Tales of the Many-Tailed - 5 - Growing pains (Patreon)

A strange, sheep-like odour wafted from Martin, who had stationed himself within sword range of the outer door, rather than beside it. Light from the glowing ceiling stones caught on a waxy sheen across the riveted chain links not covered by his tabard. With her front paws crossed, Edith studied the guard’s equipment, mentally comparing it to papers on medieval attire. The tabard and gambeson appeared solidly dyed red, with no trace of runs, and made of tightly woven cotton rather than the linen she’d expected.

Is that smell lanolin or some other oil?

As Edith stood and stretched in a cat-like motion, Grace emerged from her room with grim determination. She carried herself differently from the demure air she'd had the day before, yet she still pulled Edith into a hug.

“Do you think I should get a page to mind Goldie?” Grace asked, before kissing the top of Edith’s head despite her meow of protest.

“No page will prevent a cat from being a cat,” Martin replied. “They will always show up in the strangest places. You’d be better off getting her a collar with your crest, so people know she’s yours.”

“I’ll have someone bring you breakfast, Goldie.” After another kiss, Grace set her down and headed out.

With a quiet spring, Edith jumped from the couch, but the pair blocked her from slipping out with them.

She’ll be gone for a while.

While tending to morning matters, their footsteps faded into the lower corridors, and when they died off, she counted slowly to one hundred. With that lead established, Edith melted into the clearance's darkness and peeked out from the other side. A guard further down the hall didn’t spot her when she slipped away. Her path led her to the cellar, where she headed for a particular room. Among the torments of the previous evening, she'd smelled dyes and cotton in one of the initial rooms. Slipping into the cellar corridor, she tried to remember when the scent had abraded her nose during the heart-pounding evening.

They shouldn’t find a maid at fault when I’ve already given them the slip. Two goals today. First, determine what happens if I activate shapeshifting while dressed; second, confirm I can open the secret ramp.

A third of the way down the corridor, what she sought clawed at her nose. A mingled stench of sour ammonia along with an astringent aroma reminded her of oak galls, hopefully telltale signs of old-fashioned dyes. Edith swam through the shadow beneath the door and used the image of herself in her twenties to take on human form.

The cold stone floor leeched heat from her soles as Edith patted the first cloth-wrapped bundle. With a groan held inside, she worked her way along, reaching up and down to check each compartment. At the last bundle, she peeled back layers of hessian to confirm what the first touch had told her. Inside the chamber weren’t the shelves of uniforms she’d hoped for but bags containing dark bolts of cloth. A few boxes stacked at the very end contained spools of thread and needles.

The palace tailor or seamstress has plenty of materials. Damn it. If they don’t have pre-made clothing, stealing a maid’s uniform to blend in will get her in trouble. Maybe I should aim for something plain from a noble’s cupboard? Though if their maid notices, they might raise a lot of fuss. Temporary loan from the laundry, perhaps? That’s fine if I knew where they did laundry. Time to explore.

Once she’d reverted to kitten form, Edith returned the way she’d come. Drifting along the main corridor, she hid in the shadows behind banners or tapestries at the first approach of noise. Along the way, her nose, rather than her eyes, investigated side corridors and adjoining rooms. Deep in the shadows behind a tapestry, guards unaware of her presence walked past. A male tabby wove between their feet and demanded treats with fierce chirps.

Why do I stay disguised in this form? Minimal sample sizes and paranoid about being tracked by scent. Well, I can confirm for myself if my shapeshifting alters my scent. Sorry, Grace. You seem a nice kid, and you’ve got some pain coming with your sister dying, but you’ve people on your side who would happily see me dead.

When the group left the section, Edith emerged and collected the new cat’s scent, sniffing where he had marked a banner as he passed. Possibilities bounced about, with feline scents mixing in her mind.

A brief swim beneath a shadowed door took her into a tidy office, lined with bookcases. Hard-bound covers, leather, and sap mixed with the harsh oak gall in the ink scratched at her nose. A polished wooden table sat in the centre of a dark wool rug that held dozens of scents—grass, steel, dirt, and blood—that had settled into it over the years. Behind the table sat a hard wooden chair with spindled columns forming its back; a vermillion silken jacket, its sleeves drooping off the straight crosspiece to which the spindles connected.

