The carnival felt emptier now, as if the laughter and music had been sucked away, leaving only whispers and the distant, echoing clang of the Ferris wheel. June’s heart pounded with every step, but the brooch’s warmth gave her courage.

    The fortune teller’s tent was quieter than before, the lanterns outside guttering in the breeze. June hesitated, then ducked inside, Goldie right behind her.

    Madame Zara sat at her table, candles burning low and tarot cards scattered before her. She looked up, her eyes grave and knowing.

    “I was expecting you, June,” she said softly. “The carnival’s shadows have grown restless.”

    June sat, her voice trembling. “Someone… something… put my deadname on the marquee. The posters, the flags-they’re gone. It feels like the whole place is turning against us.”

    Zara nodded, folding her hands. “There is an old magic here, older than the carnival itself. It feeds on secrets and shame, on the fear of being seen. Tonight, it sensed your hope-and it struck back.”

    Goldie leaned forward. “Can you help us?”

    Zara’s gaze lingered on June. “The brooch I gave you is a charm of transformation, but it cannot shield you from the truth you hide from yourself. There is only one way to break the shadow’s hold: you must face it, not as someone hiding, but as your truest self.”

    June’s breath caught. “I’m not ready. I’m not… I can’t-”

    Zara reached across the table, her fingers gentle on June’s wrist. “You are braver than you know. But you do not have to do this alone.”

    June looked at Goldie, who nodded fiercely. “I’m with you. Whatever happens.”

    Zara’s eyes softened. “At dawn, meet me at the edge of the Hall of Mirrors. There, I can offer you a choice-a bargain. But know this: every wish has its price.”

    June nodded, the weight of the night pressing in on her. She stood, Goldie steady at her side, and tucked the brooch close to her heart.

    As they left the tent, the carnival seemed to hold its breath. June felt the first stirrings of resolve, fragile but growing.

    Whatever bargain Zara offered, she would face it. Not just for herself, but for everyone the shadows threatened to erase.

    Chapter 9: The Wishweaver’s Boon
    Dawn crept over the carnival in a haze of lavender and gold, the world hushed and waiting. June and Goldie walked side by side through the dew-soaked grass, the carnival’s rides and tents looming like silent sentinels. The air was cool, but June felt sweat bead on her brow, her nerves stretched tight.

    They reached the Hall of Mirrors, its entrance dark and still. Madame Zara stood waiting, her cloak shimmering with the faintest suggestion of moth wings. She looked older in the morning light, her eyes deep with secrets.

    “You came,” Zara said, voice gentle.

    June nodded, her fingers curled around the moth brooch. “You said you could help.”

    Zara gestured for them to sit on the low stone bench by the entrance. “There is a power in this place, June-a power to reshape what is hidden into what is seen. But it is not a simple magic. It is the magic of choice, and of sacrifice.”

    Goldie squeezed June’s hand. “What does she have to do?”

    Zara regarded them both, her gaze lingering on June. “I am a Wishweaver, bound to this carnival by an ancient pact. Each Solstice, I may grant one true wish to a soul who acts with selfless courage. Last night, June, you faced the shadow’s cruelty and did not run. You sought hope instead of hiding. That is why the brooch called to you.”

    June’s throat tightened. “What are you offering?”

    Zara lifted a small, ornate box from her cloak and opened it. Inside, a second brooch glimmered-this one shaped like a butterfly, its wings iridescent and impossibly delicate.

    “I can give you what so many wish for,” Zara said. “A body that matches your soul. You may become a cis girl in the eyes of the world, if that is your truest desire.”

    June stared at the butterfly brooch, her heart pounding. For a moment, every dream she’d ever had shimmered before her-ease, safety, belonging. But then she looked at Goldie, at the way her friend squeezed her hand despite her own pain.

    Goldie, who had always been out and proud, but who suffered quietly every day from the complications of her transition. Goldie, who had never once complained, who had only encouraged June to hope.

    June’s voice shook. “Can I… can I give the wish to someone else?”

    Zara’s eyes widened, then softened. “You would give up your wish?”

    June nodded, tears stinging her eyes. “Goldie deserves it. She’s been through so much. If I can take away her pain, even for a day… I want that more than anything.”

    Goldie’s mouth fell open. “June, no. You deserve happiness too.”

    June squeezed her hand. “So do you.”

    Zara smiled, bittersweet. “Selfless love is the truest magic. Goldie, if you accept, the pain from your surgeries will vanish. You will be whole in body and spirit.”

    Goldie hesitated, then nodded, tears shining in her eyes. “I accept. But only if June promises to keep hoping for herself, too.”

    June nodded, unable to speak.

    Zara pressed the butterfly brooch into Goldie’s palm. A warm, golden light enveloped her, soft and gentle. Goldie gasped, her shoulders relaxing, her face radiant with relief.

    June watched, her heart aching with joy and longing. She had given up her own wish, but in that moment, she felt lighter than she had in years.

    Zara closed the box and tucked it away. “The Shadowmaster will not be pleased. But your act of kindness has weakened its hold. Remember-every wish has its price, but love can change the rules.”

    As the first rays of sunlight touched the Hall of Mirrors, June and Goldie embraced, the magic of hope and sacrifice binding them closer than ever.

    Chapter 10: The Cost of Sacrifice
    The sun rose higher, painting the carnival in soft gold, but June felt only the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her. She and Goldie sat together on the stone bench, the butterfly brooch still warm in Goldie’s hand. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to change.

    Goldie flexed her fingers, then her wrists, then stretched her arms overhead. For the first time since June had known her, Goldie’s movements were free and easy, her face untroubled by pain. She laughed-a bright, musical sound-and hugged June tight.

    “I can’t believe it,” Goldie whispered. “It’s like I’m finally whole. You did this for me.”

    June smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You deserved it. I just… I’m glad you’re okay.”

    Goldie pulled back, searching June’s face. “But what about you? How do you feel?”

    June wanted to say she felt proud, or hopeful, or at least satisfied. But as the adrenaline faded, something else crept in-a dull ache, deep in her bones. Her head throbbed, and a strange coldness settled in her chest, as if the Shadowmaster’s curse had found a new way to twist itself around her heart.

    “I’m fine,” she lied, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

    Goldie frowned, unconvinced. “Are you sure? You look pale.”

