Eidolyn: Origins (Patreon)

Hey folks!

All quiet in my part of the woods. Getting some rest before swinging all out with more writing!

For today's post, a fantasy tale! I can never decided whether I should spoil the stuff in the story up here or not. Kind of takes any mystery out of the tale, but it'd also let people know what the story's got in it. What would you guys like to see? Lemme know in the comments!

This time, I'll just hope you enjoy!

Awareness, dim and primal, concerned only with its own survival, dawned in a quiet and secluded way, the miracle of its creation ignored by the world at large. Deep beneath the eaves of the earth, in the dim, near total darkness of silent stone and glistening crystal, it came to be, emerging from the random soup of magic and reality in ways that no scientist nor magical scholar had ever been able to explain.

A creature without a form of its own, a drifting, ethereal being of pure mana, vulnerable to so much as a harsh breeze. If a living observer were present and cared to look in its direction, able to see despite the lack of strong light, they still would have been faced with an almost impossible challenge, for it was little more than a faint haze, a ripple in the air.

To be truthful, it barely existed at all.

It was a mimic.

No one knew where mimics came from, what process drove their creation. Theories abounded – that they were a god’s trickery, or an ancient curse that infected the world, or simply a primordial lifeform that failed to stabilise - but the truth remained elusive. While there were many, many monsters in the world, mimics remained one of the most mysterious, the most unknown.

The lack of information was hardly due to their threat. Despite their reputation, a mimic was often only as dangerous as the form it had taken, and few ever lived long enough to find a truly powerful creature to copy. No, they were hard to study because all too frequently the only sign that a creature you were fighting was a mimic was that they burst into ether when you killed them, instead of leaving a corpse.

It made them kind of a difficult study. For this reason, the academic bounty on capturing live mimics was rather high, especially considering their low threat level. But there was a problem here, too. Namely that, well… It was kind of in the name.

The lone ability of a mimic was mimicry, but as if to make up for that lack of options, their mimicry was perfect beyond reproach. They could duplicate any creature imaginable, and take the form of just about anything if the mood took them. They copied abilities, memories, intelligence… If a mimic lucked into the right target, they could hide anywhere, and no one would ever suspect.

If one thought that sounded powerful, they would be correct – but as with all blessings, it came balanced with a drawback. In this case, a mimic’s ability to copy another being required physical contact, a deadly risk considering their fragility. And the process took time, too, during which they were at their most vulnerable. Their best bets were to find creatures who were asleep or otherwise incapable of swatting them away.

Unfortunately, in their most basic state, they simply weren’t smart enough to scheme like that. In essence, every mimic began its life on the knife edge of death, propelled onwards only by that primal urge to seek a new form and survive.

This had been true for every mimic since the world’s grand creation, and it was true for this mimic too. Those instincts were already taking hold, driving it out from the cave of its birth, hunting and seeking for a form that it could take for itself – a form that would allow it to survive.

It was a long journey, through twisting caverns, over ancient streams, seeking a way out into the wider world, where it knew that it would find what it sought. It knew, like an apple knew how to fall, or a star knew how to twinkle. The kind of knowledge one had in their bones, even though the mimic had none – but then, neither do apples or stars, so clearly that was no impediment.

As it drew close to the mouth of the hills, to way out from beneath the world and into the wild trees beyond, however, it drew to a stop. For despite its intrinsic knowledge of what it sought, it had found something that caught its simple attention far faster than mere instinct.

It had heard a voice.

It didn’t know what a voice it was, of course, and it had no capacity to understand the words being said. So far as the mimic knew, they were just sounds, noises that echoed through the otherwise silent air. But they were noises being made by a living creature, and that was the only thing it cared about. A form it could take was nearby…

Very nearby, as it happened. For in a small offshoot of the main cave structure, hidden between long dripped stalactites and sharp fang-like stalagmites, the mimic spied an unnatural flicker of light, and followed it around the bend to find a small hidden camp, though the mimic was far too primitive to recognise it as such. There was a small tent propped up against the wall, expensive and well made, much like the pack laying against it, and much like the dress worn by the woman in the middle of the chamber, warming her hands over the freshly lit fire.

