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Hey there everyone I just first went to tell you that I am not the writer of any of these stories, I don't even know if any of these writers are still around and secondly because the website that these stories are on is infected with viruses, so I have decided to post all the stories here. Thirdly if the stories end on a cliffhanger there's sadly nothing to be done about that. And lastly if the original authors are on here and they want me to take down their story I'll do that, I'm just posting their stories to preserve them and they are not lost forever. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy these stories please leave a like and the comment, also maybe save these stories as well and spread them around to other abdl story sites so we can preserve them.

Background Character list: Andrej Doležal (54) – a small vineyard owner. He runs a small business for tourists and visitors, offering his wine in the wine cellar. Tasting the wine is the local habit, and many people try out too many samples before buying. Besides the standard offer, there are a few bottles of old wines on the shelves in the back room. Andrej even doesn’t remember who he got them from and when. The dusty bottles can hide secrets. Peter Bartoš (40) – a forest worker. He is a nice but very little educated man. He works every day from dawn to dusk and often spends the evening in the local inn even if he doesn’t drink too much. He uses talking with his neighbors there. Magda Bartošová (35) – Peter’s wife, a sweet and lovely woman but as little educated as her husband. She occasionally works on the local farm; she tends to cattle there. She loves children, but she could have only a single son. After labor, her womb was damaged. Milan Bartoš (16) – Peter’s and Magda’s son. He attends elementary school, but he is not too motivated to learn, seeing his parents. Anyway, he has learned a bit English. Otherwise, he is a nice boy. Marek Mlynár (58) – an elderly police officer, thinking more of his retirement than of his duties. Fortunately, he is not very busy, the village is quiet and peaceful. Despite his effort, he usually fails, but nobody minds it, the villagers shrug and sigh only. Scene: Horné Bukovany – a small village at the foot of small mountains. Vineyards spread up the hills, and the area is known for quality wine. However, there are old rumors about mysterious vine with magic properties, but nobody know if they are true and nobody has found that mysterious plant. Horné Bukovany doesn’t differ from other nearby villages. There is a single main street there, framed by houses. A small church is placed in the center of the village, along with the local inn, mayor office with a tiny one-man police station and a small elementary school; however, the older children above the 4th grade must travel to the nearby town Bozinok. Most villagers work at the local farm or sawmill. The work is hard and not well paid, but they don’t have many other options left. Gardens, chickens, and rabbits provide them with extra food. There are few vineyard owners there that offer wine to locals, visitors and occasional tourists that wander to the village by mistake.

The Hive is a place that gives peace to its little bees. Warm honey, soft pajamas, kind aunties, endless summer in the garden. No bills, no deadlines, no more “pull yourself together and be an adult.” Just count to ten, open your mouth — and all the bad things will go away. The only question is: what’s the price? A fair warning: this is not a classic fluffy comfort story. If you came looking for cozy regression and a caring mommy figure, you may want to open something else instead. Prologue Lucas sat on the windowsill, swinging one leg that sported a dinosaur sock. His other foot was bare. The boy lazily chewed on a carrot stick, squinting against the morning sun, keeping watch like a sentry in a tower, peering down the path into the distance. The walkway, paved with yellow hexagonal tiles resembling honeycomb, stretched through the garden all the way to the gate. The air hung thick with the scent of blooming lavender and something else—something sweet and viscous, like invisible honey diffused through the atmosphere. "Oh, look at that, a new little bee emerging from its cocoon," he drawled with a snort. The carrot crunched between his teeth. "Walking like the path's a minefield instead of a sidewalk." Below, slowly approaching the entrance, walked a man in his thirties with a backpack. He was clearly nervous. Shoulders hunched, steps uneven. He'd stop, look at the house as if reconsidering, then continue forward. The backpack bounced on his back with each step—too light, as if nearly empty. Lucas tilted his head to one side, his expression becoming unnaturally mature. "I give him three days. Then the first wet diaper and 'welcome to the hive,'" he sighed theatrically. His voice wavered slightly, fingers gripping the carrot stick a bit harder than necessary. "Lucas," came a calm but weary voice from the neighboring room, "stop teasing. It's time to prepare for the welcome." The boy jerked as if caught doing something shameful. The adult expression instantly vanished from his face, replaced by childish resentment. "Oh, of course, Aunt Sara. The grand ceremony. We'll put on clean socks, say 'hello' in unison, pretend this whole thing isn't like a club for burned-out managers anonymous." At that moment, the man below looked up at the boy, and their eyes met. "Lucas," the woman repeated more sternly. "Don't make me say it twice." He slid off the windowsill with the grace of a circus poodle, casually got to his feet, and crossed his arms over his chest. His uniform shirt with the bee logo stretched across his shoulders. "Fine, fine, I'm going... Just don't forget to tell Mo—" he caught himself, swallowing the second half of the word, "—that I behaved almost decently." Sara appeared in the doorway—a woman in her forties with a soft face and ash-colored hair gathered in a neat bun. She wore a simple light blue blouse and dark skirt. She smelled of lavender soap and something medicinal—soothing, soporific. "Your mother is busy in the honey room," she said calmly, as if paying no attention to the boy's defiant remarks. "And you know that perfectly well." Lucas froze for a moment, like a child caught misbehaving. But something sharp, almost cruel, flashed in his eyes again. "Yes, Aunt Sara. Sorry." He lowered his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. Under his nails were traces of dirt—from the morning's work in the garden. Ordinary dirt, it seemed, but somehow this detail was unsettling. At that moment, a door opened at the far end of the corridor. All sounds in the house seemed to quiet. Even the sunlight appeared to grow softer, thicker—like honey dripping down glass. Down the corridor walked a woman in a long dress the color of the midday sun. Eleanor Hart moved with that particular grace that makes time slow down. Her face was calm, almost serene, her eyes holding the wisdom that comes from understanding human nature in all its complexity. The air around her seemed to vibrate, like air above hot asphalt on a scorching day. She didn't say a word. She simply looked at Lucas. The transformation was instantaneous and eerie. The boy immediately straightened like a string, but seemed to shrink. His shoulders dropped, chin pressed to his chest. The defiant smile vanished. His eyes lowered. He took a step aside, small fingers beginning to fidget with the edge of his shirt. Even his breathing changed—shorter, higher. "Good morning, Miss Hart," he said quietly. His voice had become thinner, younger. The words were pronounced slightly less clearly, as if his tongue had suddenly become unruly. "I... I was just about to go to the welcome." "I'm sure you were," Eleanor replied. Her voice was soft but viscous and enveloping. It held something maternal yet frightening—like the voice of a mother who loves too much. "Lucas, dear, do you remember what we discussed about meeting new guests?" "Yes, ma'am. Be polite. Help. Don't frighten." He spoke while looking at his bare toes, trying to hide his gaze as securely as possible. The one dinosaur sock seemed absurd, childish. But the bare foot looked even more vulnerable. "And?" "And... show a good example," the boy added barely audibly. "Good boy," Eleanor extended her hand and lightly touched his cheek. A barely perceptible shiver ran across the boy's skin at the touch. Lucas closed his eyes, and for a moment his face contorted—not from pain, but from something more complex. As if two beings were fighting inside him: one craved this caress, the other recoiled from it in horror. "Now go. You have work to do." Lucas nodded and headed quickly toward the exit. But his gait was strange—neither childish nor adult, but something in between, unsteady. At the threshold, he turned—not to the women, but to the window, where below the man with the backpack was already approaching the porch. "Welcome, little bee," he whispered. His voice held bitter irony. "I wonder if you still remember how to fly? I've... forgotten." With these words, he disappeared into the depths of the house. When the boy's footsteps faded, Sara approached Eleanor. The woman's movements betrayed professional concern. "He's becoming more... restless," she said carefully, choosing her words. "There was another incident yesterday. During the night." "That's natural. Three years is a long time. Even the sweetest honey can become cloying." "Do you think he...?" "I think," Miss Hart turned to the window, watching the approaching guest, "that each bee chooses for itself whether to stay in the hive or seek new flowers. But for now... for now he's our little helper. And he performs his role excellently." She paused, studying the man below. He had stopped before the door, clearly gathering his courage. "Although, perhaps..." Sara nodded, though doubt flickered in her eyes. "And the new guest?" "Oh, Benny..." Eleanor smiled, and in that smile was something both maternal and predatory. Like a mother spider preparing to wrap her offspring in a protective cocoon. "He's exactly what we need. Tired. Lost. Ready to give anything for a drop of peace." "Like all of them." "Like all of us, dear Sara. Like all of us once were." Below came the sound of the doorbell. The man had reached the entrance. The sound was melodic, almost hypnotic—like the humming of a hundred bees arranged into a melody. "Well then," Eleanor moved away from the window, and the train of her dress rustled across the floor like wings. "Time to welcome our new little bee. Make sure Lucas behaves... appropriately." "Of course, Miss Hart." "And Sara? Prepare the blue room. With a view of the garden. Mr. Wilson will enjoy watching the flowers. Put something... soft there. I sense he's one of those who needs comfort." "Understood. A teddy bear?" "Oh no," Eleanor shook her head. "He's brought his own. Those who bring their childhood with them are always the most... receptive." The women parted ways, leaving the corridor empty. Only the sunbeams streaming through the window curtains continued to play on the yellow wallpaper, creating an illusion of movement—as if viscous nectar was slowly dripping down the walls. A light aroma lingered in the air—sweet, intoxicating, promising oblivion. And below, Benjamin Wilson stood before the massive door, unaware that his arrival had been noticed, evaluated, and already decided. In his jacket pocket lay the invitation with the bee, and in his backpack—an old teddy bear, the last witness to times when everything was simpler. Nothing in the Hive happened by chance. Every bee found its place. Every flower—its time to bloom. And every child—their age. Chapter 1 Benjamin Wilson woke to silence. Not the cozy, peaceful kind of silence, but the sticky, dead kind—the kind that drowns people who've lived alone for too long. He lay on a sagging mattress in his cramped rental apartment, surrounded by the smell of dust, yesterday's coffee, and unfulfilled expectations. Dusty morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting bars across walls with peeling paint. The sheet beneath him was damp with night sweat. Those dreams again—blurry, anxious, leaving behind only a bitter aftertaste and the feeling that he'd lost something he couldn't quite remember. He turned his head toward the nightstand. His phone. Black screen. No notifications, no calls, no emails. No job. Today marked exactly three months since he'd been fired from his last position—an agency where he'd written slogans for cheese, tea, and later, antiperspirants for the "young, bold, and free." In recent months, his copy, as the managers put it, had "stopped breathing." The word "burnout" had sounded like a diagnosis. Like a verdict. Maybe they're right, he thought, staring at the ceiling with its water stain shaped like a continent. Maybe I really have forgotten how to breathe. He sat up in bed. Behind him—the crack of his spine, a reminder of age and poor posture. On the desk—a half-empty mug with coffee rings like the rings of an old tree, and a stack of printed job application responses. Above them—a peeling sticky note that read "pull yourself together." Written by hand, back when he still believed in change. Pull yourself together. "Yeah, right," he muttered, his voice hoarse, unfamiliar. When was the last time he'd spoken to anyone? Yesterday? The day before? The days blurred into one gray mass. He put his feet on the cold floor. The linoleum was old, bubbling up in places. Like his life—bubbling up in places with unfulfilled ambitions. He'd tried. Genuinely tried. Freelancing—but clients vanished after the first assignment. Enrolling in UX copywriting courses—but dropped out after the second class. He'd even started meditating—for exactly two days, until he realized that in the silence of his own consciousness, he felt even more terrified than in the silence of his apartment. Everything came to nothing. Depression had become chronic, like a cold. Life had grown dull, like a hallway lamp that no one replaces because everyone's gotten used to the dimness. In the kitchen, he flipped on the kettle. The click of the button sounded unexpectedly loud. At the very moment the heating element hissed to life, there was a knock at the door. Not the doorbell, not a loud, desperate pounding—more like a polite tap-tap, as if from another time. From a time when people still knocked with their knuckles, not their fists. Benjamin froze. His heart beat faster for some reason. Delivery? I didn't order anything. But he knew—delivery people don't knock. They ring, shout into the intercom, kick the door. But they don't knock politely, almost timidly. He approached the door, looked through the peephole. No one. The hallway was empty, only the flickering light—second from the left, as always. He opened the door. On the doormat lay an envelope. Paper, cream-colored, thick. In the corner was an imprint of a cartoon bee—not printed, but pressed into the paper. Like