    Before June could answer, a sharp pain lanced through her body. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, her vision swimming. The world tilted, the colors of the carnival blurring into a dizzying whirl.

    “June!” Goldie’s voice was distant, panicked. “What’s happening?”

    June tried to speak, but her tongue felt heavy. The moth brooch at her chest grew hot, then icy cold. Shadows flickered at the edges of her vision, whispering her deadname, her doubts, her fears.

    You gave up your wish, the Shadowmaster’s voice hissed in her mind. You thought you could escape me by hiding in the shadows of others. But sacrifice has a cost, little moth. You cannot outrun what you truly are.

    June squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the darkness that pressed in on all sides. She felt Goldie’s arms around her, grounding her, but the pain only grew.

    Madame Zara appeared, kneeling beside them. Her eyes were grave. “The Shadowmaster is angry. Your selfless act has weakened it, but it will not let go so easily. June, you must not hide from your truth. If you do, the curse will only grow stronger.”

    “I’m trying,” June gasped, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m trying so hard.”

    Zara brushed the hair from June’s forehead. “You are brave, child. But you must not bear this alone. Tell Goldie the truth. Let her help you.”

    June looked up at Goldie, the words trembling on her lips. “I… I gave up my wish for you. I thought if I didn’t take it, maybe the Shadowmaster would leave me alone. But I don’t think it works that way.”

    Goldie’s eyes filled with tears. She hugged June fiercely. “You’re not alone. We’ll face this together. I promise.”

    June nodded, letting herself lean into Goldie’s embrace. The pain eased, just a little, as hope flickered in her chest.

    The cost of sacrifice was real, but so was the strength they found in each other.

    Chapter 11: Goldie’s Transformation
    June woke to the soft sound of birds and the distant clatter of carnival rides coming to life. She blinked against the early sunlight, disoriented for a moment by the unfamiliar hush. Goldie was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the grass nearby, her face turned up to the sky.

    For a moment, June just watched her. There was something different about Goldie now-a looseness in her posture, a brightness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She looked peaceful, almost radiant.

    Goldie caught June staring and grinned. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

    June managed a smile, though her body still ached from the night before. “How do you feel?”

    Goldie stretched her arms overhead, then twisted at the waist, testing her range of motion. “Honestly? Amazing. I don’t think I’ve woken up without pain since… well, since forever.” She wiggled her fingers and toes, then hopped to her feet with an ease that made June’s heart ache with happiness.

    Goldie spun in a slow circle, laughing. “It’s like my body finally belongs to me. Like I can run, or dance, or-” She broke off, beaming, and pulled June up by the hands. “Come on, let’s go see the sunrise from the Ferris wheel!”

    June hesitated, her legs shaky, but Goldie’s excitement was irresistible. They hurried through the quiet carnival, the world still painted in the soft colors of dawn. Goldie moved with a new confidence, waving at sleepy workers and skipping over cracks in the pavement.

    At the Ferris wheel, the operator-an older woman with a knowing smile-let them board the first car. As they rose above the carnival, Goldie pressed her face to the glass, eyes wide with wonder.

    “Thank you,” she whispered, turning to June. “I know you gave up something huge for me. I’ll never forget it.”

    June looked away, embarrassment and pride warring inside her. “You deserve to feel this way, Goldie. You really do.”

    Goldie reached over and squeezed June’s hand. “So do you. And I’m going to help you get there. We’re in this together, okay?”

    June nodded, her throat tight with emotion. As the sun crested the horizon, painting the sky in gold and rose, she let herself believe-for the first time in a long while-that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

    But as the Ferris wheel turned, June’s vision blurred for a moment. A cold ache twisted in her chest, reminding her that the Shadowmaster’s curse still lingered.

    Goldie noticed the flicker of pain in June’s eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

    June forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”

    Goldie didn’t press, but she didn’t let go of June’s hand, either. As the carnival below slowly woke to a new day, the two girls sat together in the rising light-one transformed, the other still fighting the shadows, but both holding onto hope.

    Chapter 12: Zara’s History Revealed
    After the Ferris wheel ride, June and Goldie wandered the waking carnival, the air brightening with the promise of a new day. Goldie’s steps were light, her laughter quick and genuine, but June’s mind kept circling back to the pain and the curse that lingered inside her.

    They found a quiet spot behind the prize booth, where the world felt a little less overwhelming. Goldie pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos she’d snapped the night before. “Look,” she said, showing June a blurry shot of Madame Zara’s tent, lanterns glowing like fireflies. “There’s something about her. I can’t stop thinking about what she said.”

    June nodded. “She knew things about me I’ve never told anyone. I keep wondering how she got that moth brooch, and why she gave it to me.”

    Goldie’s eyes lit up. “Let’s find out. The carnival’s been here before, right? My grandma used to talk about it when she was a kid. Maybe there’s something online.”

    They huddled together, Goldie searching for stories about the Solstice Carnival. After a few minutes, she gasped. “Here! Listen to this: ‘Local legend claims a fortune teller named Zara has appeared with the carnival every generation since the 1920s. Some say she never ages. Others say she grants wishes to those who are truly lost.’”

    June’s breath caught. “That’s impossible. She’d have to be-what, over a hundred years old?”

    Goldie scrolled further, reading aloud: “In 1926, a trans man named Ezra ‘Zara’ Klein was rumored to have run away with the carnival. Some say he was cursed by a jealous spirit, forced to wander as a wish-granting fortune teller until he could break the curse by helping someone braver than himself.”

    June stared at the screen, her heart thumping. “So Madame Zara… was Ezra? And he was like us?”

    Goldie nodded, her voice soft. “Maybe that’s why she understood you so well. She’s been through it. She knows what it’s like to hide, to wish for something more.”

    A sudden wave of empathy washed over June. She pictured Zara’s gentle eyes, the way she’d pressed the brooch into her hand. The story made sense now-why Zara had seemed so sad, so wise, so determined to help.

    Goldie squeezed June’s hand. “If she could survive all that, so can we. And maybe… maybe we can help her, too.”

    June nodded, a new sense of purpose blooming inside her. “Let’s talk to her again. Maybe there’s more to her magic than wishes and warnings.”

    Goldie grinned. “And maybe, if we’re brave enough, we can break her curse-and ours.”

    With the morning sun warming their faces, the girls stood together, ready to seek answers and face whatever magic or shadow waited next.

