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"So, that"s it! Pull yourself together! Do you really want to let some kind of magic swallow you up?" — clenching her fists and squeezing her eyes shut, Teresa tried to get herself under control. — "This magic. It"s all magic. A side effect. That"s exactly why you decided to use it far away from the palace. So. So get a grip, you pathetic rag, and gather as much data as you can in these 12 hours!"
It seemed that this inner monologue gave the girl strength. On her face, for the first time since waking up in the barn, there appeared not confusion, but something else — her brows drew together, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her chin lifted slightly, as if she were once again the one who made courtiers freeze with a single glance.
"Data. Observations. Testing the boundaries of reality," Kalendor repeated to himself, straightening up and opening his eyes. At the same time, the skirt immediately reminded him of itself, wrapping around his legs with a heavy fold, the corset tightened his ribs, and his breasts, as if on purpose, swayed with the first step so much that he almost stumbled again.
— Stop it… — he hissed, as if he could give an order to his own body. To his own breasts.
"So, here"s how it is — it looks like both of them took me for some kind of peasant girl. One of them even decided I was his daughter! How disgusting!" Kalendor thought, his face twisting at that moment. — "I need to understand the scale… of this illusion."
He looked around and only now noticed that the hair on his head had grown a little, now covering his ears, though it still didn"t reach his neck.
His fingers instinctively reached up and sank into strands that shouldn"t have been there. The hair was softer, thinner than he remembered having, and — what was especially infuriating — it obediently lay between his fingers, as if it had been doing that its whole life. It really did cover his ears, lightly tickling the skin, and the sensation turned out to be so… strange that Kalendor grimaced.
— Fuck, — he growled through his teeth. — I need a mirror.
Those bold words, especially for a girl, echoed inside with a strange double wave: Kalendor"s familiar anger and an instant, almost girlish fear. He froze, as if expecting punishment from the world itself for that harshness, and automatically looked away to the side.
In the cloudy glass of the nearest window, a reflection flashed by. Blurry, distorted, and semi-transparent, yet clear enough to make his heart twitch unpleasantly. The contours of the face were recognizable: the line of the cheekbones, the shape of the nose, the stubborn cut of the mouth — all of it was his, too familiar, masculine. And at the same time, framing that face were чужие details: hair grown slightly below the ears, softly wrapping around the head, smoothing out the usual sharpness. The eyes seemed bigger? No, that was just imagination.
Kalendor frowned and leaned closer, but the reflection immediately vanished, leaving only the outlines of the room behind the window.
— Wonderful… — he breathed out through his teeth, lowering his gaze to the huge cleavage. — I need a proper mirror.
And then the realization surfaced clearly, without fuss: Elina has a mirror. That"s where I"ll look at myself.
He turned sharply and somehow too confidently toward the narrow alley and started walking.
— To Elina, — he tossed shortly into the emptiness, like an order to himself, straightening his arm forward and nodding to himself.
His steps were not the way he was used to. They were shorter, with a light sway of the hips that shifted his pelvis left, then right. He tried to walk like a man, but it was impossible. Every time he straightened up and took a step, the heavy breasts forced him to hunch slightly to keep his balance, and at that moment he forgot about his hips, which immediately started swaying again.
“Damn it all to hell,” — he hissed under his breath, lifting the hem of the skirt that tangled around his legs so he could speed up at least a little. The fabric obediently gathered in his hand, forming a tight bundle, and in that very moment Kalendor felt just how unforgivably familiar this movement was.
A chill ran down his spine from that realization.
— So this is how you work, — Kalendor whispered, still clenching the fabric in his fist. — Not just external disguise, but internal too?
He took a step, then another. His hands held the skirt in front of him, and it really did become easier to walk, so he sped up, not even noticing how he ended up on the market square. Not the central one, no, but rather a local one, where everyone knows everyone.
And Kalendor knew it. Or rather, he didn"t yet know it, but felt it with his whole body. That strange sense of recognition, as if he had lived here his entire life, even though, in truth, his eyes were seeing all of this for the first time. The square spread out before him as an uneven quadrangle paved with cracked cobblestones, with stubborn grass breaking through the gaps. The air was filled with the sweet, cloying scent of royal marzipan that caravans carried through Fleurmar to the northern lands, mixing with the smells of fresh bread, horse sweat, and smoke from braziers.
He turned his head to the left and saw Edmar"s stall with clay pots — that very stall under which Teresa used to crawl as a child, hiding from her father. Next to that stall, just like before, stood a crooked post with nails hammered into it, on which notices hung, and beneath it still lay a cracked tub, long since having lost its purpose. This was where Teresa received her first flowers as a gift.
Kalendor didn"t even notice how a light, nostalgic smile appeared on his face, as if these memories were his own. And the realization of that instantly infuriated him. The smile vanished as sharply as it had appeared; his fingers clenched the hem of the skirt, and his shoulders dropped slightly on their own, as if he really had stood here a thousand times, afraid his father would notice.
“No "a thousand times." No "as a child." I am here for the first time,” — he snapped inside his head and immediately felt the pendant respond with a warm pulse at his breasts.
He shook his head, trying to throw off this obsession, and stepped farther across the square, already knowing the route that would get him to Elina"s house the fastest. The route surfaced in his head on its own: two rows of stalls, then a turn by the bakery where it always smells of burnt honey, and a narrow passage between houses where the sun almost never reaches. Kalendor caught himself not remembering the way, but simply walking, not doubting a single step.
That was what angered him the most.
“So memory is built in too. And feelings,” — he noted to himself, trying to stay cold. — “Good. That makes the data even more valuable.”...Full episode (42 500 characters - 13 parts + add images) is open to paid subscribers here or on Patreon