the wax seals on old letters. No stamp, no return address. Just a name, printed in what looked like typewriter font: Benjamin Wilson. Personal invitation. He picked up the envelope. The paper was warm, as if someone had just been holding it. It gave off a light aroma—not perfume, not chemicals. Something natural, almost alive. Turning the envelope over in his hands, Benjamin thoughtfully closed the door and returned to the table. The kitchen table wobbled—a newspaper from a year ago, folded in quarters, was wedged under one leg. The tabletop bore mug rings, crumbs, a ketchup stain shaped like Italy. He carefully opened the envelope with his fingernail. The aroma grew stronger—lavender, honey, something else. Inside was a thick card on heavy paper: BEEHAVEN RETREAT Congratulations! You have been selected to participate in a program for restoring inner balance, based on principles of natural behavioral regulation, rest, and self-acceptance. We offer you: Seclusion from urban bustle Personalized recovery program Complete care and support at every stage All this—in a cozy, protected, and safe environment. Where everyone can be themselves and exist in their natural role. Truly. Details and coordinates inside. We await you. Your journey begins here. Benjamin reread it twice. Then again. The words were simple, but something about them caught his attention. "Natural role." What did that even mean? He smirked, but the smile came out crooked. "Great, now we've got paper spam too," he muttered, but his hands somehow wouldn't let go of the card. His fingers slid over the embossing, tracing the outline of the bee. "What's next? Letters from Hogwarts?" But inside, deep inside, something stirred. Small, almost forgotten. Hope? No, too big a word. More like... curiosity. When was the last time he'd felt anything besides apathy and irritation? He pulled out a second paper from the envelope. Travel directions—handwritten, in beautiful script, as if written with a fountain pen. The ink was dark blue, with hints of purple in places. Coordinates. A station he'd never heard of. No phone numbers. Just a train and shuttle from the station. And a signature: "The bees await you in the hive." And below in small letters, a footnote: "This invitation also serves as your ticket for the train and transfer to our center." Benjamin shrugged. Inside, everything twisted with familiar skepticism. "Another esoteric scam," he muttered, standing up. "Where are the pollen supplements? Sunrise meditations? Tree hugging?" The kettle whistled—piercing, demanding. He turned it off but didn't pour the water. His appetite was gone. He tossed the envelope into the basket next to the microwave—the same one where he put all the unnecessary things that for some inexplicable reason never got thrown away. Already lying there were: A flyer from the "School of Self-Development by Lama Armus Method" A yoga coupon, expired two months ago A brochure with a smiling lemur offering to "find your inner beast" A psychologist's business card with a rainbow and unicorn He sometimes took flyers from street distributors out of politeness. And sometimes—just because he wanted someone, anyone, to acknowledge him. Even if it was a teenager in a banana costume by the metro. Even if it was a cult. Anyone who would see him as a person, not empty space. He returned to the table, sat down, opened his laptop. The screen came to life reluctantly—old, like everything in his life. On the desktop—a folder called "Resume" with thirty-seven versions. "Resume_final." "Resume_final_really." "Resume_last_I_swear." He opened the job site. Zero responses. Checked his email. Spam. Spam. "Unfortunately, you didn't pass the selection." "We decided to choose another candidate." "Thank you for your interest in our company, but..." Always that "but." He no longer felt any emotion about the rejections. Before—yes. Before, each rejection was like a slap. Then—like a pinprick. Now—nothing. Just white noise. He scrolled down with his finger, as if scrolling through a social media feed. Only instead of other people's breakfasts—other people's refusals to see him as part of their world. Sometimes he imagined writing back to them all: "Thanks for the rejection. I hope your coffee is always slightly under-sweetened." Or: "I wish you find the perfect candidate who lies on their resume better than me." But he didn't write. What was the point? By noon, he had already managed to: • Drink three cups of tea (one tea bag for all three) • Check email four more times • Look in the refrigerator six times (still the same half a loaf, mayonnaise, and something in a container covered with a new civilization) • Not answer a call from his mother (seventh this week) • And... receive a notification from the bank: "Your loan is now a week overdue, please pay immediately to avoid penalties and fees" "Excellent," he said aloud. His voice in the empty apartment sounded foreign. "Financial stability achieved. Now I'm officially bankrupt not just morally." He went outside. In a light jacket, despite the chill, and with an empty wallet. Just to walk. Sometimes a walk helped—gave the illusion of movement when life stood still. But not today. First, he was accosted by the neighbor from the first floor—the one who fed pigeons and complained about everything alive. Mrs. Petrovsky. Seventy years of pure concentrated bile. "Mr. Wilson!" her voice was like an unoiled door hinge. "You left the hallway window open again! Everything's blowing around! My papers! My receipts! I told you that..." He nodded politely, not listening. He'd learned to tune out—a useful survival skill. Nod, smile, leave. Don't engage in dialogue. Don't make excuses. Don't exist. "...and anyway, you look terrible! When did you last get a haircut? And that stubble! In my day, men..." He left, leaving her talking to the air. Then at the store, his card was declined. The small terminal screen displayed the verdict: "Insufficient funds." And the cashier—a girl about eighteen with pink hair and piercings—repeated loudly, as if to make sure the whole line heard: "Insufficient funds. Want to try another one?" He stood there, holding a loaf of bread and a carton of milk. Six dollars. He didn't have six dollars. "Yes, I know," he said quietly, putting the items back. Behind him, someone sighed—irritated, tired. "Thank you, dear, you're wonderful. A true professional." Sarcasm was his last defense. When nothing else was left. And finally, when he returned home—someone was sleeping on the bench by the entrance. A homeless person, wrapped in an old coat. No, not a coat. In his suit. In his old jacket, which he'd donated to the "help for the homeless" center a month ago. Dark blue, with fine pinstripes. Bought with his first paycheck at the agency. A symbol of his career's beginning. Now—a symbol of its end. It was strange. Seeing his jacket on someone else's body. As if someone had put on a piece of his life and thrown it right here, on the bench. As if his future had materialized and laid down for a nap by the entrance. There it is, he thought. A visual aid. Benjamin Wilson, before and after. Or rather, after and even more after. He went into the apartment and sat on the floor. Right in the hallway, his back against the door. A pause. Without thoughts. Without desires. Just emptiness. White noise inside and out. He sat and watched dust motes in a beam of light from the kitchen. The dust particles floated, swirled, going nowhere. Like his life. Brownian motion without purpose or meaning. Then, mechanically, he stood up. Went to the microwave. Retrieved that same yellow envelope. There was a stain on the envelope from something—ketchup? Sauce? It didn't matter. He looked at the bee. It was smiling. Stupidly, cartoonishly, but... sincerely? "Natural roles, you say..." His voice sounded hoarse. He cleared his throat, unfolded the travel directions. Train tomorrow. At 6:35 AM. Early. Too early for someone who hadn't gotten up before ten in months. What am I actually losing? he thought. No job. No money. No friends. No prospects. Just this apartment with mold in the corner, debts, and a card with a negative balance. Benjamin sighed. Long, slow, releasing air along with the last remnants of resistance. "Alright, Hive. Let's see what kind of honey you've got." He stood up, got out his old backpack—still from college days, worn, with a broken zipper on the side pocket. Started packing. Socks (three pairs, all with holes). Underwear (should wash them, but no time). Two t-shirts. Toothbrush (bristles already sticking out in different directions). A book—Vonnegut, "Slaughterhouse-Five," read and reread, but still comforting. And—for some reason—a teddy bear. The bear sat on the shelf between books. Brown, worn, with a torn-off button eye. A gift from Claire on their first anniversary. "So you can hug him when I'm not around," she'd said then, laughing. She left after a year. The bear stayed. "Seriously?" he asked himself. "A thirty-year-old man with a teddy bear? Maybe I should take a pacifier too?" But his hands were already stuffing the bear into the backpack. Deep, under the clothes. So it wouldn't be visible. So he wouldn't be embarrassed. Though embarrassed in front of whom? The bees? The night before departure came, as always, suddenly. The sun set, leaving dirty-pink streaks in the sky, like a bruise. He couldn't sleep for a long time—questions spinning in his head: "What am I doing? Where am I going? Why did I agree? What if it's a cult? What if it's a money scam? Though what money... What if it's all a prank?" But there was no honest answer to any of them. Except one, simple and frightening: "What difference does it make?" He just wanted to disappear for a while. Erase his shell, become empty. Maybe, if he was very lucky—become someone else. Anyone, just not Benjamin Wilson, a loser with debts and a dead career. And so, when sleep finally caught him, it was... strange. Benjamin stood in the middle of a field. Golden, like wheat—but these weren't grain stalks, they were blades of grass like brush bristles. Soft, tickling his bare feet. When had he taken off his shoes? The air was thick, sweet. Each breath resonated in his chest with a sticky heaviness, as if he were breathing not air but syrup. The taste of honey on his tongue, though he'd eaten nothing. On the horizon stood a house that looked like a hive. Not just looked like—it WAS a hive. Enormous, impossible. The honeycomb glowed through the walls with golden light. The walls breathed—slowly, rhythmically, like the chest of a sleeping giant. From the house stretched a path of petals. White, pink, yellow. It called to him—not with a voice, but with a feeling. Like a magnet pulling iron. Like home pulling after a long journey. He walked. Barefoot. With each step, something changed. At first imperceptibly—it just became easier to breathe. Then more obviously—his shoulders straightened, the pain in his back disappeared. Then he noticed his hands. They were smaller. Smoother. Without the scar from the kitchen knife, without the birthmark on his wrist. His clothes were changing too. First the belt disappeared—just melted away like smoke. Then the shirt transformed into a soft t-shirt with a print—something bright, cartoonish. On his feet—sneakers. Small ones, with Velcro instead of laces. He tried to speak, to shout "what the hell!" but all that came out was incomprehensible babbling. High, thin. Childish. His tongue wouldn't obey. Words turned to mush before he could pronounce them. Panic washed over him, but immediately receded. Because a woman in yellow emerged from the house. Tall. Graceful. But her face was blurred, as if seen through beeswax. As if through tears. Only her smile was clear—maternal, all-forgiving. She stretched out her arms to him and said, slowly, as one speaks to small children: "There you are, my little bee." "I..." he tried to answer, but all that came out was: "I-I-I..." Words wouldn't form anymore. Only sounds. "I'm an adult!" he wanted to shout, but it came out something like: "I gwown-up!" She was already beside him. Stroking his head. Her hand was warm, smelled of honey and milk. "Shh... Don't be afraid. Here you can rest. Here—you don't need to be big anymore. Don't need to pretend to be strong." The world around began to dissolve in amber radiance. He felt himself losing weight. As if someone was removing invisible armor from him, layer by layer. Years. Disappointments. Failures. Everything crumbled away like old paint. It was getting easier. Simpler. Quieter. He wanted to resist, but his body no longer obeyed. His legs gave way. The woman caught him—easily, as if he weighed nothing. Pressed him to herself. "Hush, hush, little one. Everything's alright. You're home." And strangely—he believed her. He woke up. It was 5:17 AM. He sat on the bed, heart pounding. A sweat stain on the sheet. Or... no, just sweat. Just sweat. The taste of honey in his mouth. Though from where? Benjamin got up, went to the sink, splashed cold water on his face. The water was rusty, with a metallic taste. Real. Genuine. In the mirror—his face. Stubble. Bags under his eyes. Crow's feet at the corners. Everything in place. Adult, tired, real. He snorted: "Little one, huh... What a dream... Maybe it's a sign I should stop with the late-night snacks of expired cheese." But his hands were shaking. And the ghost of sweetness still lingered in his mouth. He glanced at the backpack. Inside, under the clothes, the bear. He knew for certain—didn't see it, but knew—that the bear was watching him from there with its single button eye. Benjamin yawned, rubbed his face. The stubble prickled. Real, adult stubble. "Let's go, buddy. They're supposed to feed us at the Hive. Maybe I'll finally eat properly. Because moldy cheese is a delicacy, sure, but only when the mold doesn't grow right in the refrigerator." Just over an hour until the train. Time to start... what? A new life? An escape from the old one? Or just another mistake in the long chain of mistakes called "Benjamin Wilson's life"? He didn't know. But the alternative was worse—staying here, in this apartment, with these walls that closed in tighter every day. The morning was gray. The sky—like dirty cotton, ready to spill rain at any moment. Benjamin closed the door behind him, checked his pocket—the invitation was there. He went down the stairs, trying not to make noise. The hallway smelled of cats and something boiled—Mrs. Petrovsky was making her signature fish soup again, from which the whole building couldn't breathe for three days afterward. Soup at 6 AM... what could be better. Stopping at the exit, he swore: "Damn OCD." He ran back up the stairs—the steps creaked like old bones. Pulled on the closed door handle—locked. Rummaged in the backpack—the invitation was there, between socks and underwear. The bear was there too, looking reproachful. "What?" he grumbled. "I always check everything. It's normal." He went down again. Outside it was colder than it had seemed from the window. Benjamin shivered, zipped up his jacket. There