The three scents set a small spark spinning in her thoughts. With a picture of a tabby with gold-and-white patches on her black-banded body formed in Edith’s mind, she pushed the blend toward the shapeshifting rune. Lightning danced across her fur as its colour rippled and grew longer, and she put on muscle as her bones lengthened to match the image. Yet this time the pain felt as if it were trying to pull her in three directions and threatened to tear flesh from bone. When the pain finally stopped, she marked the rug with her cheek and let out a soft groan. The odour that came back confirmed her scent remained her own.

I had three scents in mind; so did it go to the most familiar one?

Once the lingering aches had faded, she focused on Amber’s scent alone and the likeness of the disguised Kitsune in the rune. Though she grew larger than before, the shift's pain came sharp and clean, not lingering with malicious sadism. Once settled in the new form, a test rub against a worn patch left only the local Kitsune’s odour on the threads. Twisting back and forth to take in her body, she’d matched it to what she’d seen of Amber’s form.

If scents are keys to bodies, then I tried to turn the lock with three keys at once. I’ll try with just an image.

Leaving the scent alone, she tried with a mental image of her neighbour’s young tabby cat. Flesh, bone, and fur bubbled and shifted through the same painful transformation as when she first took on her Goldie identity. When it was over, she stood trembling in the body of a young adult tabby, and a distinct scent tickled her nose.

The failed change had cost more energy than all her successes; combined, they left her hollowed out. Eyes heavy and unwilling to risk mistakes from haste and low reserves, Edith stretched out on the floor and rested her head on her paws.

When she came to, the corridor was quiet, with only muffled echoes signalling continued life within the castle. The hollow in her chest had refilled with lightning, but her stomach protested. A gurgle of hunger bubbled up from her stomach into her throat, finally slipping past her lips as a strange burp.

As she slipped through the shadow to exit the office, the chill across her fur amplified the hunger nipping at her and pulled warmth from her muscles. With the coast clear, she quickly emerged from it into the corridor and trotted to the next door. Voices beyond prompted Edith to scratch at the lacquered wood and let out a yowl of protest.

I don’t understand why they have these sturdy doors, yet the castle has side doors?

It took repeated performances of feline frustration before the latch clicked. The door cracked open to show a young woman with an emerald gaze, dressed in a pale green gown. Her scent lacked floral notes but carried a tickling aroma and the smell of leathery parchment, a combination that filled the air as she bent to pat Edith.

“Did you get caught in there?” the woman asked brightly.

Edith rubbed her cheek across the woman’s forearm and darted forward. As she trotted around the woman and pushed against her leg with tail held high, a peal of laughter rang out. “Are you trying to sweeten me up? I have nothing in my office that would suit you; still, a morning snack wouldn’t hurt. Shall we see what the kitchen has?”

Beyond the door, two junctions and assorted side doors provided alternative routes, but the aromas wafting from one tugged at Edith’s nose. She trotted ahead, tail held high, only to turn a few corners and find another closed door. The smell of grilling chicken and heated duck fat made her nose twitch.

Oh, for an opposable thumb.

“See you race ahead and then find you have to wait,” the woman chided. “It shows that doing things at their proper pace helps. I can’t have you getting underfoot, Mistress Kitty. Someone might get hurt.”

Beyond the door, a long corridor led to another junction point, and Edith’s mental map put them close to the kitchen she’d seen the night before. From the door directly ahead, the scent of cooking chicken and other meats filled the air.

“You can’t be underfoot.” The woman crouched and smoothly collected Edith before she could even meow.

With an elbow, Edith’s escort opened the door, then stepped carefully inside. Her caution proved wise as workers rushed along a line of benches running down the length of the kitchen. Each section had a single person working in a flurry while others swept away finished items or delivered new ingredients.

Directly in front of them, a chef broke down cooked chickens in a flurry of motion. Three passed before him in the time it took the woman carrying Edith to take two steps. Working by his own criteria, he cut them into quarters, smaller pieces, or fine slices with swift cleaver strikes. Beyond him, helpers pulled bars holding rows of cooked chickens from above a fireplace. Others shuffled the pieces he’d prepared into baskets and covered trays. Though he had a dozen people helping him, the chef’s cleaver moved so fast they scurried to keep up.

“Mistress Ruby, what brings you from your ledgers?”

“Morning, Dominic. Do you have a pastry or a pie for me, and something for my friend here?”

“She not finding enough mice?”

“I have no mice among my shelves,” Ruby replied. “And I feel jerky wouldn’t be good for any cat.”

“Get Mistress Ruby a snack. Don’t jump up here, fur ball.” His cleaver rang against the block in quick succession, and he flicked chunks of steaming chicken aside. A helper collected the cuts, wrapped them, and set them at the front of the bench, just as another kitchen hand brought over a larger cloth-wrapped bundle and a small jug of apple cider, sloshing appealingly.