Or… Wait, no, it had just gone out again. The woman made more noise, and then started trying to relight it again. All of this escaped the mimic, who only saw that the creature was distracted. This was its chance.

So, carefully, silently, all too aware of its vulnerability, the ethereal creature drifted closer, sensitive to every twitch and movement of its target. At the slightest sign that they were about to turn, it would draw back… But she remained firmly focused on her chore. If any part of her sensed the threat, she ignored it.

Finally, the mimic had grown close enough. Reaching out with a strand of lightest firmament, it touched against the back of the woman’s neck, gentle so it could not be felt. Success!

Immediately, the process began. Information poured into the mimic, intelligence, awareness and will surging into existence where previously only instinct had reigned. In moments, a creature with less sentience than an ant was propelled into the stratosphere of higher thought, mind whirring with new impulses, understandings, and thought.

It was a dazzling change, wonderous and incredible, as it- no, as she now suddenly realised that she understood how the world around her worked. No longer was she a simple existence – she was a being. No, a person, possessed of her own interests, knowledge, and will!

… Well, okay, maybe not entirely her own knowledge. She was still copying everything from her… Ah, now what was the word? Host! She was copying from her host – she’d just copied that term and she already loved it - into her head, after all. Her knowledge was a duplicate, even if her self was her own.

Oh, what a delightfully novel idea~

She had to stop herself from giggling with wry amusement. The woman she’d selected to mimic was a noble, it seemed, and thus in possession of not just knowledge, but an education! Lady Mirabelle Stormcrest – what a name - was a learned woman, one who knew how to read and write, so now, so did she. She knew how to think and to ponder and to philosophise, and oh my, these skills were incredible when moments ago you’d had all the cognitive abilities of a particularly stupid kind of ooze. This was incredible!

And, oh, she did still have to be careful. Her mind was developing at a truly rapid rate, but her body, her physical form, was going to take a little more time. It was forming, yes, she could already feel herself steadily solidifying, her hazy form stretching itself into a shadow crouched over her host, limbs and joints taking shape. She’d need a little longer though – right now she was still terrifyingly vulnerable…

But fortunately, not only was Mirabelle a deliciously cruel woman – oh yes, the mimic could see that plain as day, working through her memories with fascination – but she was also adorably oblivious to the world around her. A total narcissist, the creature realised as her thoughts continued to colour with education and instruction. Her focus was on the fire – no, on the bundle of sticks and kindling that was refusing to obey her will. There was no chance of her noticing the gently convalescing shadow behind her, even as it began to grow solid enough to weigh on the ground beneath her.

“Stupid things,” the human was muttering instead. “What’s wrong with them? I’ve seen servants do this a thousand times. They must have sold me defective sticks.”

Again, the mimic had to stop herself from laughing, especially as her lips formed, a smile hovering in the darkness. No, that clearly wasn’t the issue. The tools Mirabelle had purchased were perfectly fine – it was just she didn’t understand what she was doing. She’d never truly watched her servants as they performed such menial tasks for her. Such things were beneath her, and thus, so was understanding. That was what servants were for, after all.

Which had been all well and good until the foolish woman had gotten herself banished from her own home. Her family had decided enough was enough after she’d refused to stop abusing the staff, and indeed, all the people around her. Now the former noble was out on her own with only her savings and her education to get by on. Enough for most, perhaps, but not for Mirabelle Stormcrest! She would have her revenge. She would teach the entire world to obey her!