    Chapter 13: Ferris Wheel Confession
    The morning crowd thickened as the sun climbed higher, but June and Goldie found themselves drawn back to the Ferris wheel. The memory of their sunrise ride lingered, a bright spot against the shadows that still haunted June’s thoughts.

    Goldie nudged her gently. “Want to go up again? Sometimes it’s easier to talk when the world’s a little smaller.”

    June hesitated, then nodded, grateful for the excuse to escape the noise and the curious eyes below. The operator recognized them and waved them into a car, sending them up with a knowing smile.

    As the Ferris wheel rose, the carnival shrank beneath their feet. The air was cool and crisp, and for a moment, June felt like she could breathe again.

    Goldie broke the silence first. “I keep thinking about what we learned this morning. About Zara. About curses and bravery.” She glanced at June, her expression serious. “But I’m more worried about you. You’ve been quiet since last night.”

    June looked away, her fingers twisting in her lap. “I’m just… scared, I guess. I thought if I gave up my wish, maybe the Shadowmaster would leave me alone. But it’s still here. I still feel it, like something heavy inside me.”

    Goldie reached over and took her hand, her grip warm and steady. “You don’t have to carry it alone, June. I know you did something incredible for me. But you matter, too. Your happiness matters.”

    The Ferris wheel jolted to a stop at the very top. The world seemed to pause with them, suspended between sky and earth. June stared out at the horizon, the rooftops and treetops bathed in sunlight.

    “I saw myself in the Hall of Mirrors,” June whispered. “Not how I look now, but how I want to be. It felt so real, Goldie. Like I could almost touch her. But I’m scared I’ll never get there. That I’ll always be stuck in between.”

    Goldie squeezed her hand tighter. “You will get there. I’ll help you, every step. You’re the bravest person I know, June. Braver than I was when I started. And I… I really like you. Not just as a friend.”

    June’s heart skipped, her breath catching in her throat. She turned, meeting Goldie’s eyes, and saw nothing but honesty and hope.

    “I like you too,” June said, her voice trembling but sure.

    Goldie smiled, her cheeks flushed. “Can I…?”

    June nodded, and Goldie leaned in. Their lips met, soft and tentative, the world spinning slow and sweet around them.

    For a moment, the shadows faded. There was only the sunlight, the dizzying height, and the warmth of Goldie’s hand in hers.

    Then, as the Ferris wheel began to move again, a chill swept through the air. A voice, oily and cold, whispered from nowhere and everywhere at once: “Enjoy your happiness while you can, little moth. The fall is always hardest from the top.”

    June shivered, but she didn’t let go of Goldie’s hand. Whatever darkness waited below, they would face it together.

    Chapter 14: The Pact in the Funhouse
    After their Ferris wheel confession, June and Goldie wandered the carnival in a bubble of new, fragile happiness. But the Shadowmaster’s chilling words still echoed in June’s mind, a warning she couldn’t ignore. The sun was high now, the crowds growing, and June felt the weight of invisible eyes on her everywhere she went.

    Goldie squeezed her hand. “Let’s find somewhere quiet. Somewhere the shadows can’t follow.”

    They ducked into the funhouse, its garish entrance promising laughter and harmless scares. Inside, the world shifted-music warped, mirrors bent reality, and the air smelled of old popcorn and sawdust. The noise of the midway faded, replaced by the squeak of their sneakers on the painted floor.

    They wandered through spinning tunnels and rooms where the floor tilted beneath their feet, giggling as they clung to each other for balance. But deeper inside, the funhouse grew quieter, the lights dimmer. They found themselves in a forgotten chamber, walls covered in layers of graffiti-names, dates, secret confessions scrawled in every color.

    Goldie ran her fingers over the writing. “Look at this. Some of these are nearly a hundred years old.”

    June traced a faded heart with initials inside: E.K. + S.M., 1926. Next to it, in shaky letters, someone had written: I wish I could be seen as I am.

    A chill ran through June. “Do you think…?”

    Goldie nodded. “Maybe Zara left a message. Or maybe it’s just someone like us, from long ago.”

    They explored further, finding more messages-hopes, fears, wishes for love, for courage, for freedom. It felt like a secret sanctuary, a place where people had dared to speak their truths, even if only to a wall.

    Goldie pulled a marker from her bag and handed it to June. “Let’s add ours.”

    June hesitated, then wrote, in careful script: I wish I could be brave enough to live as myself.

    Goldie added beneath it: I promise to stand by you, no matter what.

    They smiled at each other, the pact unspoken but real. Goldie reached up and carved their initials-J.W. + M.C.-into the wood above the graffiti, sealing their promise in a place where so many others had left their mark.

    As they turned to leave, June glanced back. The room seemed to shimmer, the graffiti glowing faintly as if the walls themselves remembered every secret, every hope.

    But when they stepped into the corridor, the entrance behind them was gone-replaced by a blank wall. June’s heart pounded. “Wasn’t that the way out?”

    Goldie frowned, then grinned. “Maybe the funhouse wants us to stay a little longer.”

    June laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t mind.”

    Hand in hand, they navigated the winding halls, eventually emerging into sunlight. The world felt different-less frightening, more full of possibility. Their pact, written on the wall and sealed in their hearts, gave June a new sense of strength.

    As they stepped back into the bustle of the carnival, June realized: maybe the shadows weren’t gone, but she wasn’t alone in facing them anymore.

    Chapter 15: Liam’s Warning
    The afternoon sun glared off the carnival rides, casting long, dizzy shadows across the midway. June and Goldie wandered together, their pact from the funhouse still warm in June’s chest. But as the crowds thickened, June felt a prickling at the back of her neck-a sense of being watched.

    They were passing the ring toss booth when June saw him: Liam, standing alone, hands jammed in his hoodie pockets. He looked pale, his eyes shadowed and restless. For a moment, he seemed almost like the boy she remembered from childhood-before everything changed.

    Goldie noticed June’s hesitation. “Is that…?”

    June nodded, her throat tight. “Yeah. I should talk to him.”

    Goldie squeezed her hand. “I’ll wait by the popcorn stand. Holler if you need me.”

    June nodded, then approached Liam, her heart pounding. He didn’t look up until she was right beside him.

    “Hey,” June said softly.

    He flinched, then forced a crooked smile. “Hey, June.”