The smell of a buttery crust and spiced apple stuff within teased Edith’s nose. Her stomach gurgled in protest as she draped herself across Ruby’s shoulder.

“At least the fur ball isn’t dumb,” Dominic grumbled. “Perhaps you should set her loose to hunt beetles in the garden. Then she wouldn’t disturb you or the Lord Chamberlain.”

No wonder she can just wander into the kitchen.

“She reminded me to eat.” Ruby patted Edith’s head before she collected the basket. “We’ll get out of the way.”

I need a human disguise, but I’m sure the castle staff are a fairly closed circle. Even dressed in their uniform, anything could give me away.

With a quick retreat and a few more turns and doors, they reached outside near some of the garden beds Edith had blown past through shadow steps. A group ranging from early teens to grey-haired moved among the garden beds, pulling weeds; all wore the same tan linen shirts, dark pants, and sandals, regardless of gender. Their woven broad-brimmed hats kept the sun out of their eyes and off their necks. The group nearest Ruby stopped and bowed to her, and after she moved past without a word, they resumed toiling.

After Ruby parked herself on a shaded bench, she released Edith. Soon, Ruby had set the chicken on the bench beside her and started on her pastry, diced apple bulging with each bite. Eyeing the steam issuing from the freshly cooked chicken, Edith stretched out and waited. A cawing announced ravens in the nearby fruit trees, and she shuffled closer to put breakfast between her paws.

“Life as a cat would be so much easier,” Ruby murmured.

I’m sure the people that you ignored would say the same about your life; things are always greener on the other side of the fence.

“Did I say something to offend you, kitty? You glared at me so fiercely.” Ruby stroked Edith’s ears again. “I’m sorry you have to wait. You’re a nice, sensible kitty to recognise the chicken is too hot to eat. I can’t stay long, so I’ll tip this onto the bench and leave you to eat it once it cools.”

They’d been sitting a while when a blur of motion caught Edith’s eye. A black streak headed her stash. It all happened in a series of lightning twitches. Paws pinned black wings against the stone, and teeth crashed down on the back of the bird’s neck. A crunch of bones sounded as the raven’s neck collapsed in her jaws, and Edith got a mouthful of blood that also dusted her cooling meal. Then Edith’s mind caught up.

Spitting out feathers, Edith shook her head. The smell of the dead bird spiked hunger through her guts. She let out a frustrated hiss at the rest of the murder in the orchard trees.

I didn’t even think about that attack; does my body have a cat’s instincts? Stupid suicidal raven. I just wanted some food. Is that too much to ask?

Her grumbling came out as low growls, and Edith gulped down the chicken meat before another thief tried.

A flicker of white came from Ruby’s hand, and the blood that had dotted her dress along with the bench vanished, though the meat remained tainted. The light stabbed at Edith’s eyes, and a protesting chirp erupted from her throat.

“I’m sorry for startling you, but your kill made a mess,” Ruby said softly before returning to her apple pastry. “Are you going to eat that raven as well?”

Who knows what it might have?

Eating the last of the chicken, Edith meticulously groomed herself and ignored the raven.

When Ruby finished her snack and licked the crumbs from her fingers, she gave Edith a parting pat. The lady collected the odds and ends into the hand basket and left Edith to the morning sunlight.

Left alone with the gardeners, Edith dropped from the bench, shedding her lazing act.

Let’s see if I can find a library and learn about runes. I bet Grace's bookshelves had stuff on them, if only I’d dared change form to read them.

At a trot, Edith re-traced the route she’d followed last night towards the great hall. As she neared the great hall windows, a cluster of guards seemed focused on a rabbit-girl with a man on the main path between the garden beds. A dark-haired maid handed the rabbit-girl something, and Edith ran forward to get a better look.

The woman wore a bluish-green top and skirt, with white rabbit-like ears sticking out of blue hair. A long white scarf, embroidered with a dark blue version of the two-headed griffon emblem, hung around her neck. A fluffy white tail poked through a hole in her skirt. Next to her, a brunette man in a dark blue tabard with a black two-headed griffon leaned on a rune-etched stave. Further along the castle side, other garden beds had groups moving along rows, trimming back bushes so they could pass between them. The previous night, the fields barely showed the first sprouts emerging from the ground.

Her mind flashed to a matching rabbit-girl in a shirt and pants moving past her hiding spot after their arrival, and Edith crept forward to learn what was going on.