To her own surprise, the mimic found herself nodding along with that kind of thought. Really? Clearly that was narcissism to the point of madness. Ah, but she was a mimic, and she was copying a narcissist. It was only reasonable that she’d develop something of a self-centred core of her own. Oooh, how fun~

Her body was really taking shape now. The shadows were fading, and the flesh beneath was emerging. The darkness slid away, revealing creamy skin dyed by a thick tan, on dainty human hands with fresh callouses, as if introduced to hard work only recently. A fuzzy outline was settling in place around her, the silhouette of an expensive and well made dress…

With a start, the mimic realised why Mirabelle was here, in this cave – a hidden and secret place in the heart of the dark forest of Geshear. The woman was hunting for an old family legend, one that spoke of incredible power hidden away beneath the hills here. One that she believed would give her the powers she needed to make her desires into reality. Something that would grant her the ability to control others to her own whims.

Another delightful idea. This woman was just full of them, wasn’t she? The mimic silently licked her lips as her head took on firm definition. A beautiful face, framed by short black hair that hung to just above her shoulders, with sharp, cunning brown eyes. Her body was coming along nicely too, developing a fat bosom that she understood was rather attractive, which would offset the modestness of her rear end… or something? Either way, she was almost done now.

Now, if there was any downside to copying Mirabelle, it was that the woman possessed little to no power of her own. She wasn’t an Adventurer, nor was she rich – at least, not any more. There was only one spell she was able to cast, a minor charm magic that made people more inclined to obey her, but it wasn’t strong enough to compel them like she wanted. The mimic found it understood her disappointment in that fact completely. Why, if it were stronger, she’d cast it on Mirabelle right now!

Oooh, that was a captivating thought. The idea of turning the woman she was copying into her thrall was truly delicious now. And it was her own fault, really. If she wasn’t so self-obsessed, then her double wouldn’t have found her such an appealing target!

But there was no way to make that happen with such a weak spell, not even as the mimic finally settled fully into existence. Her dress turned green, woven with threads of gold, while her hair gained its lustre, and her eyes their sparkly. She was now a perfect copy of the woman still struggling to make a fire in front of her. The process was complete.

… So now what?

Ordinarily, a mimic would scurry off once their copying was complete, looking to lead a basic life focused only on survival. But having copied the mind of a human, this mimic now found herself above such petty instincts. The world was open to her to become whatever she wanted. And what she wanted was…

… Was to make everyone kneel at her feet and sing her praises.

Oh Mirabelle~ Again, the double resisted the urge to give herself away by petting the cursing noble’s hair, and instead crept away silently, off into the darkness. But she wasn’t skulking away for survival. No, she’d be seeing her original again very soon.

After all, she had a sneaking suspicion she knew exactly where that ‘incredible power’ was hiding away…

-

The journey back to the mimic’s place of birth was much more difficult than the journey leaving it had been, she was less than pleased to discover. Who would have thought that trading the ability to float around formlessly for a physical body would make things so difficult? Now she had to clamber over rocks, squeeze through tight passages, and take running jumps over dark pits – it was terrifying!

It did help that she was better at lighting torches than Mirabelle, at least. This trek would have been totally hopeless in the dark…

But eventually, after hours of scrambling and toil (and a fair few tears in her fancy new dress, which fortunately she could fix with a thought), she returned to the dark chamber where she vaguely recalled her first memories. The silent place between stone and crystal.

It looked different now. Perhaps it was her new perspective, or perhaps it was just the light of her torch, but the cavern looked much more majestic now. It was large and old – older, somehow, than the caves around it. The air was thick with ether, the potency of magic in its most basic form. No wonder, then, that she had formed here.

And in its centre, surrounded by a pool of water so still it almost seemed to be ice, was a gigantic crystal, hovering free of its surroundings, tall enough to stretch all the way to the roof of the cave. That had to be the source of power she was hunting. Yes, now that she knew what she was hunting, she could feel the magic in it even from over here..

Okay. Hopefully, this would work… She stepped forward, walking carefully through the shallow pool of water, and raised her hand. With a deep breath, she pressed her copied palm forwards, laying it against the smooth, cool surface of the crystal.

Warmth flowed into her, through her hand and down her arm. She could feel its power, sinking into her core, becoming her own.

Huh.