    They stood in awkward silence, the sounds of the carnival muffled around them.

    “I haven’t seen you in a while,” June offered.

    Liam’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. Guess I’ve been busy.”

    June studied his face, searching for the friend she’d lost. “Are you okay?”

    He looked away, his voice low and strained. “You should leave, June. You and your friend. Before sunset.”

    June frowned. “What are you talking about?”

    Liam’s hands trembled. “Just… trust me. Something bad’s coming. You don’t want to be here when it happens.”

    A chill ran down June’s spine. “Liam, what’s going on? Are you in trouble?”

    He glanced at her, his eyes haunted. For a split second, June saw something flicker behind them-fear, desperation, and something darker, almost inhuman.

    “I can’t stop it,” he whispered. “But you can still get away. Please, June. Go home.”

    June’s heart raced. “Liam, if you’re scared, let me help. We can talk to someone-”

    His face twisted, pain and anger warring in his eyes. “No one can help me. Not now.”

    Suddenly, his expression went blank, his voice flattening into something cold and unfamiliar. “You should listen to me, June. The carnival isn’t safe for people like you. Not tonight.”

    June took a step back, her breath catching. “Liam, what’s happening to you?”

    He shook his head, as if fighting something inside. “Just go. Please.”

    Goldie appeared at June’s side, her presence a steady anchor. “Is everything okay?”

    Liam’s gaze flickered to Goldie, then back to June. For a moment, the old Liam surfaced. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish things were different.”

    Then he turned and melted into the crowd, swallowed by the shifting lights and shadows.

    June stood frozen, Goldie’s hand finding hers. The warning echoed in her mind, heavy and urgent.

    “What did he say?” Goldie asked quietly.

    June squeezed her hand, fear and resolve mingling in her chest. “He said we should leave before sunset. That something bad is coming.”

    Goldie’s jaw set. “Then we’ll be ready. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

    June nodded, her heart pounding. The carnival felt more dangerous than ever, but she wasn’t alone-not anymore.

    Chapter 16: The Carousel’s Secret
    June and Goldie left the midway behind, the echo of Liam’s warning still ringing in their ears. The shadows stretched longer as the sun began its slow descent, painting the carnival in uneasy gold. Goldie squeezed June’s hand, her voice a whisper. “We need answers. Real ones.”

    June nodded, her gaze drawn to the old carousel at the edge of the fairgrounds. Its paint was faded, the horses chipped and worn, but something about it felt… important. She remembered the stories her grandma used to tell: that the carousel was the oldest part of the carnival, and that it sometimes moved backward when no one was watching.

    “Let’s check the carousel,” June said, her voice barely above a breath.

    They approached quietly, watching as a carnival worker climbed onto the platform. He looked over his shoulder, then sat astride a midnight-blue horse and nudged the lever. The music box melody began to play, but the carousel spun backward, the horses bobbing in reverse.

    Goldie’s eyes widened. “Is that… normal?”

    June shook her head, heart thumping. As the ride spun, the worker’s face seemed to blur, his hair streaked with gray. When the carousel finally stopped, he stumbled off, clutching his chest, his features aged by decades in mere moments.

    June gasped. “It’s… it’s magic. Or a curse.”

    The worker staggered away, unnoticed by the crowd. Goldie and June crept closer, searching the platform. June’s foot caught on something metal wedged beneath the gears. She knelt and pulled it free-a small, ornate key shaped like a moth, its wings etched with tiny runes.

    Goldie’s breath caught. “That looks like your brooch.”

    June turned the key over in her hand, feeling a faint warmth pulse from it. “Do you think… it’s connected to Zara? Or the Hall of Mirrors?”

    Before Goldie could answer, a shadow moved at the edge of their vision. A carnival barker in a pinstripe suit watched them with cold, glittering eyes. June’s heart skipped. She grabbed Goldie’s hand and they ducked behind the carousel, holding their breath as the barker’s footsteps echoed closer.

    He paused, sniffed the air, then moved on, disappearing into the growing dusk.

    Goldie exhaled shakily. “That was too close.”

    June nodded, clutching the moth key. “We have to find out what this unlocks. But we need to be careful.”

    They hurried away from the carousel, the key burning in June’s palm like a promise and a warning. The carnival was full of secrets, and tonight, they were closer than ever to the heart of the mystery.

    Chapter 17: The Moth Key
    The sky was streaked with violet and orange as June and Goldie hurried through the thinning crowds, the moth-shaped key clutched tightly in June’s hand. Every shadow seemed to stretch and reach for them, every carnival barker’s call warped and distant. The sense of being watched had only grown since they’d left the carousel.

    They ducked behind a row of shuttered food stalls and made their way to Madame Zara’s tent, the moth brooch and key pulsing with a strange, synchronized warmth. Inside, the tent was dim, the air thick with incense and anticipation. Madame Zara sat waiting, her eyes reflecting candlelight and secrets.

    June held out the key. “We found this. By the carousel. It… it feels like it’s meant for something important.”

    Zara took the key, turning it over in her hands. Her lips curved in a sad, knowing smile. “You are closer than you realize. This is the Moth Key-the heart of the carnival’s oldest magic. It unlocks the true center of the Hall of Mirrors, where the Shadowmaster’s power is strongest.”

    Goldie’s brow furrowed. “If we use it, can we stop the Shadowmaster?”

    Zara nodded, but her expression was grave. “Yes, but not without risk. The Hall’s heart is a place of truth. The mirrors there do not lie. They show you your deepest fears, your truest desires. If you are not ready to face them, the Shadowmaster will use them against you.”

    June’s stomach twisted. “What if we’re not strong enough?”

    Zara reached out and squeezed June’s hand. “Strength is not the absence of fear, but the courage to face it. You have both shown that tonight. But you must go together. The Shadowmaster feeds on isolation and shame. Only unity and honesty can break its hold.”

    Goldie looked at June, her eyes bright with determination. “We can do this. Together.”

    Zara pressed the key back into June’s palm. “Go after sunset. The carnival’s magic will be at its peak. Whatever you see in the mirrors, remember who you are-and who stands beside you.”

    June nodded, her fear tempered by resolve. She tucked the key safely into her pocket, feeling its weight and warmth.