Alright, she’s got new clothing. Does she have spares I could pinch?

“I could grow them more.”

“Don’t push too hard. Stop when the flowers appear, so the bees have time to find them, Lady Jasmine.”

The maid took a mug back from Jasmine and stepped aside. Edith stalked closer, ignoring the rough stones of the garden path digging into her pads.

A sharp edge within Jasmine’s scent caught Edith’s nose before the woman’s face twisted. She jabbed a finger at the latest grown field. “This won’t help against any army.”

Avoiding starvation during a siege would help. If they have a local version of Gympie-Gympie, its stinging hairs could ruin a camped army's life; armour has gaps. A charge across a field that sprouts rose bushes with brutally long thorns. Use your imagination, Jasmine.

“All practice helps you develop your class strength and refine your knowledge of your runes.” The man’s firm tenor carried the patient tone of a line repeated too often.

“Are you patronising me?” Jasmine turned toward him, a hand on one hip.

“No, Lady Jasmine. My apologies if you took it that way. Like many new class bearers, you’ve an urge to do greater things. You have your legends and stories, and our youths have tales of heroes. Few see the cost paid before those great deeds can occur. Strength, endurance, and proficiency in anything take time to develop.”

“Sorry, Aidan, I’m feeling out of place and missing my family. Can you help me find the pieces I don’t see?”

Aidan smiled reassuringly. “Is there something in particular that irritates you about this exercise?”

“What I don’t see is how this rune would help with any battle.” Jasmine rubbed her neck. “I like to know the purpose of things, and I have a hard time trusting the process whose end goal I don’t understand. Why not have me practice my lightning call instead?”

“You’re underestimating this rune.”

“I’ve no experience in fighting, let alone your style of warfare. What example can you give me?”

“I’m a high wizard, not a high druid, and we only have records of their runes,” Aidan protested.

“Something is better than nothing.” Jasmine pleaded. “Help me see a purpose. This feels useless to me.”

“Fine. From my research, a high druid can turn even a desolate plain into a forest that would obstruct an army’s march. Cut off from support, and faced with overwhelming odds, even demons will surrender.” Aidan rested a hand on her shoulder and met her gaze. “You’re doing well and developing your mana vessel for later training. At this rate, in a few days we’ll have you practice on unplanted fields.”

“Why unplanted?”

“Records say your plant control rune can even sprout and grow any plants the possessor desires.”

“Makes sense; it would be hard to turn a plain into a forest if you needed to put the seedlings in place. Fine, have it your way. I don’t want to be stuck working in the background support when people are dying. When can I try my offensive runes?”

“The initial practice of lightning call and other weather runes is best done under the right conditions. If there aren’t, you’ll exhaust yourself in two or three attempts.”

“So sun rays on hot days, and lightning call on cloudy?” Jasmine asked.

“Yes. When you master the runes, the weather won’t matter given your class. But today’s weather is mild for spring, and the clouds are too high. Do you feel able to go again?”

A greenish glow shone from between Jasmine’s raised hands, and the crops in the field grew before Edith’s eyes. The garden beds that had only sprouts the night before soon had greenery to Aidan’s knees. Within moments, they had grown into waist-high bushes whose blooms released a honeysuckle aroma that thickened the air.

Depending on the bean, that’s anything from forty to sixty days of growth.

With a slight tremble in her hands, Jasmine pulled the scarf from around her neck and wiped her face.

“Perhaps not,” Aidan said. “You’ve advanced dozens of the castle’s garden beds, and noon is still a long way off. I’d suggest you have a rest and see how fast your mana vessel refills. Shall I meet you after lunch?”

“I can go on.” Jasmine insisted, almost dropping the scarf as she tried to set it around her neck again.

“Fully emptying any of the vessels can be harmful. Your hand is trembling.” Aidan took the scarf from her as she fumbled it again. “I’m sure it feels like someone is hollowing out your mana vessel with a knife right now.”

Oh, the new arrivals will need more clothing. No one appeared carrying a pack. Someone will make or alter clothing for them; maybe I can pilfer from my fellow victims’ rooms. If I follow her scent, I can find where they’re all staying. Doors! I’ll cozy up to her and accompany her back to her room since she’s going to rest.

With their attention on each other, the pair didn't notice her approach until Edith marked the back of Jasmine’s leg.