She had to admit; she was a bit surprised to find out the legend was true. Mirabelle had been sure of it, but the mimic had possessed more than a few doubts. No longer, though, not as its magic seeped into her, strengthened her.

Incredible really was the word…

The process only took a few moments. Soon enough, the warmth waned, and the crystal dimmed. Pulling her hand back, the mimic stared at her palm, as if she could still see the traces of power dancing across it.

Her magic felt stronger. Not her control spell – that might have been a little boosted, but the real change was in something deeper. Her power to transform herself, her power to mimic others. It was broadening, thrumming with this strange new magic. Enhanced in a way she’d never expected. Instinctively, she understood what had just happened, how her power had grown.

No longer could she only use it to change herself. Now she could use her magic to transform others to her liking. It would require work, and physical contact, much like her ability to copy another’s form, but otherwise she could change someone else just as easily as she could change herself.

Interesting. Not quite what she’d wanted, exactly, but… No, she could work with this, oh definitely and for sure. There were all sorts of possibilities…

Possibilities that she was eager to explore, for something else had grown stronger too. The desires in her heart. Her curiosity and want for a thrall had grown into something else – a need. She needed a servant of her own, needed to dominate others, needed it like she needed food or air.

And luckily enough, she knew she wouldn’t have to wait long before a suitable subject came her way.

-

It still took longer than she would have liked. Patience had not been one of the skills she’d copied off of her original, likely because the woman possessed none, and so waiting around in the dark was no degree of fun whatsoever. Only the driving hunger for her new goals kept the mimic in place, knowing that she’d soon have what she was after.

And when she heard the sound of cursing echoing around the cave walls, the light of someone else’s torch slowly growing closer, she knew her time had finally come.

Mirabelle arrived in the chamber at last, clearly exhausted by her hike. Unlike a certain magical creature, she couldn’t repair her clothes with a thought, either, so her dress was more than a little mussed up. Still, the dark-haired woman’s face wore a look of complete triumph, her eyes locked on the crystal.

“At last,” she was muttering, stalking heedlessly forwards. “I’ll finally get what I deserve!”

Well, if that was what she wanted…

“Correct~” An identical voice rang out through the ancient chamber. Mirabelle startled, turning to look for its source just as she was about to reach the edge of the pool – and discovered too late that she was searching for an echo when she saw no one there. But she did feel a pair of hands suddenly clamp around her ankles, emerging from the still water, and then a bizarre tingle that thrummed through her feet.

A moment later, and she found she couldn’t move from the spot – her legs stayed rooted to the ground, no matter how she tried to lift them. Looking down and pulling her dress aside, she saw not her feet, clad in worn down expensive boots, but instead solid stone carved into their likeness, fully stuck to the cavern floor.

“What is this? Who dares assault me?!” The former noble snarled, twisting her body to look around. But this time, she got an answer.

With a great slough of water, the mimic emerged from the pool where she had been laying in wait, streams of wetness pouring off of her – but a moment later, she was as dry as a desert bone. Thanks to the benefits of being a shapeshifter, Mirabelle found herself face to face with herself. “Who else?”

“What?” The original’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Impossible. What is this? A test to prove my worthiness of the power in that crystal?”

Her double rolled her eyes. “No, dear, I’m just the one who beat you to it. Hm, I probably should pick out a name, shouldn’t I? I’ll probably need one at some point, and I don’t want to use yours. I need to distinguish myself a little, right?”

The original gaped at her. No help at all. The mimic just shrugged. “Oh well. I’ll think of one later. After all, the only name you’re going to be calling me is Mistress~”

That got Mirabelle’s fire going again. Her stunned expression quickly snapped into angry defiance. “Never!”

“We’ll see.” The mimic winked as she circled around her. “I think you’ll find that I know a lot more about you than you think. Such as… Oh, you like sculpting, don’t you?”

“… Huh?” The human blinked at the sudden change of topic. What her double said was true enough – she’d had a certain fondness for working with clay when she was younger. Nothing she’d done more than dabble in, of course, that was far too messy a habit for a noblewoman such as herself, but she’d enjoyed the feeling of control she’d had as she shaped the substance to her will.