was a stain on the collar from coffee. Or sauce. He couldn't remember anymore. The taxi was late. He was already dialing the number, ready to yell, when an old Toyota pulled up to the curb. Peeling paint, bumper held on by faith and duct tape. The driver—an elderly man with the eyes of someone who'd seen everything and was surprised by nothing—didn't say a word, just nodded toward the back seat. Benjamin got in, set the backpack beside him. The seat upholstery was torn, foam sticking out. It smelled of "Vanilla" air freshener and old cigarettes. "Where to?" the driver finally asked. His voice was like sandpaper. "Central station. Train at six thirty-five." "We'll make it," he nodded and sharply turned the wheel. The city outside the window was empty. Rare passersby—joggers with earbuds, street sweepers with brooms, a drunk hugging a lamppost. An ordinary morning in a dying city. The road was empty. Billboards flashed by: credit at 0% (fine print—first month only), protein bars (become your best self), tickets to life (whatever that meant). Everything—as if for others, not for him. For those who had a future. "Going on vacation?" the driver unexpectedly asked. In the rearview mirror, his eyes reflected—tired, but curious. "Something like that," Benjamin shrugged. "Detox. Rural." The word "detox" sounded false. As if he were trying on someone else's life. "Uh-huh. The kind where Wi-Fi's not allowed, but you can run through the forest?" "Sounds about right." The driver grunted—either approvingly or sympathetically. "My son went to a place like that. Came back—good as new. True, he started drinking again after a month, but that's another story." Encouraging, thought Benjamin, but said nothing. The station was empty. Early trains—the domain of losers and romantics. He bought coffee from a vending machine—the hot brown liquid burned his tongue and left an aftertaste of disappointment. He looked at the board. Green letters formed words, words formed directions. People were going somewhere. They had goals, plans, round-trip tickets. Train #304—departure 06:35. Platform 9. He sat on a bench. The metal was cold through his jeans. Around him—random passengers: a woman with a checkered bag (cheap China masquerading as Louis Vuitton), a teenager with a guitar (three chords and a dream of stardom), a man in a suit nervously checking his phone (late for an important meeting or running from an unimportant life?). And him—with a teddy bear in his backpack and an invitation to a hive. If someone wrote a book about this, he thought, no one would believe it. Too absurd. Too... pathetic. Overhead, music began to play. That kind, station music. Always slightly off-key, as if playing not for people but for the system. To create an illusion of comfort where there was none and could never be. "What am I doing?" He pulled out the card with the bee. Read it again. The letters were clear, as if engraved. The paper rustled pleasantly—expensive, real. Not like the printouts of his resume on the cheapest paper from the office supermarket. "The bees await you in the hive." He felt something stir inside—either anxiety or anticipation. Everything mixed together. He hadn't been waiting for anything in a long time. And suddenly—he was waiting. And they—were waiting for him. Even if they were bees. Even if they were cartoonish. The boarding announcement came. A woman's voice, mechanical, indifferent: "Train number three-zero-four, heading to..." He didn't finish listening. What difference did it make where it was heading? The main thing was where he was leaving from. He stood up, grabbed his backpack. It seemed lighter than it was. Or maybe he himself had become lighter—without a job, without money, without obligations. Without anything. He walked to the platform. The train stood there, long, silver. Old, but well-maintained. Almost from another time—when trains were trains, not high-speed tin cans. Inside—soft seats, green curtains, carpeted floors. It smelled of old wood and machine oil. Cozy. Real. A steward in uniform—a young guy with a perfect smile—checked the ticket. Or rather, the invitation. Didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Welcome. Car three, window seat. Have a pleasant journey, Mr. Wilson." "Thank you," said Benjamin, surprised by the politeness. When was the last time someone had called him "mister"? He walked into the car. Found himself alone in a compartment. A whole compartment to himself—unheard-of luxury. He sat. Settled in. Put the backpack beside him. The teddy bear peeked out—his head sticking out between the zipper. Unperturbed. The single button eye looked with a mute question. "You're quite the clinger," Benjamin grumbled, but didn't hide him back. Even adjusted him to be more comfortable. The train started moving softly, almost silently. Like in old movies—smoothly, with dignity. Outside the window, the city gave way to suburbs. Gray boxes yielded to private homes. Then—fields. Space expanded, breathed. With each kilometer, the persistent noise disappeared—cars, people, life. He looked out the window and thought: What if I'm going nowhere? What if there's nothing there—no hive, no center, no bees? Just an empty field and a sign "Welcome to your new life. Build it yourself"? But even that thought didn't frighten him. An empty field was better than a dirty apartment with debts. The train gained speed. The wheels beat out a rhythm. Lulling, monotonous. Like a lullaby for adults who'd forgotten how to sleep peacefully. He took out the bear, sat him nearby. He sat, leaning against the window, his single eye watching the passing landscape. "Well, buddy? Going to a new life? Or just another dead end?" The bear was silent. Professionally. Over the years, he'd learned to keep secrets—both Claire's and his own. Maybe it's for the best, thought Benjamin. A silent companion is better than a talkative one. Especially when you don't know what to say even to yourself. Trees flashed by outside the window. Pines, spruces, birches. Real forest, not the city's sickly plantings. The air beyond the glass seemed cleaner, even through the sealed window. He leaned back in his seat. For the first time in a long while, he felt at least distant, but still, peace. The train carried him away from everything he knew. And perhaps, toward something worth knowing. Or losing completely. Time would tell. For now—just the clatter of wheels, the flashing of trees, and the bear keeping his silence by the window. At some point, a girl passed by his compartment—about twenty, with short red hair and a worn notebook in her hands. She glanced inside, and their eyes met. A second. Two. She smiled—not the polite smile of a stranger, but somehow understanding, as if she recognized something familiar in him. She had green headphones around her neck and a t-shirt that read: "This too shall nap." Benjamin wanted to say something—hello, or ask where she was going, or just smile back. But the moment passed. She moved on down the aisle, leaving behind a light scent of mint and of that time when you could just get on a train and go wherever your eyes led you, without thinking about bills and debts. He watched her through the compartment glass. She sat down a few rows away, pulled an apple from her backpack, bit into it with a crunch. An ordinary action, but somehow mesmerizing in its simplicity. When did I last eat an apple? he thought. A real one, not from a pre-cut package at the supermarket? The train rushed on. The landscape outside the window changed—fields gave way to groves, groves to hills. The sun rose higher, dispersing the morning grayness. The world became colorful, three-dimensional, real. He took out his phone. Battery almost dead—forgot to charge it. Though what difference did it make? Who would call? His mother, to ask once again when he'd find a proper job? Collectors, to remind him about the debt? The screen showed "No service." He put the phone away. Let it die in silence. The conductor passed through the car, offering tea. Benjamin took a glass in a metal holder—the metal was hot, burning his fingers through the thin napkin. The tea turned out to be strong, with real flavor—not the bagged dust he drank at home. "Going far?" asked the conductor, an elderly man with kind eyes. "To Beehaven station," answered Benjamin. The conductor frowned, as if trying to remember. "Beehaven? That's... ah yes, small station. Rarely anyone gets off there. Beautiful places, they say. Quiet." "I hope so." "Going to rest?" "Something like that." The conductor nodded and moved on. An ordinary conversation about nothing, but somehow it left a warm feeling. When was the last time someone had been interested in where he was going? Not out of idle curiosity, but just humanly? Benjamin sipped the tea in small gulps, warming his hands on the glass. Outside the window, kilometers of other people's lives rushed by—villages, fields, solitary houses. In each house—its own story, its own joys and sorrows. And he—just a passenger, flashing in their windows for a second. Then he dozed off. The sleep was light, superficial—the kind where you're not really sleeping but not awake either. A half-dream where reality mixes with fragments of dreams. He's walking through a field. But it's not that field from the night dream—it's an ordinary field, with ordinary grass. The sun warms his back. In his hand—a suitcase. No, not a suitcase—a hive. Small, toy-like, but something buzzes inside. "Careful," someone says nearby. He turns—no one. Just the bear walking behind, waddling from paw to paw. "You can walk?" asks Benjamin. "I can do lots of things," the bear answers in Claire's voice. "You just never asked." The hive in his hand becomes heavier. The buzzing louder. The lid opens slightly, and out crawls one bee. Large, cartoonish, with human eyes. "Hello," says the bee. "We've been waiting for you." "Who's we?" "All of us. All who are tired." He woke to an announcement. A woman's voice, soft, almost lulling: "Next stop—Beehaven Station. Please don't forget your belongings." His heart skipped. He looked out the window—the forest had grown thicker, the trees taller. Sunlight broke through the canopy in separate rays, creating a play of light and shadow. Fairy-tale-like. Unreal. The train began to slow. Benjamin grabbed his backpack, glanced inside briefly—the invitation was there. Stuffed the bear back in, zipped it up. "Well, buddy, we've arrived," he muttered. "Let's see what kind of hive awaits us." The station appeared on the right. Small, wooden, as if from another era. Short platform, sagging canopy. A single lamp burned despite the daylight. And not a soul. The train stopped with a quiet sigh of pneumatics. The doors opened. Benjamin stepped out. The air hit his face—clean, cool, smelling of pine and something else. Moss? Mushrooms? Mystery? He looked around—no one else was getting off. The girl with red hair stayed on the train, didn't even look in his direction. As if he'd become invisible the moment he stepped onto the platform. The doors closed. The train started moving—slowly, reluctantly, as if doubting whether to leave him here alone. And there he stood. Alone. At an abandoned station in the middle of the forest. With a backpack containing a teddy bear and three pairs of holey socks. Great start to a new life, he thought. Now the main thing is not to panic. And find that damn shuttle. He looked around more carefully. At the edge of the platform, almost invisible in the shadow of the trees, stood a bus. Old-fashioned, cream-colored, with rounded shapes—like from fifties movies. On the side—an emblem: a bee with spread wings and the inscription: "Beehaven Retreat Shuttle Service." His heart beat calmer. So, not a prank. So, the place existed. He approached the bus. Behind the wheel sat a woman—about forty, in a simple uniform similar to a school bus driver's. Chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail, face calm, but eyes attentive. She watched him through the windshield, as if evaluating. The door opened with a quiet hiss. "Mr. Wilson?" she asked. Voice low, soothing. "Yes, that's me." "Welcome. I'll take you to the Hive. Please, have a seat." He climbed into the bus. Inside it was clean, cozy. Seats upholstered in soft fabric, windows hung with light curtains. It smelled of lavender and honey—the same scent that had been in the envelope. "Am I alone?" he asked, settling in. "Today—yes. But at the Hive, you won't be lonely, I promise." Strange phrasing. He wanted to ask what she meant, but the bus was already moving. The road led through the forest. The asphalt was old, cracked in places, but smooth. Trees closed over the road, creating a green tunnel. Light penetrated in separate spots, dancing on the windshield. "Is it far?" he asked, to break the silence. "About thirty minutes. The Hive is located in a secluded spot. It's important for the recovery process." "Process?" She looked at him in the rearview mirror. Brown eyes, understanding. "Everyone comes to the Hive for their own reasons. Some seek rest. Some—healing. Some—a new beginning. Everyone's process is different." "And you? Have you worked here long?" She was silent, maneuvering through a particularly sharp turn. "I found a home here. After... after I lost my previous one." He didn't ask any more questions. There was that note of finality in her voice that didn't suggest continuation of the conversation. They rode in silence. Outside the window flashed trees, sometimes—clearings with views of distant hills. Beautiful. Peaceful. As if the world beyond this forest had ceased to exist. Benjamin felt the tension beginning to release. His shoulders relaxed. His breathing became deeper. Maybe it was the air. Maybe—the silence. Or maybe the fact that for the first time in a long while, he was going somewhere where they were waiting for him. Even if they were strangers. Even if by a strange invitation. The bus slowed. Ahead appeared gates—not massive and frightening, but simple, wooden, entwined with ivy. There was no sign on them, only a pattern of hexagons, like honeycomb. The driver got out, approached a panel by the gates. Placed her palm—not a card, not a key, but her palm. There was a soft sound, like contented buzzing, and the gates opened. Biometrics? thought Benjamin. Beyond the gates began a path paved with the same hexagonal tiles—yellow, like honey, like honeycomb. On both sides—a garden. Not formal, not trimmed, but alive, wild. Flowers grew where they wanted, intertwined, created incredible compositions. And bees. Many bees. They flew from flower to flower, buzzed, gathered nectar. But not aggressively, not threateningly. Calmly. Like at home. "Don't be afraid of them," said the driver, noticing his gaze. "Our bees don't sting. They're... special." "Trained?" She smiled. "You could say that. Miss Hart has a special connection with them. They say she understands their language." "Miss Hart?" "The founder of the Hive. You'll definitely meet her. But not right away. She prefers to... observe first." Again that strange