“The frequent use of any class runes that draw on mana helps the mana vessel grow. However, overstrain it, and you risk permanent injury, so follow my instructions.” Aidan finished re-knotting the scarf around Jasmine’s neck and patted her shoulder. “Time to rest. If you don’t feel like sleeping, I’d suggest you sit somewhere, pat that cat, and relax. Give your vessel time to refill. It will give you a baseline for recovery and show your progress in the coming days.”

Come on, show me your room. I want to see if you’ve got spare clothing to steal.

As Jasmine drew breath to protest, Edith head-butted what she expected to be the back of Jasmine’s knee and felt an odd joint instead.

The instinctive flex drew a wry laugh from Jasmine. “It seems even this cat knows better than I do. I’ll return to my room and read.”

“Then I’ll see you in the courtyard after the meal,” Aidan replied, then nodded and headed off the way Edith had come.

Accompanied by the maid, Jasmine set off, and Edith trotted along. The pair entered the inner castle through a side door. In the banner-lined marble halls, they passed only the occasional person, but dozens of other cats roamed or lounged. Many tried to exchange sniffs with Edith, but she ignored them, only jumping at one's antics, and sent him off with a hiss.

I better not go into heat in this form.

“One thing I didn’t expect was to see so many cats,” Jasmine murmured.

“Does your world not use them to keep the rodents and bugs under control?”

I’m not eating a bug.

“In the place where I lived, people kept them solely as pets. Houses might have one or two; most had none,” Jasmine replied. “Though it’s a common joke that dogs have owners and cats have servants.”

The maid laughed. “They are pretty aloof and so judgmental.”

“Like nobles?” Jasmine’s sneer caused the maid to stiffen.

The maid froze and grabbed Jasmine’s arm, looking both ways as Jasmine demanded to know what was wrong.

“Lady Jasmine, it’s best not to speak that way,” the maid murmured, still frantically looking back and forth along the corridor. “A lord could take offence, and you're new to your class.”

“What would they do?” Jasmine asked dismissively.

The maid stepped close and cluttered Jasmine’s hands. “Take offence, and if you lose a duel, who knows what they might ask for in compensation? As your maid, I’d be in trouble as well for failing to advise you.”

“You mean old-fashioned duelling is a thing here?”

“It’s an ancient law. For the slight to their reputation, a noble could challenge you to a duel. Even if you choose spells, they can have someone champion them. You arrived with the hero, but that doesn’t protect you from the law. If you don’t have the funds to pay the fine on the spot, they can have you put in a contract.”

A heated scent scratched at Edith’s nose.

“Will you tell me more when we get to the rooms?”

“After you have rested, Lady Jasmine. Please speak calmly even if insulted. The king gave you and all those summoned the title of baron, but that is the lowest rank of nobility. Speak to any of the landed nobility that way, and I don’t know what might happen.”

“Worse than a duel?”

“They might demand the king put you and me in the public stocks. Depending on who owes the noble, we might end up in a dangerous area of the outer town. I heard of a girl not being right in the head after what happened to her in a mere night.”

Jasmine gulped. “This world isn’t turning out like I’d expected when the angel spoke to me. What else should I know?”

“After you’ve rested.”

“I keep having people tell me that,” Jasmine muttered.

After that, the rest of their trip stayed under an ominous cloud, with the maid’s hands frequently white-knuckling the seams of her dress. Eventually, the corridors took them to the grassed courtyard from the other day. Jasmine’s room was three flights up, and she took the stairs with an odd hop in her gait. One hop ahead of Edith gave an unexpected glimpse under Jasmine’s skirt and revealed an extended toe-and-ankle arrangement instead of normal feet.

Did they put you on the third floor to make it awkward?

Jasmine’s accommodation was a sizable one-room affair, with thick rugs covering the stone floor. Wide windows faced the court. Its curtains fluttered in a gentle breeze that swirled through the room, playing with the drapes tied back against dark wood posts at the corner of the bed opposite the window. The top of a polished oak wardrobe was visible beyond a cloth screen in one corner near the window. Across from it stood a vanity with a polished steel mirror, with a padded bench overloaded with clothing in front of it. Beside the vanity sat a writing desk with a stack of books in one corner and some notes scrawled on paper scattered about its surface.

To get out of the way, Edith hopped onto the armchair in front of the desk.

“More garments to try on,” Jasmine drawled. She dipped into the first basket and pulled out a pale blue, summery halter-neck dress that might have come to her knees; the white and yellow of bright daisies stood out along the neck ties. “This is nice.”

“Don’t wear that, Lady Jasmine.” Sue grabbed it from her hands.

“Don’t snatch things. Tell me why.”