Instead of saying so, however, Mirabelle opted to instead grab for her imposter, reaching out to try and seize the woman before this strange situation got any stranger. Unfortunately for her, though, the mimic was ready, and grabbed her hands in her own, unleashing another wave of tingling thrum that turned them grey and solid like her feet. They dropped to dangle uselessly at her sides.

And to add insult to injury, her double seemed to read her mind, not needing an answer as she continued. “Then you can enjoy it from the other side, this time~”

Mirabelle glared, trying to snarl once again. “You-!”

But her imposter seemed to judge that the time for talking was over, reaching up and tapping a finger against the woman’s mouth. Her lips slammed shut, refusing to open. Had they been turned to stone as well? She couldn’t reach up to check…

No, all she could do was struggle and squirm in place as the mimic circled around her one last time, before crouching down and getting to work. The double started low, lifting that expensive dress to wrap her palms around the human’s ankles. Then, with unskilled but eager fingers, she began to massage.

Mirabelle winced, and then shuddered as more of that warm tingle began to flood into her legs. It felt distractingly nice, lie she was taking a dip in a heated spa, instead of wiggling about in a freezing cave. Her resistance to the treatment soon began to wane, the selfish noble’s will easily mollified by the pleasant sensation.

That might have been different if she’d been able to see what was happening. The mimic’s powers were working full time now, and the creature was fascinated to find that the process was wonderfully addictive. It felt better than she’d ever imagined to directly mould someone with her own two hands.

Mirabelle’s feet were still stone, but they may as well have been the softest clay under her fingers, being reworked from blistered roundness into slender smoothness. Her lack of strength and toughened skin was remedied, turning her, unknowingly, into the kind of woman who could stand on her feet for days on end, if required, and look good while doing so. And sculpting her shoes into dainty heels would certainly help with that last part!

But that was just the start of the mimic’s plans. She was rising up now, tracing her hands under her original’s thighs. The dress was starting to get in the way now, but a wave of the double’s arm gathered the fabric up, and then it too was starting to change under her wicked fingers. It was growing shorter, for one thing, and turning from thick, expensive fabric to a black, lacy kind of design, based on the former noble’s own memories.

Oh yes, she had the perfect idea in mind for this.

When the skirt was made properly mini, and liable to flip up and expose what lay beneath at a moment’s notice, those magical fingers returned once more to the flesh beneath it, squeezing and massaging the woman’s thighs, gathering her up like she’d gathered her skirt, and thickening her up, smoothing her down. Soon, those thighs, which before had been gangly thin, were slender where needed, and meaty where required. Her hips widened, ass fattening to a proper panty-clad derriere, ready to pull every eye in the room whenever she bent over. The imposter smiled, giving her cheeks a clap before moving on, content that this was suitable for Mirabelle’s new position.

And Mirabelle herself was quite lost as to what was going on, barely restraining herself from moaning, and not managing to hold back her yelp at the smack. Her body was yielding easily now, practically encouraging the other creature to continue – and that was an invitation they were all too willing to seize.

Now the mimic was getting high up, smoothing her victim’s middle for a moment, before really going to work on her chest. For a moment, she considered shrinking the woman’s bust. She knew how proud of it they were, and the idea of taking away something she thought so highly of herself for sent a thrill down the mimic’s new spine. But she also knew that this would be her first thrall, and she wanted to show her off – so instead, she focused on making those boobs as big as she felt her pet-to-be’s figure could support. Get her some real melons in there~

Her arms, too, were sculpted, made slender, but stronger than they looked. Ready to carry anything their owner commanded of them. The dress was changing too, and here the mimic spent some considerable time getting the details right, thinning the fabric and shrinking the coverage. She wanted to make sure she got just the right balance of slutty and servile, pulling heavily from Mirabelle’s memories. From rich green and golden weave, it became smooth, silken white and netted, lacy black. Practical design became revealing expanses of cleavage and figure. Fancy jewellery became fabric, a choker, a pair of cuffs, and an elegant white tiara. There, just right.