phrasing. Observe. Like test subjects? The driver turned off the engine, turned to him. "We've arrived. Walk straight along the path, don't turn anywhere. You'll reach the main entrance—they'll meet you there." Benjamin took his backpack, glanced inside again—the invitation was still there, warm, as if alive. Got out. The bus turned around and left, leaving him alone. Again. But now it wasn't scary. The air here was different—thick, sweet, enveloping. Like honey. Like a promise. He walked along the path. The tiles under his feet were warm, though the sun barely penetrated through the canopy. Step. Another. Third. With each step, something changed. Not outside—inside. As if invisible hands were removing from him layer by layer the fatigue, disappointment, pain. Not completely—but enough to make breathing easier. The garden parted, and he saw the house. No, not a house—a building. Strange, unusual. Honey-colored walls, roof like honeycomb. Windows of different sizes, arranged without apparent logic, but creating a sense of harmony. As if the house had grown, not been built. As if it were alive. By the entrance grew sunflowers—enormous, taller than a person. They turned toward him, as if in greeting. An absurd thought, but here, in this place, it didn't seem absurd. Benjamin walked slowly, now stopping, now walking a bit faster. On the second floor in a window, he noticed a boy who was watching him intently, but as soon as their eyes met, the boy turned away and immediately disappeared into the depths of the house. Benjamin stopped before the door. Massive, wooden, with carved patterns. In the center—a bell shaped like a bee. He raised his hand. Froze. Last chance to turn around. Leave. Return to his gray life, debts, emptiness. Or... He remembered the dream. The woman in yellow. The promise of peace. Remembered the empty apartment. The rejections. The homeless man in his jacket. The choice was obvious. He knocked. Three times. Decisively. The sound spread through the garden, amplified many times by the echo. As if the house sighed. As if it woke up. Footsteps were heard behind the door. Light, almost weightless. The click of a lock. Chapter 2 The door opened before the echo of his knock had faded. A woman in her forties stood on the threshold, with a soft, weary face and ash-colored hair gathered in a neat bun. She wore a simple light blue blouse and a dark skirt—something between a nurse's uniform and a kindergarten teacher's outfit. She smelled of lavender soap and something else—soothing and faintly medicinal. "Mr. Wilson?" Her voice was warm, like hot tea with honey. "I've been expecting you. My name is Sarah. Welcome to the Hive." Benjamin nodded, trying to appear more confident than he felt. His throat was dry, words stuck somewhere between fear and curiosity. "Yes, that's me. Benjamin." "Wonderful," she smiled, and the crow's feet around her eyes made her face almost maternal. "Please come in. I'll be accompanying you through all stages of the recovery program," she continued. "You could say I'll be something of your mentor or nanny, if you will. Lucas!" she called over her shoulder. "Our guest has arrived!" Benjamin stepped inside, and the door closed softly behind him with a quiet click. The cool air of the house greeted him with a pleasant blend of aromas—lavender and vanilla, warm and soothing, like a bakery where cookies have just come out of the oven. But there was something else in this bouquet—a barely perceptible scent, similar to what you might find in children's stores or pharmacies, only softer. Benjamin couldn't immediately place it—his nervousness made it hard to concentrate. The hall was spacious but not intimidatingly large. Cream-colored walls, a soft carpet underfoot that muffled footsteps. On the walls hung paintings of pastoral landscapes: grazing sheep, blooming meadows, beehives in gardens. All in golden frames, all somewhat naive, as if painted by a talented child. In the corner stood an antique dresser with porcelain figurines—bees, flowers, little houses. Each figurine was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust. On the opposite wall hung framed drawings—clearly children's work. A smiling sun with crooked rays. A house with a disproportionately large chimney. A family of stick figures holding hands. "Lovely..." said Benjamin, nodding at the drawings and trying to show at least some friendliness and warmth. His voice came out hoarse—when had he last had a proper conversation? "These are drawings by our guests," Sarah replied with pride in her voice. "Creativity is an important part of recovery. Returning to simple joys. And here's Lucas!" A boy was coming down the stairs. Benjamin recognized him—the same one he'd seen in the window a few minutes ago. Up close, he looked about eleven or twelve: dark hair neatly cut, serious brown eyes, clean clothes—jeans and a t-shirt with a bee on it. An ordinary child. But... His movements were measured, cautious. The boy approached, and Benjamin felt uncomfortable under Lucas's evaluating gaze as he scanned him from head to toe—quickly, professionally, like an airport scanner. "Hi," said the boy. "I'm Lucas. I help new guests settle in." "Benjamin. Nice to meet you." And he extended his hand to the boy. Lucas shook it with some surprise and caution. The boy's fingers were cold, dry, with a surprisingly firm grip. "Likewise," Lucas smiled slightly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Welcome to our little paradise." There was poorly concealed irony in his voice. "Lucas is our special helper," said Sarah with maternal pride, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. He tensed almost imperceptibly at the touch. "He's... how should I put it... grown up here. He knows every corner of the Hive." "Mom has worked here since it opened," Lucas added. Benjamin noticed how the boy quickly glanced away when saying the word "mom." "So I'm practically a local," Lucas continued. "I know all the secret paths and the best spots to relax." "I see, so you're like a little keeper here," Benjamin nodded, trying to appear as friendly as possible, though he wasn't sure this was the right way to interact with children of this age. "You can talk to me like an adult," Lucas replied matter-of-factly. "Yes, of course, sorry." Benjamin felt awkward. "Dinner will be served in an hour," said Sarah, heading toward the stairs. "We have quite a simple schedule: breakfast at eight, lunch at one, dinner at six. Between meals—rest, creative activities, walks in the garden. No schedule, no rush. Just peace." She spoke measuredly, almost hypnotically. Benjamin caught himself nodding along to her words, as if agreeing with everything she said. "Well, shall we go?" asked Lucas. He stood shifting from foot to foot, poorly concealing his desire to quickly fulfill his helper duties and regain his freedom for at least the next couple of hours. The three of them moved forward along the corridor, carpeted with soft material. Their feet sank into it, steps becoming soundless. Like walking on a cloud. Along the stairway walls—photographs. Group shots of smiling people in the garden. All different—from kindergarten-age children to, one might say, people slightly older than middle age, but there was something common in all these images. Relaxation? Serenity? Benjamin tried to find the right word but couldn't. In one photograph, Benjamin noticed a man in his forties wearing a striped shirt. He was smiling, but his eyes... his eyes were empty. Like a doll's. As if there wasn't a single thought in his head. They went up to the second floor. The corridor was narrower, though quite a typical hotel corridor. Doors on both sides, each with a nameplate. "Sunny Room." "Moon Room." "Rose Room." Sarah approached a door with a brass plate reading "Blue Room" and pulled out a bunch of keys from her pocket. Old-fashioned, heavy, jingling. "Here's your room," she opened the door and gestured for him to enter. "I hope you'll like it. We've tried to make it as cozy as possible." Benjamin entered and froze. The room was... unexpected. He'd been expecting something like a hotel room. Faceless, standard. Or, given the strangeness of the place, something esoteric—incense, mandalas on the walls, singing bowls. But this was different. The room was furnished surprisingly homely, and the decor created a feeling of comfort from childhood. The bed was normal-sized, but with a high headboard of light wood, decorated with carved bees. The bedspread—soft, pastel blue, with a barely visible cloud pattern. Pillows—many pillows, different sizes, creating a nest-like feeling. Nearby stood a small dresser of the same light wood. On it—folded clothes. Benjamin approached closer. Soft cotton t-shirts without prints. Sweatpants with elastic waistbands. Socks—white, without tight elastic bands. Everything simple, comfortable. Everything his size. "How do you know my size?" he asked, turning around. Sarah smiled. "We have a good eye. Years of practice. Don't worry, if something doesn't fit—we'll replace it." By the window stood a rocking chair. Old but well-maintained, with a soft cushion. Beside it—a small table with a lamp under a floral lampshade. On the walls—the same pictures as downstairs, but between them hung empty photo frames. "This is where you'll form your new happy memories," Sarah explained, noticing his gaze. "It's very important for recovery—to see those moments when you're happy." Benjamin sighed almost imperceptibly. "Yes, if he were asked to put something in these frames now, almost all of them would remain empty." "And this?" He picked up something like a onesie made of soft fabric from the dresser. Not quite pajamas, but something similar. With legs, with sleeves, with a zipper in front. "For cool evenings," Sarah replied impassively. "It can get quite cold here at night, especially after hot days. Temperature differences. This will help you stay warm and sleep comfortably." The onesie was soft, pleasant to touch. Quality, but ridiculously childish in appearance. As if designed for someone who can't manage regular pajamas or simply doesn't want to. Lucas had been standing in the doorway all this time, watching Benjamin's reaction. "Don't worry," said the boy, his voice calm and confident, perhaps more confident than it should have been. "The first days seem strange to everyone. Then you get used to it. Everyone gets used to it." The last words sounded almost like a verdict. "Lucas, show Mr. Wilson where the bathroom is," Sarah requested. The boy nodded and walked to a door in the corner of the room. "Everything's standard here," he said, opening the door. "Towels in the cabinet, new toothbrush on the shelf. Soap and shampoo are ours, special—with natural extracts. Very relaxing." Benjamin peeked inside. The bathroom was spacious and clean—white tiles, large bathtub, separate shower cabin. Too big for one person. On the shelf stood bottles without labels, only with beehive symbols and neat inscriptions. Beside them—a new toothbrush in packaging. Children's? No, regular, but incredibly bright. Yellow, with a bee on the handle. "Cheerful," he muttered. "Miss Hart has a particular sense of humor," said Lucas. "She believes adults take small things too seriously. That a little frivolity never hurt anyone." "Miss Hart—she's like the director here?" "The founder," Sarah corrected. "Eleanor Hart created this place many years ago. She's... special." "Thank you," said Benjamin, returning to the room. His brain tried to process the information, to find the catch, but fatigue was stronger than suspicion. "Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything," Sarah headed for the door. "I'll be nearby. My room is at the end of the corridor—with the 'Duty' sign. You can knock at any time if needed." "Even at night?" "Especially at night," she smiled. "The first nights in a new place can be restless. That's normal. And don't forget—dinner at six. The dining room is on the first floor, to the left of the stairs. It's not hard to find, just follow the aroma. Lucas, sweetheart, perhaps you could show Mr. Benjamin the rest of the hotel?" "Suuure," Lucas drawled, not hiding that he wasn't particularly happy about this request. "If you'd like, I can give a small tour before dinner. Show you the garden, the playroom." "The playroom?" Benjamin raised an eyebrow. "Not what you think," the boy smirked. "Board games, puzzles, art supplies. Many guests find it quite relaxing." "That would be great," Benjamin agreed. Better than sitting alone in this strange room anyway. "Well, I won't disturb you boys," said Sarah and left the room. "'Boys'? Did she just call us that?" flashed through Benjamin's mind. "Everything here is somehow too homely." When Sarah left, Lucas walked to the window and looked at the garden. Behind the glass stretched a sea of flowers—organized chaos of colors and forms. Bees darted between buds, creating a constant background hum. "Beautiful, isn't it?" said the boy. "I help care for the flowers. It's my job here. Well, one of my jobs." "Should children be working?" asked Benjamin, unpacking his backpack. The bear fell out first, and he hastily stuffed it back in. Lucas turned around. For a moment his face became hard, almost adult. Something sharp flashed in his eyes. "Children shouldn't..." he said quietly. "It's just..." "Just what?" The boy shrugged, and the mask of childish carefreeness returned to its place. "Many things here aren't what they seem. But you'll understand everything yourself. Usually it takes a few days. Sometimes—weeks. Depends on how much you resist." "Resist what?" Lucas approached the door, stopped at the threshold. He stood silently for several seconds, as if choosing his words. "Advice," he finally said without turning around. "Just accept everything as it is. You're not here by accident, Miss Hart only chooses those who really need help. Those who accept... can keep more." "More of what?" Lucas turned around. There was such longing in his eyes that Benjamin's heart clenched. "Themselves," the boy whispered and left, leaving Benjamin alone. A chill ran down Benjamin's spine at these words. The room suddenly seemed too quiet. Too soft. Too safe. Like a cocoon. Like a trap lined with cotton. "Nonsense, all of it," he muttered to himself. "Just a kid having fun with new guests, ordinary children's scary stories, nothing more." He sat on the bed. The mattress sagged with a quiet rustling sound, embracing him. "Probably some orthopedic covering," Benjamin thought, not giving it much importance. Comfortable. Too comfortable. As if the bed was created specifically for him, knew all the curves of his body. He took out his phone from the backpack. The screen was black—the battery had finally died. He pressed the power button out of habit, but nothing happened. A dead piece of plastic and glass. "Of course," he muttered. "Digital detox. Forced." There were outlets in the room, but he hadn't brought a charger. Forgot or didn't want to bring it? The teddy bear peeked out from the backpack. Benjamin pulled