    As they stepped out of the tent, the last rays of sunlight slipped below the horizon, and the carnival lights flickered to life. June felt the world shift, the air charged with possibility and danger.

    She glanced at Goldie, who squeezed her hand. “Ready?”

    June took a deep breath. “Ready.”

    Together, they walked toward the Hall of Mirrors, the Moth Key guiding them into the heart of the carnival’s secrets-and their own.

    Chapter 18: The Hall of Mirrors
    Night had fallen in earnest, and the carnival was transformed. Lights shimmered like fireflies, but the air was thick with tension, every shadow seeming to whisper secrets. June and Goldie moved quickly, the Moth Key warm in June’s pocket, its weight a constant reminder of what they were about to face.

    The Hall of Mirrors loomed ahead, its silver entrance reflecting the world in a thousand fractured pieces. The crowd thinned as they approached, as if the carnival itself was holding its breath.

    Goldie squeezed June’s hand. “We’re together. No matter what.”

    June nodded, swallowing her fear. She stepped forward and slid the Moth Key into the lock hidden beneath the archway. The door creaked open, revealing a corridor lined with mirrors that shimmered with an otherworldly light.

    They entered, the door closing behind them with a final, echoing click.

    Inside, the mirrors were different from before. Each one seemed alive, the glass swirling with colors and shadows. As they walked, the reflections shifted, not just showing their faces but flickering through scenes from their pasts and possible futures.

    June paused in front of a mirror that showed her as she might have been-long hair, a confident smile, her body and spirit finally aligned. The image reached out, fingertips brushing the glass from the other side. June’s heart ached with longing.

    Goldie stopped beside her own reflection, seeing herself standing strong on a stage, a crowd cheering her name. But the image flickered, and suddenly she was alone, her pain returned, her voice silenced.

    The air grew colder as the Shadowmaster’s presence crept in, its oily voice curling around them. “So much hope. So much fear. Wouldn’t it be easier to give up? To accept what you are, not what you wish to be?”

    The mirrors began to warp, showing June her worst memories-her father’s disappointment, classmates’ sneers, the loneliness that had haunted her for years. Goldie saw hospital rooms, the ache of recovery, the moments she’d doubted if she’d ever be whole.

    June’s knees buckled, but Goldie caught her, their hands clasped tight. “Don’t listen,” Goldie whispered. “We’re more than our fears.”

    The Shadowmaster’s laughter echoed, and the mirrors cracked, spiderwebbing with darkness. “You can’t escape me. Not here.”

    But as June looked at Goldie-her friend, her hope, her heart-she felt something shift. She stood, lifting her chin. “You’re wrong. We’re not alone. We have each other. And that’s stronger than your lies.”

    Goldie nodded, her voice clear. “We choose each other. We choose hope.”

    The light between them brightened, pushing back the shadows. The mirrors trembled, the darkness retreating. Together, June and Goldie stepped forward, passing through the maze until they reached the very heart of the Hall-a chamber where all the mirrors converged, swirling with every possibility.

    They stood side by side, ready to face whatever truth awaited them.

    Chapter 19: The Shadowmaster’s Bargain
    The heart of the Hall of Mirrors was a place outside of time. The chamber was circular, every wall a perfect pane of glass, each reflecting June and Goldie from a thousand angles. The air was charged, humming with magic and menace.

    June’s breath fogged the glass as she stepped forward, Goldie’s hand still in hers. The reflections shifted and multiplied, showing them as children, as strangers, as their truest selves. At the center of it all, a shadow gathered-dark, swirling, and ancient.

    The Shadowmaster formed from the gloom, its shape flickering between familiar faces: June’s father, a cruel teacher, even Liam’s haunted eyes. Its voice was a thousand whispers at once. “You’ve come so far, little moth. But you’re still so fragile. Wouldn’t you like it to be easy?”

    June’s heart pounded. “What do you want?”

    The Shadowmaster’s eyes glinted. “A bargain. I will give you what you want most-your true self, your perfect body, your freedom from pain. All you must do is leave your friend behind. Step through the mirror alone, and you will be whole.”

    Goldie’s grip tightened, her eyes wide with fear and fury. “Don’t listen, June. That’s not real freedom.”

    The mirrors around them flickered, showing June walking through a door, her body transformed, her face radiant. But Goldie was gone-erased, forgotten, a void where her warmth had been.

    June’s voice shook. “No. I won’t leave her. I won’t leave anyone behind.”

    The Shadowmaster’s form twisted, its voice turning cold. “Then you will suffer. Both of you. I can make the pain endless. I can make the world forget you ever existed.”

    Goldie stepped forward, her chin lifted. “We’re not afraid of you. We’ve faced worse than shadows.”

    The Shadowmaster lashed out, the mirrors cracking, darkness seeping toward them. “You think love will save you? Love is weakness. Love is loss.”

    June met Goldie’s eyes, her own filling with tears-but also with resolve. “Love is strength. Love is why we’re still here.”

    The darkness surged, but June and Goldie held each other, their hope a shield. The light from the moth brooch and the butterfly pin blazed between them, forcing the Shadowmaster to recoil.

    The chamber shook, glass shattering and reforming around them. The Shadowmaster howled, its power wavering.

    June’s voice rang out, clear and true. “We choose each other. We choose hope. We choose truth.”

    The mirrors blazed with light, the darkness retreating. The Shadowmaster’s form flickered, growing thin and desperate.

    Goldie pulled June close. “Let’s get out of here-together.”

    Hand in hand, they moved toward the brightest mirror, the one that showed them side by side, brave and unbroken. As they stepped through, the Shadowmaster shrieked, its power breaking like a wave on the rocks.

    They stumbled out into the night air, the Hall of Mirrors behind them trembling and beginning to collapse.

    But June and Goldie stood tall, together, the bargain refused and their bond stronger than ever.

    Chapter 20: Aftermath and Resolve
    The night air outside the Hall of Mirrors was cool and sharp, stinging June’s lungs as she and Goldie stumbled away from the trembling structure. The carnival, once dazzling, now seemed faded-its lights flickering, its music distant and hollow. The world felt quieter, as if holding its breath after a storm.

    June collapsed onto the grass beside an abandoned ticket booth, her legs trembling. Goldie dropped down next to her, her own breath coming in shaky bursts. For a long moment, they sat in silence, the echoes of the Shadowmaster’s howls still ringing in their ears.