Was this what a maid’s outfit looked like? It was, according to the noble’s memories, but the details were a little fuzzy. Oh well. She could always correct it later.

Now, at long last, came the face, and there was nothing Mirabelle could do to resist. Thumbs stroked her cheeks, slimming their flab and enhancing their bones. Fingers pinched her lips, opening and plumping them up. Tips ticked her fluttering eyes, changing their size and colour, from deep brown to sweet blue. A gentle palm even adjusted her nose, softening and shrinking it. It was a whirlwind of pleasure, one that left her gasping and bewildered when it relented.

A final touch was a stroked hand over her hair, growing it out long and turning it the colour of golden wheat, a smooth honey blonde. There, done. The mimic smiled as she circled the woman again. She was perfect!

Though, of course, she herself didn’t see it that way. “What- What have you done to me?” The human gasped, still swaying in place, but managing to look down at her altered body with shock. “What is this?”

“Why, what you deserve!” The imposter smirked, vibrantly enjoying the feeling of throwing the other woman’s cruelty back in her face. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

The exiled noble spluttered. “How dare- Don’t you have any idea who you are messing with?! I am Mirabelle Stormcrest!”

“Hmmm…” The mimic shrugged theatrically, still smiling with the woman’s own (former) face. “I don’t know about that.” With a small degree of effort, she turned her victim around, and angled her body so that she was forced to stare into the pool. With the light of the torch and the crystal shining through the cave, the still surface had become a mirror. “Tell me, does that girl look like Mirabelle Stormcrest?”

The human gasped, staring at her reflection in shock. A completely different woman stared back at her from the pool. “What is this? I look like- like-!”

“You look like a Mimi, I think!” The double nodded, as if she was pondering some cosmic truth. “Yeah, that sounds right. Mimi the maid, my devoted bimbo thrall~”

The noble’s brow furrowed. “Madness. You may have changed my body, imposter, but you have no purchase on my soul. Once I am free of this curse you have inflicted upon me, I will make you pay a thousand times over for your insolence. I am, and will always remain, Mirabelle Storm-Ngh!”

Her tongue tripped as her copy reached out with both hands and grabbed her head, her palms glowing with unearthly purple light. “Well, let’s see about that.”

Unlike her transformation powers, the mimic didn’t have much in the way of mental manipulation spells. It was a shame. Sure, she could turn this woman fully to stone, or into a dumb animal or something, but that wouldn’t satisfy the need in her chest, the one that demanded she claim a thrall.

Still, she had one option. Mirabelle’s weak spell, her minor charm, which only really weakened people’s wills, it didn’t snuff them out like both women wanted. But that was with just one dose. Perhaps, if she kept applying it, over a longer period of time, she could make it work?

It wasn’t like either of them were going anywhere.

So she poured all of her magic into the former noble’s mind, focusing all of her will into breaking Mirabelle’s. The two locked eyes, both shining with purple light, the mimic’s face set with concentration, the new blonde’s furrowed with confusion and resistance. The battle was on.

And the imposter came in swinging.

Dumb!

Slut!

Slave!

The words rang out in Mirabelle’s head, shouted in her own voice, and with the spell working away at her will, they were louder than her own thoughts, easily pushing them down. Still, she tried to resist them as best she could, her soul refusing such ideas. She wasn’t dumb, she was no slut, and she certainly wasn’t a slave!

“No! I… Resist…!” She growled through gritted teeth – and then gasped as the hands around her head glowed brighter with another application of the spell.

You’re my dumb slutty slave!

“I… I’m not…”

Not smart!

“N-no! I… I…!”

Want to obey!

“I want… N-no, I’m just…”

A total slut!

“Ooohh…”

On and on it went, each wave of resistance crashing and breaking against another redoubling of the spell. Soon her inner voice was so quiet she could barely hear it, while the imposter’s words were drumming against her very soul!