it out, turned it in his hands. Worn fur, torn-off button eye. So many years together. "Well, buddy? How do you like the new place?" The bear was silent, its single eye looking with a mute question. He placed the bear on the pillow, leaning it against the headboard. Let it sit. At least something familiar in this strange place. The room was warm, but chills ran down his spine. Something was wrong. Something about all this—the overly caring Sarah, the strange boy Lucas, this room that simultaneously soothed and troubled. "Paranoia," he told himself. "Just fatigue and stress. This is a sanatorium. A place for rest. Nothing strange about them caring for guests' comfort." But an inner voice whispered something else. Whispered about free breakfasts and mousetraps. About how nobody does anything for nothing. About how invitations from strangers don't come by chance. And that phrase the boy had dropped: "Those who accept... can keep more." He stood up, approached the window. The garden stretched to the very fence. Beautiful. Peaceful. But the gates... where were the gates? He couldn't see them from here. Only flowers, trees, and a path disappearing among the bushes. Half an hour later there was a knock at the door. Soft, almost timid. "Mr. Wilson? It's Lucas. Time for the tour, if you're ready." Benjamin opened the door. The boy had changed—now wearing shorts and a white t-shirt with a smiling bee. "Let's go, I'll show you our domain," he said with light irony in his voice. "I promise, no surprises or scary stories. Well, almost none." "As if he read my thoughts," Benjamin thought, but showed nothing. They went downstairs. The hall was quiet, only muffled voices could be heard somewhere in the distance. "How many guests are here?" asked Benjamin. "Five so far, including you, though Teddy has his last night today," Lucas replied, leading him down the corridor. "But the Hive can accommodate up to twenty people at once. Though usually there aren't that many. Miss Hart prefers... a selective approach." "How does she choose whom to invite?" The boy glanced at him over his shoulder. "What do you think, why did you specifically receive an invitation? Out of all the tired copywriters in the city?" Benjamin stopped. "How do you know I'm a copywriter?" Lucas also stopped, slowly turned around. On his face—a mixture of annoyance and fatigue. "Sorry. I shouldn't have... Miss Hart shares basic information about guests with us. So we can better help. Nothing personal, just profession and... general situation." "And what's my situation?" "Burnout," the boy answered simply. "Like everyone here. It's just that everyone has their own." They continued on. Another turn and a new corridor, which led them to a small hall with several doors. From behind one came piano sounds—someone was clumsily playing a simple melody, constantly stumbling. "Chopsticks"? No, something even simpler. "Music room," Lucas explained. "Some guests discover talents they didn't suspect. Or remember forgotten ones. That's Teddy, he's simply impossible to drag away from the piano." They approached another door, Lucas grasped the handle. "This is the playroom," said the boy. "Want to look inside?" "Let's see the rest first." Lucas nodded and led on. They stopped at another door with a "Honey Room" sign. "What's there?" asked Benjamin. "Miss Hart's office. And... the treatment room. Only by invitation." "Treatment room?" "Some guests need additional help relaxing. Special techniques. But that's later, if needed." The phrase "if needed" made Benjamin tense. As if it was inevitable, just a matter of time. They went out to the dining room—a spacious room with a long wooden table and soft chairs. Against one wall stood a buffet with dishes—plates with bees around the edges, cups shaped like beehives. Cute. Infantile. Strange. Against another wall—a bookshelf with books, board games, and some boxes. On the very top shelf Benjamin noticed a stack of coloring books and colored pencils. Two people were already sitting at the table. A man in his forties, plump, with a good-natured face and thinning hair, enthusiastically molding something from plasticine. Before him stood a whole zoo of colorful animals—elephants, giraffes, something resembling a dragon. Next to him—a woman about the same age, thin, with sharp features and a tense expression. She sat straight, lips pressed together, hands folded in her lap. Before her—an empty plate and a glass of water. "This is Michael," Lucas introduced, nodding at the man. "And this is Amelia." Michael raised his head and smiled joyfully. The smile was sincere, almost childlike. "Oh, a newcomer! Great! I'm Mike!" He extended his hand for a handshake. Benjamin noticed traces of plasticine on his fingers and under his nails—red, blue, yellow. "Benjamin," he introduced himself, shaking the sticky hand. "Mike has been here a week," said Lucas in a tone as if this was an achievement. "He's... adapting well." "Yes, I like it here!" Michael confirmed enthusiastically. "No stress, no deadlines, no bosses yelling about quarterly reports. Just rest and creativity. Look what I made!" He showed a dog figurine—clumsy, disproportionate, but carefully made. The tail was longer than the body, the ears—different sizes. "Very... nice," said Benjamin, trying to sound sincere. "Really?" Michael beamed. "I named her Buffy. Like my dog when I was a kid. Tomorrow I'll make her a house!" Amelia snorted. Loudly, contemptuously. "Nice," she repeated with sarcasm that could cut steel. "A grown man molding little dogs from plasticine. Just lovely. What's next? Sand castles in the sandbox?" "Amelia..." Lucas began. "Don't start, boy," she cut him off. "I know what you'll say. 'Amelia is still resisting. But it will pass. It passes for everyone.' Right?" "Something like that," Lucas nodded impassively. "Nothing will pass!" the woman flared up. "I came here to treat stress, not to turn into... into..." She didn't finish the sentence, but furiously pointed at Michael, who continued smiling as if he hadn't heard her words. Or didn't want to hear them. "Amelia was a financial director," Lucas explained to Benjamin. "Heart attack at thirty-eight. Doctors said—either rest, or..." "Enough!" Amelia stood up so abruptly the chair fell. "Stop talking about me in the third person as if I'm not here! I'm not a patient in a mental hospital!" "Hello everyone!" came a soft voice from the doorway, impossible to tell if it belonged to a man, woman, or even a child. Benjamin turned around. Another guest entered the dining room—a man about thirty-five. Average height, pleasant appearance, simple clothes. Everything would have been normal, if not for... the voice. It was higher than it should be for a man of that build. Not squeaky, but definitely altered. His gait was strange—light, almost dancing. Like children walk when they can't just walk but must jump, skip, twirl. "The first days are always the hardest. Right, Lucas?" "Right, Robbie," the boy nodded. "Allow me to introduce—this is Robert, he's been with us for two weeks. Miss Hart says he accumulated so much stress that it will take the full power of the hive to help him. Though it seems Robert has already started to cope little by little." "Hi!" Robert waved at Benjamin. The gesture was exaggeratedly energetic. "You're new? Cool! Someone to play with!" "Play. An adult man said 'play.'" "What's wrong with him?" he quietly asked Lucas. "Nothing special," the boy answered just as quietly, watching as Robert sat down next to Michael and began molding his own animal. "His process has just begun. He's... receptive." "Process? What process?" "The recovery process. Everyone has their own. Michael is regaining lost carefreeness. Amelia is learning to let go of control. And Robert..." "What about Robert?" Lucas looked at him with a long, evaluating gaze. "Robert is returning to his true self. To the self he buried under the weight of adult responsibilities. Sometimes... sometimes that path leads far." "How far?" But Lucas didn't have time to answer. Sarah entered the dining room with a tray. "Oh, everyone's already gathered! Wonderful. Benjamin, have a seat, I'll bring you dinner. We have vegetable stew and homemade bread today. And a special dessert—honey pudding from Miss Hart's recipe." "I'm not hungry," Benjamin began, but his stomach betrayed him with a rumble. "Of course you're hungry," Sarah smiled. "Travel is tiring. And our food will help you relax. Michael, tell Benjamin how delicious the pudding is." Michael nodded enthusiastically, setting aside the plasticine. "Oh yes! The pudding is amazing! Like at grandma's when I was a kid. Only better. Much better. You sleep so well after it!" Sarah placed a plate of stew before Benjamin. It smelled wonderful—herbs, vegetables, something homey and cozy. His stomach rumbled again. "Eat," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "You need strength. The first days of adaptation are always difficult." Benjamin took the spoon. The stew was indeed delicious—vegetables soft, sauce rich. But something in it... a sweetish aftertaste? Honey? "We add honey to everything," Robert explained, noticing his confusion. "Miss Hart says it's good for the soul." "And for the body," Michael added, stuffing his mouth full. "I sleep like a baby!" Amelia snorted again, but she was eating too. Even she couldn't resist the aroma. Benjamin ate slowly, watching the others. Michael and Robert chatted about their crafts, planning what they would mold tomorrow. Their voices sounded... not exactly childish, but definitely altered. Higher. Softer. More carefree. Amelia ate in silence, but Benjamin noticed how her posture gradually relaxed. Shoulders dropping. The line of her mouth softening. Lucas sat nearby, but his food looked slightly different, and there was no pudding at all. He ate carefully, in small pieces. One could say that of all present, he was the most well-mannered after Benjamin. "Tell us about yourself, Benjamin," Sarah requested, serving dessert. "What did you do before coming to us?" "I... was a copywriter. Wrote advertising texts." "How interesting! A creative profession. It must have been fascinating?" "At first—yes. Then... then the words ran out." "They didn't run out," Sarah gently corrected. "They just got tired. Like you. But here, in the Hive, you'll find new words. Simple and pure." She placed a bowl of pudding before him. Golden, trembling, smelling of vanilla. "Try it. It will help you." Benjamin looked at the pudding. Then at the faces of the others—expectant, watching. Even Amelia was looking with curiosity. He took a spoon, scooped some up. The taste was... incredible. The sweetness of honey, the tenderness of cream, something else—elusive, intoxicating. As if he wasn't eating dessert, but childhood itself. Carefreeness. Summer at grandma's. A time when everything was simple. "Delicious?" asked Michael, scooping up a large spoonful of dessert. "Very," Benjamin admitted, and it was the truth. "You'll see," said Sarah, "after our pudding you'll sleep like an angel. And in the morning you'll wake up renewed." Benjamin finished the dessert, feeling pleasant warmth spreading through his body. Fatigue rolled in waves. Eyelids grew heavy. "It seems our new guest needs to rest," Sarah observed. "The first day is always tiring. Lucas, escort Mr. Wilson to his room." "Of course," the boy stood up. "Let's go, Benji." Benjamin rose. His legs were like cotton, but pleasantly so. Like after a good massage. "'Benji'... No one's called me that in a long time," flashed through his mind, though apparently he didn't mind. "Good night," he said to the others. "Sweet dreams!" Michael responded. "See you in the morning!" Robert added. Amelia said nothing but nodded. They walked down the corridor, and Benjamin felt how with each step the fatigue grew stronger. Not the unpleasant exhaustion of a driven horse, but soft, enveloping. As if he was being wrapped in a warm blanket. "Is this normal?" he asked. "To want to sleep so much?" "Absolutely," Lucas assured him. "The body is relaxing. Some haven't slept normally for years. The body remembers what it's like—to truly rest." They went up to the second floor. The corridor seemed longer than during the day. Or had his legs become disobedient? "Here's your room," Lucas opened the door. "If you need anything during the night—Sarah will be in the 'Duty' room. Just knock." "And you? Do you live right here?" "I told you—I'm a local. Good night, Benji. And... don't be afraid of dreams. All dreams here are good." A strange farewell. But Benjamin was too tired to think about it. He entered the room. The bed was already turned down, pajamas lay on the pillow—soft, light blue. Beside them—a glass of water and two pills. "Vitamins," read the note. "For sound sleep. With care, S." He changed, movements slow as if underwater. The pajamas turned out to be incredibly soft, like a cloud. The teddy bear watched from the pillow. "Well, buddy," Benjamin mumbled, climbing under the covers. "Seems we've ended up in a strange place. But... not scary. Not yet." He turned off the light. Darkness covered him softly, without anxiety. And sleep came almost immediately. He's in the field again. But now not alone. A boy walks beside him—Lucas. Only not Lucas-the-child, but Lucas-the-adult. Or vice versa? "Don't think too much," says Lucas-not-Lucas. "Thinking is harmful here." "Why?" "Because thoughts interfere with feeling. And feeling is more important." They approach the house-hive. It glows from within with golden light. Honey pours from the windows. Slowly, viscously. "Is this normal?" asks Benjamin. "What's normal and what isn't?" Lucas smiles. "You've lived by other people's rules for too long. Time to create your own." The door opens. On the threshold—a woman in yellow. The face is clearer than last time. Beautiful, maternal, but the eyes... there's something ancient in the eyes. Wise. Dangerous? "Welcome home," she says. "This isn't my home." "Not yet. But it will be. All bees return to the hive." She extends her hand. On the palm—a golden drop. Honey? Something else? "Try it. It will help you remember." "Remember what?" "What it's like to be happy." He looks at the drop. It pulses as if alive. Beckons. Promises. Lucas beside him nods. "It's safe. I've checked." Benjamin extends his hand... And wakes up. The room is dark, only moonlight through the window. In his mouth—the taste of honey. On the clock—3:33. He lies staring at the ceiling. The dream has almost disappeared, only fragments remain. The woman. Honey. The promise of happiness. After some time sleep overcame him again. But this time—anxious, filled with falling into endless emptiness. Benjamin woke from his own scream. Sweat covered his face, heart pounding so hard it seemed it would jump out of his chest. The dream was already dissolving, leaving only the sensation of falling. Somewhere outside the window came a child's cry, then the sound of an engine starting and a car driving away and a barely audible phrase "There goes Theodore, discharged." He got up, legs buckling. He needed to leave this room where the walls seemed to be closing in. The corridor was dark, only emergency lights created greenish pools of light on the floor. "Lost?" Benjamin started. Lucas stood in the doorway of his room, disheveled but clearly not having slept. "I... nightmare. Just wanted some water." "The kitchen's the other way," Lucas hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Come on, I'll show you. Otherwise Sarah will scold in the morning if she finds you wandering around the house." In the kitchen Lucas turned on a small light, took out two mugs. "Tea? Regular, no additives. I sometimes hide a pack for... for bad nights." They sat in silence, warming their hands on the hot mugs. Benjamin noticed Lucas's fingers trembling. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For not leaving me alone." "It's my job," Lucas answered automatically, but it sounded unconvincing. "It's just... nights are the hardest." Benjamin wanted to ask something else, but Lucas was already standing and heading to rinse the mugs. "Come on, I'll walk you back. And try to sleep. Tomorrow will be... an interesting day." Chapter 3 Benjamin woke in a strange position—curled up in a ball, hugging his pillow. The sheets were bunched up, and there was a damp spot on the mattress from drool. "When was the last time I slept this soundly?" he wondered, not noticing that his pajama bottoms were sitting suspiciously low, as if he'd been tossing and turning all night. He lay in bed, in no hurry to get up. Last night's conversation came flooding back. Tea without additives... bad nights... trembling hands wrapped around a glass—it all seemed almost ghostly now, as if it had never happened. Benjamin rolled onto his back. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand what was wrong with that boy. Too proper, too sarcastic, too... tired? Yes, that was it. In that eleven-year-old child was the weariness of someone who had lived a long, hard life. And that weariness was all too familiar to Benjamin. "He's me, only smaller," the thought flashed through his mind. Benjamin sat up in bed, automatically tensing in anticipation of the familiar pain. That morning "hello" from his lower back that had accompanied him for the past five years. The office curse—payment for hours spent hunched over a laptop. But the pain didn't come. Benjamin froze, not believing it. He turned left—nothing. Right—same. He bent forward, backward—his spine moved easily, without protest. "Well, well," he exhaled. "Is the Hive really working miracles?" Encouraged, he jumped out of bed. And immediately doubled over—sharp pain shot from his lower back to his knees. "Ah, no, everything's fine!" he wheezed, grabbing the back of a chair. "I was worried I'd lost an old friend. Hello, sciatica, missed you?" The bear sat watching with its button eye, as if saying: "What did you expect? Miracles?" "Exactly, buddy. Miracles are for fairy tales. And you and I are too old for fairy tales." Limping, he made it to the bathroom. On the shelf waited yesterday's toothbrush—yellow, with a cartoon bee on the handle. Next to it lay his own—worn, with frayed bristles, having served so faithfully that Benjamin couldn't even remember when he'd bought it. "Seriously?" he asked his reflection. "They think I'm going to brush my teeth with this toy?" He took the old brush. The bristles were stiff, matted in places. The toothpaste barely foamed on the worn fibers. But it was HIS brush. Familiar and reliable. True, his gums bled slightly after brushing. And the aftertaste wasn't the most pleasant. But Benjamin stubbornly rinsed the old brush and put it back, pushing the cheerful bee far away. "Let them know that Benjamin Wilson doesn't fall for cheap manipulations with cute toothbrushes," he muttered, getting dressed. Going down to breakfast, he thought again about Lucas. What makes an eleven-year-old boy get up in the middle of the night, hide regular tea from the management, sit with a stranger guest in a dark kitchen? Loneliness? But this place was full of people. Duty? But this clearly went beyond job responsibilities. Almost everyone had already gathered in the dining room. Michael was again enthusiastically sculpting right at the table—Sara hadn't managed to confiscate the clay yet. Robert was methodically stirring his porridge, counting the rotations of the spoon. Amelia was leafing through a bright picture book. Lucas sat in the far corner, intently studying the contents of his plate. When Benjamin appeared, he glanced up quickly and looked away. Taking a tray, he headed toward Lucas's table. The boy tensed but didn't look up. "Good morning," said Benjamin, sitting across from him. "How did you sleep?" "Fine," Lucas muttered into his plate. "And you?" The official distance again. "Not bad. Slept especially well after the tea. Sorry I woke you up." Lucas jerked, quickly looking around—had anyone heard? "It won't happen again, don't talk about it so loudly." "That's a shame. I enjoyed the company." "Lucas!" Sara's sharp voice made them both jump. "Why hasn't the library been cleaned yet? I asked you yesterday!" The boy jumped up, nearly knocking over his glass. "Sorry, Aunt Sara, I'll do it right now..." "It's my fault," Benjamin suddenly said. "I asked Lucas to show me the books yesterday. We stayed up late, he didn't have time to clean." Sara turned her displeased gaze to him. "Guests shouldn't distract staff from their duties." "I apologize. I didn't think." She pursed her lips but didn't argue with a guest. "Lucas, clean up after breakfast." "Yes, Aunt Sara." When she walked away, Lucas looked at Benjamin with amazement. "Why did you do that?" "Well, we really could have stayed up late in the library. If you had been showing it to me." A ghost of a smile flickered on the boy's lips. "Thank you." "Don't mention it." They continued eating in silence. The porridge was cloyingly sweet, but hunger took precedence. Benjamin noticed that Lucas's portion was noticeably smaller—actually, his entire breakfast consisted only of a bowl of porridge and half a cheese sandwich, with no jam or cinnamon roll at all. "Listen, why do you only have porridge?" "Oh, it's a new diet. It's called 'don't be a smartass and you'll get dessert,'" Lucas feigned a smile. "Very effective." "They punish you with food?" "They 'correct behavior through a reward system,'" Lucas mimicked an official tone. "Sounds better than 'starve him for having opinions,' right?" Benjamin waited until Sara was distracted, quickly wrapped a roll in a napkin, and pressed it into Lucas's hands. "What's this?" Lucas stared at the bundle as if it might explode. "A roll. Round thing made of dough. People usually eat them." "I know what a roll is!" Lucas hissed, but pocketed it. "Just... Why?" "Because punishing with food is despicable." Lucas opened his mouth for another sarcastic remark, but closed it. For a second, his carefully constructed mask cracked, and Benjamin saw a glimpse of something real—surprise, embarrassment, cautious gratitude. "Well... thanks," Lucas mumbled, looking away. "Though it's completely unnecessary. I don't need..." "Yeah, yeah, you're a tough guy who doesn't need anyone," Benjamin interrupted. "Message received. Now eat your porridge before Sara notices our contraband." "Yes," he agreed quietly. Breakfast was coming to an end when there was a loud clap of hands. "Now it's time for creative activities! Today we're sculpting with clay," Sara announced cheerfully. Everyone headed to the playroom. Michael practically ran, anticipating new materials for creativity. Amelia walked more slowly, but with interest. Robert simply trudged along, carried by the general flow. "I'll pass," said Benjamin, stopping at the door. Sara turned around, eyebrows rising. "What do you mean 'pass'? Everyone participates in group activities. It's an important part of the recovery program." "Thanks, but I'd rather take a walk. My head feels a bit heavy after breakfast." "Benjamin," steel notes appeared in Sara's voice. "Creativity helps you open up, let go. You came here for help, didn't you?" "Yes. But right now fresh air will help me." They looked at each other—the stubborn guest and the displeased nanny. Finally, Sara sighed. "Well. Everything comes with time. But tomorrow I expect you at the activities. Without fail." "We'll see." Benjamin went out into the garden, feeling her displeased gaze on his back. Lucas slipped past with an armful of aprons for sculpting, throwing a quick glance—a mixture of surprise and approval. It was cool outside. The morning sun hadn't yet warmed the air, dew glistened on the grass. Benjamin wandered aimlessly, enjoying the silence. No Michael's enthusiastic exclamations, no Sara's lectures, no intrusive care. The path led him to a distant part of the garden. Old apple trees grew here—gnarled, with spreading crowns. Under one of them, the grass was trampled—someone often sat here. Benjamin lowered himself to the ground, leaning his back against the rough trunk. He closed his eyes. Silence. Only bees buzzing somewhere in the distance, and leaves rustling in the wind. "Strange place," he thought. "Strange people. And that boy..." A delicate cough made him open his eyes. Lucas stood a couple of meters away, shifting from foot to foot. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you." "You're not disturbing. Are the activities over already?" "No. I brought the aprons and said I was going for soap. I have about ten minutes." He shuffled in place, clearly hesitating. "May I... may I sit? Just for a bit. This is my secret place. I come here when I need to think." "Of course, sit down. It's your place after all." Lucas sat down beside him, pulling his knees up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the roll wrapped in a napkin. The same one from breakfast. "Want half? They're from the bakery in town. No honey." "No honey?" Benjamin accepted the offered piece. "Is that important?" Lucas froze with the roll halfway to his mouth. "Just... I don't really like honey. Too sweet." They chewed in silence. The roll was fresh, with cinnamon. Ordinary pastry, but after the cloying porridge, it seemed like a delicacy. "It's strange that there's honey everywhere here," Benjamin began. "Is it some kind of special diet?" "No, it's not a diet, it's... The honey here... it..." The boy cringed as if preparing for a blow. Opened his mouth, closed it. Opened again. "Lucas," Benjamin looked at him. "Are you all right?" The words clearly wanted to burst out, but something was stopping them. Fear? A prohibition? Lucas jumped up, brushing off his jeans. "I have to go. Sara will be looking for me." "Wait! You wanted to say something?" "No. I mean yes. I mean..." he was clearly panicking. "I really have to go. Sorry." And he ran off. Literally—took off and ran toward the house, leaving Benjamin sitting in complete bewilderment. "What the hell?" he muttered, watching the figure flashing between the trees. The half-eaten roll lay on the grass where Lucas had been sitting. Benjamin picked it up, brushed off the grass. Ordinary pastry. "No honey." As if it were important. Vitally important. "Why was he so scared?" he thought, examining the piece of pastry. "Maybe food punishment isn't the limit?" Benjamin sat under the apple tree for a long time, but no answers came. Only questions multiplied, like bees around a hive. "The honey here... it..." Lucas's words spun in his head. Getting up, Benjamin brushed grass from his jeans. Time to go back. Maybe Robert could tell him something—after all, he'd been here the longest. Or Amelia had noticed something unusual. At the entrance to the building, right on the steps, sat Michael. In his hands was an old acoustic guitar, and he was clumsily strumming the strings, humming something under his breath. Colorful clay sculptures lay nearby. Michael looked up and beamed: "Oh, Benjamin! Can you play? I'm trying to remember... something from the past. I think I used to know how." "A little," Benjamin admitted, though the last time he'd held a guitar was ten years ago, in college. "Show me! Please!" Michael held out the instrument with such hope in his eyes that it was impossible to refuse. Benjamin sat down beside him and took the guitar. His fingers found familiar chords on their own—something simple, from those songs sung around campfires. Uncertain at first, then more confidently. "I know this song!" Michael exclaimed and began to sing along, mixing up the words but with such enthusiasm that Benjamin couldn't help but smile. Others began to gather around them. Robert brought his pencils and settled down to draw. Amelia appeared with a book, but instead of reading, she listened to the music. The anxiety caused by Lucas's strange words began to recede. It was hard to think about riddles and secrets when people around you were singing old forgotten songs in an off-key chorus. "Do you know this one?" Amelia asked and hummed a melody. Benjamin recognized it—an old children's song his grandmother used to sing. He picked out the chords, and Amelia began to sing—in a surprisingly pure, beautiful voice. A financial director singing children's songs? But somehow here it didn't seem strange. The sun was setting, painting the hive and garden in golden tones. A thermos of tea appeared from somewhere (with honey, of course, but it wasn't irritating now) and a basket of cookies. The impromptu concert turned into a small picnic. "I haven't relaxed like this in a long time," Robert admitted, showing his drawing—all of them sitting in a circle, with Benjamin and his guitar in the center. "Thank you." "Yes," Amelia agreed, and her usually tense face looked relaxed. "I'd forgotten I could sing." Benjamin felt something warm in his chest. When was the last time he'd done something just for fun? When was the last time he'd been part of something... good? Sara appeared in the doorway. Benjamin tensed, expecting a remark—surely they'd missed some mandatory event. But she just smiled: "What wonderful music! Don't stop, I'll just call Lucas—he loves the guitar." A couple of minutes later, Lucas appeared: "Aunt Sara, seriously?" he looked at her pleadingly. "Sit down," Benjamin simply said. "Or are you afraid your reputation will suffer?" "My reputation is the only thing I have left," Lucas snapped, but sat on the very edge of the steps. Benjamin played an old Irish tune, and Michael jumped up and started dancing—awkwardly, funny, but so sincerely that soon others joined him. Even Sara was tapping her foot. "Strange place," Benjamin thought, watching the dancing people. "Strange rules, strange boy with his secrets. But also..." Robert moved closer, showing a new drawing—the hive surrounded by flowers and dancing bees. "That's us," he explained. "Bees in their home. Happy bees." "But also," Benjamin finished the thought, "the first place in a long time where I feel alive." During the song, Benjamin watched the boy from the corner of his eye. At first, Lucas sat with a stone face, showing with his whole being how bored he was. Then his foot began to barely noticeably beat the rhythm. By the third song, he was silently singing along, thinking no one could see. "Hey, Lucas," Benjamin called between songs. "Which one do you like?" "I don't..." the boy began automatically, but met Benjamin's gaze. He was looking without mockery, genuinely interested. "'House by the Road.' If you know it." "I know it." Benjamin played the melody, and something changed in Lucas's face. The armor gave another crack. He began to sing—quietly, almost whispering, but his voice was pure and gentle as an angel's. When the song ended, Lucas suddenly realized everyone was looking at him. The protective mask instantly returned to its place. "What are you staring at? Yes, I can sing a little." But Benjamin saw the light blush on his cheeks and how the boy studiously avoided his gaze. "That was a wonderful concert," said Sara. "But now it's getting cold, and everyone needs to go inside." With these words, the whole company gathered their modest belongings and headed inside the hive. In the evening, lying in his too-soft bed, he could still hear echoes of the songs. His fingers ached pleasantly from the strings. On the nightstand stood a glass of milk—Sara had brought it, "for better sleep." Benjamin sniffed—honey, of course. But also cinnamon and something soothing. "The honey here... it..." Lucas's words surfaced in memory, but they no longer frightened him as much. Whatever that boy was hiding, whatever was wrong with this place—today Benjamin had sung songs and danced for the first time in many years. Wasn't that worth a small risk? He took a small sip. Sweet, warm, cozy. Like grandmother's milk with honey in childhood, when he couldn't sleep. The bear settled comfortably beside him. "You know what?" Benjamin whispered. "Maybe not all mysteries need to be solved. Maybe sometimes you can just... live?" Crickets chirped outside the window. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. Ordinary sounds of an ordinary night. But somehow here, in the "Hive," they sounded like a lullaby. Benjamin closed his eyes and for the first time in many months fell asleep without anxiety about tomorrow. At the end of the corridor, a yellow beam of light shone from under the door. "Staff only" read the sign on the door. Two voices were arguing about something: "...I can't stay silent anymore, Aunt Sara. They should know!" "You made a promise," came Sara's calm voice. "Miss Hart trusts you. Don't disappoint her." "But it's wrong! They all... they're changing, and he doesn't even suspect!" "Lucas, dear," Sara's voice became softer. "You know this is for their own good. They'll be happier." A long pause. "They'll become different," the boy finally answered. "And won't be able to remember if they wanted this." "Of course they wanted it! We all want peace. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow is an important day." Chapter 4 The morning of the third day dawned unexpectedly clear. Not with the familiar awakening of a heavy head and bitter taste that Benjamin had grown accustomed to over the past months. This was different—a light, almost weightless return from sleep, as if he hadn't been sleeping but floating somewhere between worlds. He opened his eyes. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting golden patterns on the wall. The patterns moved and shimmered, resembling honeycomb. Benjamin blinked. No, just a trick of the light. Strange. Usually his first morning thought was: "Why the hell am I still alive?" Then checking his phone (how many new rejections?), then the dull ache of realizing another meaningless day lay ahead. But today... today was different. He sat up in bed, expecting the familiar crack in his back. Nothing. He turned his head—his neck moved easily, without strain. He stretched cautiously, remembering yesterday's surprise—and froze in amazement. When had he last woken without pain? The bear sat beside him, watching his owner as usual. "Good morning, buddy," Benjamin said, and his own voice seemed higher. He cleared his throat. No, just morning hoarseness. "Seems their program really works." He sat on the edge of the bed. The floor beneath his bare feet was warm—heated? Or just warmed by the sun through the window. He stood, and the world swayed. Not from weakness—from a strange sensation of lightness. As if gravity had loosened its grip by a few percent. It's all the vitamins, he told himself. And proper sleep. Nothing surprising. But inside, as usual, the worm of worry made itself known. Too good. Too fast. In real life, things don't work this way—fall asleep a sick loser, wake up a healthy optimist. In the bathroom, a surprise awaited him. On the shelf next to two toothbrushes appeared a third—small, pink, with a unicorn design. Clearly intended for children. He picked it up, turned it in his hands. Soft bristles, comfortable handle, but for a small hand. A note was attached: "In case the previous one seems too harsh. With care, S." "Too harsh?" he muttered, looking back and forth between his toothbrush and the one with the bee. "Is this some kind of hint?" But when he started brushing with his own, he understood—the bristles really did scratch his gums painfully. Strange, he hadn't noticed before. Strange, it hadn't been like this before. He spat out the foam. His gaze fell on the reflection in the mirror, and Benjamin froze in surprise. Without a doubt, it was his face, but... different. Not dramatically, but noticeably. Smoother skin. The crow's feet almost gone. His beard grew unevenly, quite sparse in places. "Wow," was all he could say to himself, shaving the sparse growth. "Good sleep, vitamins, fresh air. Nothing supernatural... And all in just one day..." The razor glided easily over his skin. As if the hair had become thinner, softer. The clothes prepared the night before fit very strangely. The t-shirt hung loose on his shoulders, though it had fit yesterday. The pants were clearly too wide. He looked at the label—seemed to be his size. But then why... Must have stretched, he decided, tightening the drawstring on the waist. And they said they had a good eye for sizes. Leaving his room, he nearly collided with Lucas. The boy stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He wore the same jeans and bee t-shirt, but his expression... like yesterday, the usual mask worn by almost all staff in almost every hotel in the world. "Good morning," Lucas said, and a smile appeared on his face with visible effort. "How did you sleep?" "Great. Almost too well." The boy nodded. "Today is our most important day. The body begins to... adapt." "To what?" Lucas shrugged. "To rest. To the absence of stress. The body remembers what it's like not to be in constant tension. Sometimes the reaction can be... unexpected." They walked to the stairs. Benjamin noticed he was walking differently somehow. Lighter? Faster? No, more like... bouncing? He consciously slowed his pace, trying to walk "like an adult." "Tour," Lucas said unexpectedly. "I promised to show you everything. Ready to see the real 'Hive'?" "I thought what you showed me the first day was real?" The boy smirked. "You saw the facade. The pretty wrapper. But every hive has combs. Deep, dark, full of secrets. Want to take a peek?" Benjamin tensed. "Is it safe?" he asked, and it came out somehow childishly awkward, making him blush slightly. "Safety is a relative concept. But there won't be any harm. Just... knowledge. Whether you want to know is up to you." Lucas smiled mysteriously, clearly enjoying adding so much intrigue. They descended to the first floor. In the dining room, Michael was already having breakfast, humming something under his breath. Before him was a bowl of porridge and a child's spill-proof cup. "Good morning!" he exclaimed cheerfully, noticing Benjamin. "Look what they gave me!" He lifted the cup—bright, with cartoon bees, with a special spout. "Sarah says I spilled juice three times yesterday. Now I have a special cup! Very convenient!" Benjamin noticed that Michael's manner of speaking had changed. Simpler. Shorter sentences. And that cup... "You'll get one too if you're careless," Lucas said quietly. "First the cup. Then the special plate. Then... By the way, since we're here, maybe we should have breakfast?" The boy's mood shifted again. "You know, I'm not really hungry," Benjamin replied, glancing at Michael wolfing down his porridge. They left the dining room and turned right, walked a couple of meters, went up the stairs and turned into a small corridor Benjamin hadn't noticed before. Narrow, with a low ceiling, lit by dim lamps. "Service area," the boy explained. "Guests aren't usually brought here." They passed several doors. Behind one came quiet singing—a lullaby? Behind another—rhythmic creaking, as if someone was rocking in a chair. "What's in there?" Benjamin asked. "Special therapy rooms. For those who need... additional help." Lucas stopped at a slightly open door. He peeked inside, then stepped back. "You can look. But quietly." Benjamin quietly approached and peered through the narrow gap. Inside was a room that looked like... a nursery? But for an adult. A large bed with high sides. Pastel wallpaper with clouds. In the corner—a shelf with toys. And in the rocking chair... He recognized the profile. Robert. But not the Robert he had seen yesterday. This Robert sat with his legs tucked up, sucking his thumb. He wore... a onesie? One piece, with feet, similar to what lay in Benjamin's room. In his arms—a worn plush rabbit. Sarah sat beside him. She sang quietly, stroking Robert's head. He swayed to the rhythm of her singing, eyes half-closed. Benjamin recoiled from the door. "What... what's wrong with him?" "Regression therapy," Lucas answered calmly, as if there was nothing strange about it. "Robert doesn't sleep well at night. Nightmares. Memories of his past life. Sarah helps him calm down before starting the day." "But he's... he's sucking his thumb!" "So what?" The boy's voice was impassive. "It calms him. Makes him happy. Is that bad?" "But he's a grown man!" "On the outside—yes. But inside? Inside he's a little boy who just wants his mother to sing him a lullaby." The door opened wider. Sarah came out with a tray. "Boys," she said with mild reproach. "You shouldn't be peeking. It violates our guests' privacy." "Sorry, Aunt Sarah," Lucas quickly replied. "I was showing Mr. Wilson our facilities." She shifted her gaze to Benjamin. Appraising, studying. It lingered on his waist, where he had tightened his pants. "Clothes getting too big? That's normal. Stress leaves, the body changes. I'll bring you a smaller set." "Thank you, but..." "And don't forget," she interrupted. "Today after lunch is mandatory quiet hour. For all guests. No exceptions." "I don't nap during the day." "You don't have to sleep, you can just lie down," her smile widened. "But the body knows what it needs." She came closer, reached out and stroked Benjamin's cheek. The touch was warm, maternal. "Don't worry, Benjamin. We just want to help. Inside each of us lives a little child. And our task is to let them feel safe." Benjamin wanted to pull away but couldn't. The touch was too... right? "Now run along, boys. Show him the library, Lucas. And don't be late for lunch." Run along, boys. As if he and Lucas were the same age. They walked down the corridor in silence. Benjamin tried to catch Lucas's eye, but he stubbornly looked straight ahead. "Is it like this with everyone?" he finally asked. "What exactly?" Lucas didn't turn around. "Regression therapy. Does everyone go through it?" "Only those who need it," came the mechanical answer. "And how do they determine who needs it?" Lucas stopped. For several seconds he stood with his back to Benjamin, who could see the boy clenching and unclenching his fists. "Miss Hart knows," he finally said. "She always knows what each guest needs." And walked on again. The library indeed contained mostly children's books. Bright covers, large print. "I can recommend this one," Lucas took a book from the shelf. "The Adventures of the Brave Little Bear. Many guests find it... calming." He held out the book, and their eyes met. For a moment the mask cracked—anguish flickered in the boy's eyes. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something. "Lucas..." Benjamin began. "I have to go," the boy said sharply. "I have many other duties." But he didn't move. He stood, clutching the book, fighting something inside himself. "The honey here... it..." The words burst out against his will. "What about the honey?" Lucas paled, stepped back. "Nothing. Forget it. I really have to go." And he ran out of the library, leaving Benjamin holding the book. Somewhere deep in the house a bell rang, inviting all guests to the dining room. The soup smelled wonderful. Vegetables, herbs, and of course, honey. Always honey. "And after lunch—quiet hour!" Robert reminded everyone cheerfully. "I've already chosen a book. About a baby elephant's adventures. Sarah will read to me before sleep." Read before sleep. To a grown man. Amelia snorted, but without her former sarcasm. "Children's books," she said, envy audible in her voice. "I took one yesterday. Just out of curiosity. 