“It’s an insult. Avoid anything with daisies. If someone tries to give you anything decorated with them, say only your taste in flowers doesn’t include such flowers, living or artificial.”

“Will you tell me why?”

“Daisies are part of the emblem of the Petal Guild.” Sue shifted her weight and avoided Jasmine’s gaze.

“Daisies? Petal Guild? Are they flower sellers? Sue, what is the issue with this dress? After learning about duels. I want details, not vague dos and don’ts.”

A bright red blush ran to the tips of Sue’s ears. “Someone sent you a prostitute’s dress. It was right on top, so they wanted you to see it before I had the chance to check them.”

“How is this a whore’s dress? It looks like a summer dress to me.”

“It’s too good for a corner girl, maybe something one might wear in a viewing room while parading before potential clients.”

That's a step up from underwear, high heels and maybe stockings.

“You know this how?”

“Please don’t judge,” Sue pleaded, her blush fading.

“I’m not judging. I just want to know.”

“People don’t use the word whore if they’re not judging. My aunt was a lady of the night.”

“Was?” Jasmine’s tone softened. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, she’s alive.” Sue waved her hands frantically. “Aunt Robyn runs a clean brothel in the inner district now. Fancy place, discreet door with no need for a sign. My mother threw a fit when I was a little girl and played dress-up with some of my aunt’s things. I caught an earful even though I was nine.”

“It’s not illegal?”

“No, they pay the king’s taxes.” Sue laughed. “Why would it be illegal?”

“Alright, so why would someone send me this?”

The fading blush returned with vigour. “Stories paint rabbit beast-kin as having a high craving for sex. There are so many crass jokes about them. Did the angel really let you all pick races?”

“Yes. We were all human,” Jasmine said. “Mine just showed me a silver-on-white scroll listing species. I wanted to be different, and rabbits are cute. That’s one thing I never was in my old life, so I wanted to be pretty. I didn’t want people thinking I was snotty, so I didn’t pick an elven race.”

“And they didn’t warn you about their reputation?”

“They just moved on to classes when I picked rabbit beast-kin. What do people say? What sort of jokes will I hear? The worst you can think of, Sue.”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Sue. I’ve got superb hearing. If someone will whisper them behind my back, I’d rather know in advance.”

“Why did the rabbit girl cross the road? Because her last corner had turned white.”

“I don’t get it. What do you mean?” Jasmine brow furrowed.

“The man’s stuff doesn’t stay inside a woman. It leaks out,” Sue stammered.

“Ew,” Jasmine squeaked.

“You wanted to hear the worst.”

Jasmine groaned and scrubbed at her face. “Are the rabbit-kin actually like that?”

“I don’t know, Lady Jasmine. You’re the first one I’ve met.”

Hands shaking, Jasmine retreated from the basket, delight turning to suspicion as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Where do they live?”

“They live throughout the kingdoms,” Sue hedged. The half-truth scratched at Edith, but Jasmine seemed oblivious. “I’ve just never met one. My auntie says that some work for her because it’s the only job they can find.”

“That sounds so human. Tell stories, typecast people and then not let them work anywhere else.” Jasmine sighed. “When I was told I’d gotten caught in a summoning, I thought for sure we’d be going somewhere nice, people whose only worry was an invading army. It seems I’m still the laughingstock.”

Sheltered kids always see only in shades of black and white. Anywhere with people will always be shades of grey.

“I’m sorry we disappoint you.”

“Sorry, that was unfair of me. You don’t disappoint me. You’ve been kind and patient, especially since it seems I’m putting you in danger. This is just so much; maybe I need more rest.”

“Shall I take away those you didn’t like?” Sue put a hand on the pile of clothing near the vanity.

“Don’t overload yourself.” Jasmine pushed off sandals and stretched out.

“I’ll take some now and bring someone to carry the rest after we’ve gone through the baskets. They must be raiding the closets of the ladies-in-waiting for most of these.” Sue gathered an armful and made sure the daisy-themed halter dress was in it. She hesitated at the door and nodded towards Edith. “Would you like me to shoo her out?”

“She’s fine; maybe she’s looking to adopt me. If she meows too much, I’ll show her the door.”

With a farewell wave, Sue bustled out.

Before her footsteps echoed back from the stairwell, Jasmine’s breathing had softened. Edith gave her an hour to settle into REM before she slipped to the floor and transformed back to her humanoid form near the clothing Sue planned to take away later.

Her flesh had barely stabilised when Jasmine snapped upright and inhaled sharply.