This is a continuation of an old one and a bit long so the quick synopsis is that the Empire uses health potions that have the side effect of making you look like the person they're intended for/extracted from. The Emperor has a ceremony where he gets a small dose of health potion from all the most important people under his rule, thereby becoming a sort of embodiment of the citizens. Except this time it went wrong, and he's decided to try out a few experiences in his newly female body 😊

Sorry for this one being a bit long and waffly.

As far as giant lesbian orgies went, Atia rated this one a solid six out of ten. Eight for effort. Two for variety. She found herself wondering who had organised it. What man possessed the political clout to demand a hundred of the capital’s most nubile noble daughters be delivered to the palace baths purely for his pleasure, under pain of death should they speak of it?

And what man, after going to such lengths, would be entirely absent from it?

She sat on the edge of the pool, yawning as she watched the glistening mounds of bodies writhe. The women all bore the Emperor’s look. Aquiline features. Dark, heavy eyes and hair. Bronzed limbs. His reign had been long and fertile, and through uncountable sons and daughters his appearance had gradually filtered into every noble house in the city.

In Atia’s estimation, the Emperor was a mongrel, even if a mongrel of the highest pedigree. Every generation, at the Blood Tithe, his body was filled with the pooled life essence of all of his vassals, their mingled blood running in his veins, making him young and strong. And incredibly dull. He embodied the homogenised Imperial template.

Atia’s own tastes were more eclectic. When it came to orgies, she preferred colour. Orcish greens. Devil reds. She didn't care, so long as she looked like a rainbow by the end of it.

Observed the orgy from a lone pool, she noted the way it all orbited one girl in particular. Within the tangle of tanned limbs, one lustful lass loudly quaffed strong wine with one hand; groping with the other. The tiled walls echoed with the girl's vulgar boasts. Her accent was absurdly rustic, as if she'd been raised on a farm from four centuries ago. Her voice become muffled as she buried her head between another woman's thighs.

“My lord. Psst. My lord?” came a man’s voice.

A figure was tiptoeing through the baths. Gangly, sweating beneath the heavy robes of an Imperial custodian. Thick spectacles perched on his dripping nose, completely fogged with steam. Atia watched him approach small clusters of girls, study their faces, and whisper, “My lord?” in a tone that suggested he was both trying catch their attention and terrified of them noticing him. Then he would move on to the next group.

It took a moment for it to make sense.

Something had gone very wrong with the Blood Tithe. That rustic girl was the Emperor himself, transformed. And this fool had no idea which one she was.

At last. Entertainment! As the custodian passed, Atia seized his wrist.

"Lower your voice," she barked.

"My lord?" stammered the man, adjusting his fogged glasses.

"And who else would I be?" she snarled, injecting as much masculine authority into her voice as she could muster. She chose her words with care, unsure if she wanted to commit fully to treason just yet.

“Oh, sire, it is you!” the man squeaked in relief. "I did not want to disturb. But gossip is starting to spread about your, um, condition," he said, squinting down at Atia's chest. “The plebs are gathering in the forum, sire. Demanding to see you in the fuh-flesh. If they see you like this, there will be a riot.”

“And what would you advise your Emperor to do?” Atia asked.

“There is just enough essence left in the vials to attempt another renewal, my lord. If we exclude the portion delivered by the warrior women, it should tip the balance back and return you to the man you were. It may be dangerous to attempt the ceremony again so soon, but I see no alternative.”

Atia’s heart raced with excitement. She struggled to keep the slow smile from creeping across her face. It was very likely she would die for this. Almost guaranteed. But it would certainly be fun. And besides, impersonating a government official was already a capital offence. What harm was there in going one step further and stealing an Empire?

“Then there is no time to waste.” She rose, dripping, and marched the custodian toward the door.

“And the women, my lord?” he ventured. “We cannot permit them to speak of this.”

She glanced back toward the Emperor, still enthusiastically occupied between a noblewoman’s thighs. It almost seemed a crime to remove such a gifted organ. What would the Emperor do in this situation? she thought.

“Cut out their tongues,” she said.