    Goldie reached for June’s hand, grounding them both. “We did it,” she whispered, her voice raw but steady. “We faced it. Together.”

    June nodded, but her body still ached with exhaustion-the kind that went deeper than muscle and bone. “I was so scared, Goldie. I thought I’d lose you. I thought I’d lose myself.”

    Goldie squeezed her hand, her eyes shining in the carnival’s dim glow. “You didn’t. I’m here. And so are you.”

    A wave of emotion crashed over June-relief, pride, and a lingering ache of fear. She let herself lean into Goldie’s side, feeling the warmth and reality of her friend’s presence. “I never want to hide again,” June said softly. “Not from you. Not from myself.”

    Goldie smiled, brushing a strand of hair from June’s face. “Then don’t. You’re braver than you know, June. You always have been.”

    The carnival was slowly coming back to life around them-lights brightening, laughter returning in cautious waves. But something had changed. June could feel it in the air, in the way people looked at her and Goldie as they sat together, unafraid.

    Goldie stood and offered June her hand. “Come on. Let’s find the others. We’re not the only ones who fought tonight.”

    They made their way through the carnival, finding other queer teens-some shaken, some triumphant, all changed by what they’d faced. June felt a sense of kinship, a quiet pride in their shared courage.

    As the first hints of dawn crept over the horizon, June and Goldie stood at the edge of the fairgrounds, looking back at the battered Hall of Mirrors. June took a deep breath, the air filling her with new resolve.

    “We’re going to make it,” she said. “Not just survive. Really live.”

    Goldie slipped her arm around June’s waist. “Together.”

    And as the sun rose, painting the world in gold and hope, June knew it was true.

    Chapter 21: The Mirror of Truth
    The first rays of dawn broke over the carnival, painting the battered tents and rides in soft gold. June and Goldie lingered at the edge of the fairgrounds, exhaustion tugging at their limbs but hope flickering in their chests. The Hall of Mirrors, though cracked and battered, still stood-its entrance yawning open, beckoning.

    “Do you want to go back in?” Goldie asked gently, her hand warm in June’s.

    June hesitated, then nodded. “I need to see. I need to know if anything’s changed.”

    They stepped through the familiar archway, the world inside quieter than before. The mirrors reflected the two of them from every angle, but the glass was different now-clearer, less warped by the Shadowmaster’s influence.

    At the far end of the hall, one mirror stood untouched by cracks or dust. June approached, heart pounding. Her reflection gazed back, but this time, it wasn’t fractured or distorted. She saw herself as she truly was: her hair long and shining, her features soft, her eyes bright with courage. The girl in the mirror wore a gentle, knowing smile-a promise, a future, a self finally seen.

    June reached out, her fingertips brushing cool glass. The reflection didn’t waver. For the first time, she felt real-solid and whole.

    Goldie stepped up beside her, her own reflection standing tall and proud. “That’s you, June. That’s always been you.”

    June’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t look away. “I want to be her. I want to live as her.”

    Goldie squeezed her hand. “You will. And I’ll be with you every step.”

    A soft glow shimmered around the mirror’s frame, and Goldie gasped. “Look-your brooch!”

    June glanced down. The moth brooch pinned to her shirt was glowing faintly, the light pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She looked back at the mirror, and the reflection’s hand pressed to the glass, mirroring her own.

    Suddenly, the Shadowmaster’s voice slithered from the broken mirrors around them, weaker now but still present. “You can’t change what you are, little moth. You’ll always be trapped.”

    June shook her head, her voice steady. “I’m not trapped. Not anymore. I know who I am. And I’m not alone.”

    With a surge of courage, June pressed her palm firmly to the glass. The mirror shimmered, and for a heartbeat, she felt warmth flood through her-acceptance, hope, and a sense of belonging that filled every inch of her being.

    The mirror’s surface rippled, then stilled. June’s reflection remained-her true self, radiant and unafraid.

    The broken mirrors around them began to glow, their cracks healing, the darkness receding. A path of glittering shards formed at their feet, leading deeper into the carnival’s heart.

    Goldie grinned, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Ready for the next adventure?”

    June smiled, her spirit lighter than it had ever been. “With you? Always.”

    Hand in hand, they followed the shimmering path out of the Hall of Mirrors, stepping boldly into the new day.

    Chapter 22: Rallying the Queer Legion
    The sun was fully up now, gilding the carnival in a new, hopeful light. June and Goldie emerged from the Hall of Mirrors, the shimmering path of glass behind them fading into memory. The air felt charged with possibility, but June knew the Shadowmaster’s presence hadn’t vanished completely. There was still work to do.

    Goldie nudged her. “We can’t do this alone. Not anymore.”

    June nodded, determination sparking in her chest. “Let’s find the others. We need everyone.”

    They hurried through the fairgrounds, searching for familiar faces. At the edge of the midway, they found a small group of queer teens-some they recognized from school, others from the local LGBTQ+ center. There was Alex, a nonbinary hacker with a rainbow bandana; Jamie, a trans boy with a mischievous grin and a backpack full of fireworks; and a handful of others, all looking tired but fierce.

    June stepped forward, her voice steady. “The Shadowmaster is still here. It’s weaker, but it’s not gone. We need to stand together if we want to finish this.”

    Alex nodded. “What’s the plan?”

    Goldie held up the moth brooch, which glowed faintly in the morning light. “We have a little magic left. Enough to help each of us-just for a while.”

    June passed the brooch to Alex first. As they held it, a shimmer of energy ran through them, their eyes wide with wonder. “Whoa. I feel… strong. Like I could run a marathon.”

    Jamie grinned, taking the brooch next. “Let’s see if this works on my fireworks.” The brooch glowed brighter, and Jamie’s hands tingled with sparks.

    One by one, each ally touched the brooch, gaining a unique magical boost-speed, courage, even the ability to see through illusions. June felt hope blossom as the group’s energy grew.

    Suddenly, Liam appeared at the edge of the group, his face pale and drawn. He looked at June, desperation in his eyes. “You have to hurry. The Shadowmaster’s planning something-a ‘harvest’-at noon. It wants to drain the last of our hope.”

    June offered him the brooch, but when Liam touched it, he yelped, dropping it as if it burned. The Shadowmaster’s grip was still too strong.

    Goldie put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Stay with us. We’ll protect you.”