Bimbo!

Whore!

Thrall!

Her eyes crossed, her thoughts a spiralling whirl. Her mind was caught between two conflicting truths that she couldn’t choose between. Was she smart, or was she a bimbo? Was she a noble, or was she a whore? Was she the mistress, or was she the thrall? She- She could hardly tell anymore!

“I… Who… Who am I…?” She muttered, the spell shining bright. And in front of her, her own face grinned.

“You’re Mimi, my bimbo servant~” The other woman explained, casting the spell again.

“I…?” No, no! She had to resist!

Mimi!

She had to… fight…!

Dumb little slutty maid

She… She was Mirabelle! She had to…!

Stop thinking

She had to…!

Start serving

She… She…

Be a good girl and give in, Mimi~

“I am- I am Mir- Mi-” Mimi. “Miiiiraaaami!”

A sound like breaking glass echoed through her head, and like a sigh, all of the resistance flooded out of her as her will shattered irrevocably. The blonde’s lips twitched into a dim smile as the brains behind her eyes drained into utter vapidity, totally convinced of her stupidity. She was Mimi, her Mistress’s slutty maid.

And that was all she would ever be.

The mimic gasped in blissful triumph as she felt her total victory – but she wasn’t done yet! No, there was still more to do. Her power reached in and worked the human’s mind like she had worked her body, stroking and coaxing it into its new proper shape.

Forget.

Memories of her old life vanished, massaged into nothingness.

Dumb.

Her capacity for thought slowed to a crawl, sealing the humiliating fate of her old self.

Obey me, forever!

“Forever…” The blonde bimbo sighed happily, her voice lilted with an empty giggle. Her eyes locked onto her Mistress, and the mimic was delighted to realise she could feel her thrall’s love and devotion to her from just that one look.

“That’s a good girl.” She smiled, finally pulling back her hands and looking over her handiwork. Oh yes, there was no trace of Mirabelle left here. There was only Mimi. Her first thrall. “Very good girl.”

“Thanks, Mistress!” Now freed of her stone entrapment, Mimi bounced in place, clapping merrily as her tits jiggled. “I’m happy to serve you. Like, everyone should be doing that already, right?”

“Indeed they should!” The mimic grinned, straightening herself out now that her work was done. “Everyone should be worshiping the name of… Ah. Hmn. I should have a name, shouldn’t I?”

“Should you?” The blue eyed blonde looked at her in innocent confusion. “I dunno, Mistress. I always just call you Mistress!”

“… I mean that does work, yes, but…” Hmm. A name. A name. What should she call herself? Sure, she could just take Mirabelle’s, she’d already taken everything else from her, but she didn’t really want to. She wanted… She wanted… Ah!

It was funny. As she thought on the matter, she realised that she already did have a name. One that emerged from the base darkness of her soul, known before she’d even known it. Something that was truly hers, not stolen from the former Mirabelle.

“Eidolyn.”

The word emerged from her lips fully formed and whole, much like she had from the ether of this chamber. It felt good and right on her, a fate she was bound to with no inclination to resist. She was Eidolyn. That was all there was to it.

“Huh? What was that, Mistress?” The blonde had been distracted by her chest. Typical Mimi.

“Nothing that concerns you, dear.” Eidolyn’s face twisted into a fond smile. Oh yes, her thrall was truly delightful. Truly, truly delightul. But taking her, here, in the light of the crystal? It had only ignited her hunger to claim more thralls. Mm, she was sure of it. This was only the beginning.

“Come, slut.” She handed the bimbo a torch to carry and beckoned as she began walking towards the exit. “There’s a whole world out there beyond the darkness of these caves. I want to see it with my own eyes – and claim it with my own hands~”

Ahhh. She couldn’t wait.

And her bimbo servant followed after her happily, tittering along, blissfully unaware of how much her Mistress had stolen from her – but certainly looking forward to seeing how much she’d steal from everyone else~