    Liam nodded, fear and gratitude mingling in his expression.

    The group formed a circle, hands joined, the brooch at the center. As they stood together, the streetlights around the carnival flickered-first white, then pink, then every color of the rainbow. The world felt brighter, safer, for just a moment.

    June looked at each of them, pride swelling in her chest. “We’re not just fighting for ourselves. We’re fighting for everyone who’s ever felt invisible. For everyone who’s ever been afraid.”

    Alex grinned. “Let’s go make some noise.”

    With their queer legion assembled and their courage renewed, June, Goldie, and their friends marched toward the heart of the carnival, ready to face the Shadowmaster’s final stand.

    Chapter 23: The Tunnel of Love’s Test
    The queer legion moved through the carnival like a living rainbow, their magic and hope shining in the morning light. June led the way, Goldie at her side, the moth brooch pulsing with energy at the heart of their group. The air was thick with anticipation and the faint, sinister hum of the Shadowmaster’s presence.

    As they neared the Tunnel of Love, the air grew colder. The ride’s entrance, once painted in cheerful pinks and reds, was now faded and cracked. The sign above the archway flickered, casting strange shadows on the ground.

    “We’ll split up,” Alex said, scanning the map of the carnival. “We’ll take the Ferris wheel and the main stage. You two-” they nodded at June and Goldie, “-should check the Tunnel. It’s always been the heart of the weirdness here.”

    June’s stomach twisted, but she nodded. “We’ll meet you on the other side.”

    Goldie squeezed her hand. “Ready?”

    “Not really,” June admitted, “but let’s do it anyway.”

    They stepped into a boat, the water lapping quietly against the sides as the ride creaked into motion. The tunnel swallowed them in darkness, the only light coming from the moth brooch and the occasional flicker of neon hearts overhead.

    Almost immediately, the air changed. Shadows slithered along the walls, and the gentle music warped into a discordant lullaby. June felt her skin prickle as visions began to swirl in the mist.

    On one side of the boat, June saw her parents, faces twisted in disappointment, voices raised in anger. She saw herself, younger and smaller, trying to explain, to be understood, and failing again and again. The pain of rejection pressed down on her chest, suffocating.

    On the other side, Goldie’s eyes were wide with fear. She saw herself in a hospital bed, alone and hurting, doctors shaking their heads, friends drifting away. She relived every moment of doubt, every day she’d wondered if she’d ever be whole.

    The shadows thickened, the water growing colder. The boat slowed, caught in the grip of the visions.

    “Goldie!” June cried, reaching out. Their hands found each other, and the moth brooch flared with light.

    The visions shifted, merging together. Suddenly, they saw a new scene: the two of them, older and stronger, leading a parade down Main Street. Rainbow flags waved, laughter and music filled the air, and the crowd cheered as they walked hand in hand at the front.

    The warmth of hope pushed back the shadows. The tunnel walls cracked, letting in beams of sunlight. The boat surged forward, breaking free from the darkness.

    They emerged into the daylight, breathless and shaking. On the shore, their friends waited, some battered but smiling, having reclaimed the Ferris wheel and the main stage from the Shadowmaster’s illusions.

    June and Goldie stepped out of the boat, the last traces of fear and doubt fading in the sunlight. They hugged, holding each other tight.

    “We did it,” Goldie whispered.

    “We’re not done yet,” June replied, but her voice was steadier, her heart lighter.

    The test of the Tunnel of Love was over. They had faced their worst fears-and found hope waiting on the other side.

    Chapter 24: The Shadowmaster’s Last Bargain
    The victory at the Tunnel of Love was short-lived. The air around the carnival shimmered with tension, the sun now high and the Shadowmaster’s presence more desperate, more dangerous. June and Goldie regrouped with their friends, but the sense of safety was fleeting. The ground itself seemed to hum with warning.

    Suddenly, the world warped. The laughter and music of the carnival faded, replaced by a chilling silence. The colors around them bled into gray. The Shadowmaster appeared at the center of the midway, its form shifting between shadow and the faces of people June had feared or loved. Its eyes locked on her, cold and endless.

    “Enough games,” it hissed, its voice echoing in every direction. “You want freedom? You want to be whole? I can give it to you, June. All you have to do is accept my bargain.”

    June felt the weight of every eye, every hope, every fear. She swallowed. “What do you want?”

    The Shadowmaster smiled, cruel and hungry. “I will grant you your wish-your true self, your perfect body, every pain erased. But in exchange, Goldie will vanish. She will never have existed. You will be free, but alone.”

    June’s heart twisted. She looked at Goldie, who shook her head, tears shining in her eyes. “Don’t do it, June. I’d rather hurt forever than lose you.”

    For a moment, June wavered. The promise of ease, of finally being herself, was so tempting. But the thought of a world without Goldie-a world without their love, their laughter, their hope-was unbearable.

    “No,” June said, her voice trembling but clear. “I won’t trade her for anything. I’d rather fight forever than be alone.”

    The Shadowmaster’s form flickered, its voice growing harsher. “Then suffer. Let your pain become endless. Let the world forget you both.”

    Goldie stepped forward, her voice fierce. “You can’t break us. I’d give anything for June’s happiness, but not like this. We choose each other.”

    Suddenly, Liam’s voice broke through the Shadowmaster’s control. He staggered forward, eyes wild. “Run! Don’t listen! It’s lying-there’s always another way!”

    The Shadowmaster snarled, shoving Liam aside. But the distraction was enough. June grabbed Goldie’s hand, and the moth brooch between them flared with light.

    June pressed her lips to Goldie’s in a desperate, defiant kiss. The world exploded with color and warmth. The Shadowmaster recoiled, shrieking as their love formed a shield of light around them.

    The carnival began to shake, tents collapsing, rides groaning as the Shadowmaster’s illusions shattered. June and Goldie ran, their friends close behind, racing toward the Hall of Mirrors for the final confrontation.

    June glanced back, her resolve burning. She would not give in. She would not let love be twisted into a weapon. Together, they would face the darkness-and win.

    Chapter 25: The Final Reflection
    The Hall of Mirrors loomed ahead, battered but unbroken. June and Goldie burst through its doors, their friends rallying behind them. The air inside was electric, every surface reflecting the chaos and courage of the night.

    At the center of the hall, the Shadowmaster waited-a swirling mass of darkness, shifting between the faces of June’s past and her own old reflection. It sneered, its voice echoing from every mirror. “You still think you can win? You, who are nothing but broken dreams and borrowed hope?”

    June stepped forward, Goldie at her side. “I’m not broken. I’m not a lie. I’m me-and I’m not alone.”

    The Shadowmaster’s form twisted, coalescing into a doppelgänger: June as she’d once been, before she’d dared to hope. The old reflection’s eyes were hollow, its voice a cold whisper. “You’ll never be her. You’ll always be stuck in between.”

    June’s hands shook, but she didn’t look away. “You’re not me. I am her. I always have been.”

    She reached out, pressing her palm to the glass. The mirror trembled, then began to crack, light shining through the fractures.

    Goldie stepped up, her voice ringing clear. “You don’t get to define us. Our pain, our joy-they’re ours. And we choose hope.”

    The Shadowmaster lashed out, the mirrors shattering and reforming, trying to trap them in endless reflections of fear. But June clung to Goldie, their hands joined, the moth brooch and butterfly pin blazing with light.

    June remembered Zara’s words: Strength is not the absence of fear, but the courage to face it.

    She drew a shaky breath and used the brooch to trace the cracks in the mirror, each line glowing as it healed. The Shadowmaster shrieked, its form shrinking, growing less monstrous and more pitiful-a small, frightened creature hiding in the last sliver of darkness.

    From behind them, their friends began to shout words of affirmation and love. Alex’s voice rang out, “We see you!” Jamie added, “We’re not afraid!” The room filled with hope, pushing back the shadows.

    Goldie squeezed June’s hand. “Let’s finish this.”

    June nodded. Together, they stepped forward, their reflections merging into one-brave, whole, and free. The last piece of the Shadowmaster dissolved in a burst of light, the darkness finally broken.

    The mirrors around them shimmered, now reflecting only truth and possibility. The curse was lifted. Liam, freed from the Shadowmaster’s grip, collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

    June and Goldie embraced, laughter and relief bubbling up between them. For the first time, the Hall of Mirrors felt like a place of beginnings, not endings.

    They had faced their final reflection-and found themselves.

    Chapter 26: Dawn of the True Selves
    The first rays of dawn spilled through the shattered windows of the Hall of Mirrors, painting the glass and the faces within with gold. June stood in the center, Goldie’s hand in hers, surrounded by their friends. The air was still, as if the world itself was waiting to see what would happen next.

    Outside, the carnival was gone. Where tents and rides had stood, wildflowers now blanketed the field, dew sparkling on every petal. It was as if the earth had taken a deep breath and let go of centuries of secrets.

    June felt something shift inside her-an ache, a weight, lifting. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were changing, her skin glowing with a gentle light. Her body, once a battleground, softened and settled into a shape that felt right, true, and wholly hers.

    Goldie gasped in delight, tears shining in her eyes. “June-you’re… you.”

    June laughed, the sound free and bright. “I am. I really am.”

    Liam, still kneeling nearby, looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to-”

    June knelt beside him, her voice gentle. “I know, Liam. It wasn’t you. But you have to forgive yourself, too.”

    He nodded, wiping his cheeks. “Thank you. For everything.”

    Goldie reached into her pocket and pulled out a new brooch-a phoenix, its wings outstretched in flight. She pinned it to June’s shirt, her hands steady. “A new beginning,” she said softly. “For both of us.”

    All around them, the town seemed to wake up. Rainbow crosswalks appeared where before there had been none. Pride flags fluttered from lampposts. The colors were brighter, the world more welcoming.

    June and Goldie stepped outside, the sunlight warm on their faces. The others followed, laughter and hugs weaving through the morning air.

    As the celebration faded into a peaceful quiet, June and Goldie found themselves alone in the field of wildflowers. Goldie slipped her arm around June’s waist, and they began to sway, slow-dancing to music only they could hear.

    June closed her eyes, letting the moment settle deep in her heart. She was herself-no more hiding, no more fear. And beside her was Goldie, radiant and real, their futures unwritten but full of hope.

    The sun climbed higher, and the world felt new.

    Chapter 27: Epilogue – One Year Later
    A year had passed since the carnival vanished, and summer had returned to the sleepy town. The field where the tents once stood was now a riot of wildflowers, a place where butterflies danced and laughter carried on the breeze. June stood at the edge of the field, her heart light as she watched the preparations for the queer art show.

    Bright banners fluttered from poles, painted with moths, phoenixes, and rainbows. Easels dotted the grass, displaying paintings, photographs, and poems from queer youth all over town. Goldie bustled between tables, her hair now streaked with pink and gold, her smile as radiant as ever.

    June took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the sun and the gentle weight of the phoenix brooch on her shirt. She was herself now, in every way that mattered-her body, her name, her spirit all aligned. The memory of the Shadowmaster was only a shadow now, faded by time and by love.

    Goldie waved her over, her eyes shining. “Come help me hang the last painting?”

    Together, they lifted a canvas onto an easel. It was June’s-a swirling vision of the Hall of Mirrors, cracked glass reflecting a hundred versions of herself, each one smiling, whole, and free.

    As they stepped back to admire it, a familiar voice called out. June turned to see Liam approaching, his steps hesitant but hopeful. He wore a t-shirt that read “Trans Youth Support Squad” and carried a stack of flyers.

    “Hey,” Liam said, offering a small, genuine smile. “I started a group at the community center. For anyone who needs it. I… I wanted to say thank you. For giving me another chance.”

    June hugged him, her forgiveness real and easy. “We all needed a second chance.”

    The afternoon drifted by in a haze of music, art, and joy. Friends old and new gathered, sharing stories, dreams, and laughter. The field felt enchanted, as if a little of the carnival’s magic had lingered after all.

    As dusk settled, Goldie tugged June toward the rebuilt Ferris wheel-smaller now, but just as bright. They climbed into a car, the world spinning gently below. At the very top, Goldie leaned in and kissed June, sweet and sure.

    June smiled, her heart full. She slipped her hand into her pocket and found a new moth brooch, delicate and shimmering-a quiet blessing from Madame Zara, wherever she was.

    Below them, the art show glowed with lantern light. Above, the stars blinked awake.

    Some mirrors break. Ours held.

    And in the golden twilight, June knew she would never be alone again.


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