'The Little Prince.' Haven't read it since childhood." "And?" Sarah asked. "I... cried," Amelia admitted. "As if I understood for the first time. About the fox. About the rose. About being responsible for those we've tamed." She fell silent, staring at her plate. "I haven't tamed anyone. And no one has tamed me. Thirty-eight years, and I haven't tamed anyone." Silence hung over the table. Even Michael stopped humming. "Here you can start fresh," Sarah said softly. "Learn to trust. To open up. To tame and be tamed." Lucas appeared in the doorway, with Benjamin behind him. "Sorry for being late, Aunt Sarah. Benjamin and I got caught up in the library," he said brightly. "No harm done, boys. Sit down and eat." Benjamin took a spoon and began eating. The taste was simple and clean, as if his taste buds had been cleansed of years of coffee, fast food, and disappointment buildup. "Tasty?" Michael asked. There was a drop of soup on his chin, but he didn't seem to care. "Very," Benjamin admitted. Silence settled over the dining room, broken only by the clinking of spoons against bowls. "And now—quiet hour," Sarah announced. "Everyone upstairs to your rooms." Benjamin was about to start protesting, but someone beat him to it. "I don't want to sleep!" Lucas suddenly burst out. Everyone turned to him. The boy stood, fists clenched, chin stubbornly raised. "Lucas," steel appeared in Sarah's voice. "We've discussed this." "But I'm a helper! I have different rules!" "Today you rest. Miss Hart's orders." "It's not fair! I'm not little! I'm not like them!" He pointed at the guests, desperation in his voice. Sarah approached him, placed a hand on his shoulder. Lucas flinched as if struck. "Don't touch me!" "Lucas Martinez!" Sarah's voice turned icy. "How dare you behave this way?" "How should I behave?" the boy shouted. "Pretend everything's normal? That this place is normal? That what you do to people is normal?" The sound of a slap cut through the air. Not hard, but sharp. Lucas pressed his hand to his cheek, tears in his eyes. "To the corner," Sarah ordered. "Immediately." "But..." "To the corner!" Everyone watched silently as Lucas trudged to the corner of the dining room. He stood facing the wall, head down. His shoulders trembled. "I apologize for this scene," Sarah turned to the guests. "Children sometimes forget themselves." "He's just a child," Benjamin found himself saying. "He works here. Helps you. Why are you treating him this way?" Sarah looked at him coldly. "Mr. Wilson, you've only been here a few days. You don't know the whole situation." "I know enough to see you're humiliating him." "I'm educating him. There's a difference." "Educating? By putting him in the corner like a five-year-old?" "Benjamin, sit down." "No. I won't be silent when..." "Enough." The voice came from the corner. Lucas turned, wiping away tears. "Please, Benjamin. Don't. Aunt Sarah is right. I was behaving badly." "But you were just..." "I was being whiny," Lucas interrupted in a mechanical voice. "Shouting. Being rude. Children shouldn't behave that way." In his eyes was a plea—don't continue, don't make it worse. "There's a good boy," Sarah approached him, patted his head. Lucas didn't flinch, though his whole body tensed. "Now go to your room. Rest. After quiet hour we'll discuss your behavior." "Yes, Aunt Sarah." At the door, Lucas turned around. He looked at Benjamin with a long gaze full of gratitude and pain. Silently mouthed: "Thank you." And left. "Well," Sarah clapped her hands as if nothing had happened. "Everyone else—to your rooms. Quiet hour isn't canceled." Everyone dispersed silently. Amelia threw Benjamin a strange look—either approving or warning. In the corridor, Michael caught up with Benjamin. "You shouldn't have argued with Sarah," he whispered. "She doesn't like being contradicted." "It wasn't fair." "Many things here aren't fair. But we didn't come for fairness. We came for peace." With these words, Michael headed to his room, leaving Benjamin alone. Already at his door, Benjamin heard a quiet knock. He turned—Lucas was peeking out from behind the opposite door. "Quickly," he whispered. Benjamin slipped into the boy's room. It was small, neat. On the walls—no posters, just a schedule of duties. Books on the desk. "Thank you," Lucas said, closing the door. "No one's stood up for me in a long time." "I couldn't stay silent." "I know." The boy sat on the bed, pulled his knees to his chest. "But now Sarah will watch you more closely. You're under suspicion." "Of what?" "Resistance." Lucas stood, went to the desk, quickly wrote something on a piece of paper. "Here. Read it when you're alone. And... be careful. Especially with the food. Especially with dessert." He handed over the folded paper. "Lucas, what's going on here?" The boy shook his head. "Not now. Not here. The walls have ears. But... thank you. For seeing me as a person." "You are a person." A bitter smile appeared on Lucas's face. "Sometimes I doubt that myself. Now go. If Sarah finds out you're here..." Benjamin clutched the note in his fist and left. In his room, he lay on the bed. Outside the window, birds sang. The house fell into quiet hour silence. But sleep wouldn't come. Before his eyes stood Lucas—a small figure with head held high. Finally he unfolded the note. "There will be a check during quiet hour today. Pretend to be asleep. They check who's yielding and who's resisting. Be smarter. Don't give them a reason. P.S. Thank you again. You have no idea how much it means. L." A check... Benjamin frowned. In his mind, this place was beginning to look more like a prison than a recovery center. Half an hour passed. Then—the click of a lock. Quiet footsteps. Someone's breathing above him. A touch to his hair—light, almost imperceptible. "Sleeping," Sarah whispered. "Good. So he's not hopeless." The footsteps retreated. The door closed. Benjamin opened his eyes. His heart was pounding. What kind of check? What were they looking for? The rest of the day passed in a strange atmosphere of normalcy. Afternoon snack, creative activities (Benjamin refused to sculpt, citing a headache), dinner. Lucas appeared and disappeared—the perfect little helper. But several times their eyes met, and in the boy's eyes Benjamin saw gratitude. After dinner, everyone watched a cartoon. On screen, a brave puppy was saving his friends. Simple plot, bright colors, predictable happy ending. Lucas sat nearby—not next to him, but close enough. "Silly, isn't it?" he whispered in the darkness. "A bit." "But it draws you in. First it seems silly. Then amusing. Then you wait for the sequel. And then... then you don't remember what you watched before." Fatigue sounded in his voice. "Everything will be alright," Benjamin whispered. Lucas turned to him. In the dim light, his face seemed even younger. "Do you really think so?" "Yes." The boy turned back to the screen, but Benjamin saw his shoulders tremble. As if he was holding back tears. When everyone was going to bed, Lucas lingered. "Tomorrow..." he began. "Tomorrow might be a difficult day. For you. Miss Hart returns from her visit. She'll want to meet you." "And that's bad?" "It's..." Lucas searched for words. "She can see right through people. See what they need. And give it to them. Even if they didn't ask." "Lucas..." "Good night." The boy left quickly, leaving Benjamin with an anxious premonition. At night he couldn't fall asleep for a long time. Outside the window crickets chirped, somewhere far away an owl hooted. Normal sounds. But somehow disturbing. The bear sat on the pillow. "What do you say, buddy?" Benjamin whispered. "What have we gotten ourselves into?" The bear was silent. But in his single button eye seemed to be reflected understanding. Tomorrow would be a new day. A meeting with the mysterious Miss Hart. And possibly, answers to questions. Or new questions without answers. Somewhere deep in the house a lullaby played. Quiet, soothing. Promising peace. Benjamin closed his eyes, trying not to think about the price of that peace. And about the boy who had seen too much for his eleven years. But sleep wouldn't come. Thoughts circled like bees around a hive. Benjamin got up, went to the window. The garden dozed under the moon. And there, under the apple tree, he saw a solitary figure. Without thinking, he threw on a sweater and left his room. The house slept. Only the floorboards creaked quietly underfoot. Getting out was easier than he thought—the door wasn't locked. The night air was cool, smelling of flowers and honey. Always honey. Lucas sat under the apple tree, hugging his knees. He didn't turn when Benjamin approached. "Can't sleep?" Benjamin asked quietly, sitting down beside him. "I rarely sleep at night," the boy answered. "It's quieter at night. You can think." A long pause. "Can I ask you something?" Benjamin finally said. Lucas nodded. "Are you happy here?" A long pause. The boy plucked a blade of grass, began slowly tearing it to pieces. "What is happiness? Absence of pain? Then yes. Robert is happy. Michael is happy. Soon Amelia will be happy too." "That's not an answer." "It's the only answer I can give." Lucas stood, brushed off his jeans. But didn't leave—stood looking at the house. "You know what's strangest? Sometimes I look at new guests and think—maybe this is how it should be? Maybe they really will find peace here. Maybe oblivion is happiness." "Oblivion?" Lucas flinched, as if regretting saying too much. He turned to Benjamin, and in his eyes was the torment of choice. "You're not like the others. The rest arrive already broken. But you... you're still fighting. And that..." "What?" "That reminds me of one guest," Lucas whispered. "Someone I've tried to forget." Somewhere inside the house a light came on. "I have to go," Lucas said quickly. "Don't tell Sarah you saw me here. Please." "Of course." Lucas took a few steps, stopped. "Benjamin? Be careful. Especially with..." He didn't finish, shook his head and walked quickly to the house. Almost out of sight, Lucas stopped, turned and said quietly: "Good night," and waved his thin hand. The house was quiet. Only the old walls creaked, and somewhere far away the lullaby still played. Tomorrow I'll have to find out why the hell they're breaking into rooms, Benjamin muttered through the sleep enveloping him. Chapter 5 Benjamin awoke a minute before the alarm—if he'd set one. He simply opened his eyes and knew: I've slept well. Truly slept well. When was the last time that happened? A year ago? Two? He stretched in bed as far as he could and caught himself not fearing the usual protest from his joints. His body responded with a smooth, almost feline movement. No stiffness, no heaviness. As if overnight someone had oiled all the gears of his internal mechanism. Everything that happened yesterday seemed so distant now, as if it had never existed at all. Those strange warnings from Lucas, the puzzling visit during naptime, and the nap itself. All of it seemed unimportant now. What mattered was that for the first time in years, he felt rested. "Fresh air, good food, no stress—worth waking up your inner child for that," flashed through his mind. Benjamin smiled at the thought of how he'd look in Robert's place in that room, and for some reason blushed slightly. The bear sat on the pillow with his... with his two eyes, shining as if freshly polished! In the morning light, he looked almost new—as if he'd grown younger along with his owner. "Hey, buddy, looks like they fixed you up a bit too!" Benjamin ruffled the plush head. In the bathroom, he was greeted by the reflection of almost a stranger. Face fresh, rested, no hint of bags under the eyes. Skin... glowing! He ran a hand over his cheek—smooth, no stubble. Strange, usually by morning he'd have a decent beard. "Must have shaved more thoroughly than usual yesterday," he decided, though he didn't remember doing so. The toothbrush—without a moment's hesitation, he took the brand new bright yellow one with the bee—fit perfectly in his hand. He looked at his fingers. Normal fingers. Just... maybe a bit thinner? His clothes hung even looser than yesterday. The t-shirt looked more like a tunic. The pants only stayed up thanks to the tightly drawn cord. "Need to ask for a smaller size," he thought, tightening the cord even more. "Or two sizes." But his mood wasn't dampened by this. On the contrary—he felt an incredible lightness. Energy. The desire to... what? Run? Jump? Laugh? He left the room almost skipping. And immediately froze. Lucas stood in the corridor. Pressed against the wall, clearly waiting. Face pale, tense. In his hands—a crumpled dust cloth, an alibi in case of questions. "Quiet," the boy whispered, grabbing Benjamin's hand. "Come. Quickly." "What happened? Breakfast is..." "Later. This is more important." Lucas pulled him toward a door marked "Service Room." He looked around—the corridor was empty. Pushed the door, shoved Benjamin inside, darted in after him. The cramped storage room smelled of dampness and old mops. Lucas pressed against the door, listening. Then turned to Benjamin. In the dim light, his eyes seemed enormous. "We don't have much time. Sarah thinks I'm cleaning the library. Listen carefully and don't interrupt." "Lucas, what..." "The honey!" the boy blurted out. "It's all about the honey. In the pudding, in the drinks, in all the food. Miss Hart's special formula. It triggers the process of... change." "What change?" "Regression. Return. Call it what you like. The body starts to grow younger. The mind follows. Or vice versa—it's different for everyone." Benjamin felt himself go cold inside, but his mind refused to believe what his young companion was saying. "Come on, enough with the childish scary stories!" he said. "These aren't scary stories!" Lucas flared up. "Did you wake up with back pain today? Are your wrinkles still there? Is your stubble growing normally?" Silence, thick and heavy, filled the small room. "Alright..." Benjamin finally squeezed out. "Even if we assume everything you said is true, then why all this?" "Why do forty-year-old men buy expensive cars and dress like teenagers?" Lucas retorted. "I don't know, I don't buy them," Benjamin said, confused. "To escape and create the illusion that..." At that moment, the storage room door suddenly swung open. Sarah stood in the doorway. Her gaze swept over the mops, brooms, and other cleaning tools, then settled on the two conspirators sitting on the floor. "Lucas," her voice was frighteningly calm. "What's going on here?" "I was telling Benjamin..." "I heard what you were telling him. Mr. Wilson, wouldn't you like to take a walk in the garden? Fresh air will help you process this new information." It wasn't a question. Benjamin stood up. He glanced at Lucas—the boy sat with his head down, fists clenched. "See you at lunch," he said. "If Miss Hart allows it," Lucas replied quietly. Sarah escorted Benjamin to the stairs. "Don't believe everything Lucas says," she said gently. "He's... a complicated case. Sometimes he fantasizes. Makes up stories. It's part of his condition." "Condition?" "Let's say he's watched too many different people here, and Lucas... He's a very impressionable boy. Once he became very close to one of the guests, but unfortunately, we couldn't help him, and Lucas... Lucas fell into depression... Miss Hart saved him, but periodically the old demons return. He starts spouting nonsense about conspiracies, about irreversibility... Don't listen to him. It's all the fantasies of a sick child." She tried to smile, but the smile came out overly strained. "Go to the garden. Get some air. Robert is there making clay figures. Join him. Creativity heals." Benjamin nodded and headed for the exit. But halfway down the stairs, he stopped. Listened. Sarah's voice could be heard muffled. Quiet, but with tension in it: "...last warning, Lucas. One more attempt at sabotage, and Miss Hart..." He couldn't hear the rest. Benjamin went out into the garden through the glass doors. The sun hit his eyes, making him squint. The air was thick with the scent of flowers and honey. Bees buzzed, flying from flower to flower. A normal scene. Peaceful. Idyllic. But now Benjamin looked at it with different eyes. Bees in the hive. Flowers in the garden. Everything in its place. Everyone playing their roles. What if Lucas had told the truth? What if the morning lightness wasn't from vitamins? What if the changes had already begun? He looked at his hands. Normal hands. Adult. But this morning, when he washed up, they had seemed... smaller? Smoother? "Paranoia," he told himself, pushing away the silly thoughts. "Lucas really is a sick child with fantasies. This is just a retreat. Unusual, strange, but a retreat." "Benjamin!" Robert called out. "Come here! I'm making bees!" Robert sat at a table in the shade of a large tree. Before him—a lump of clay and an army of crooked bees. He was smiling. Happily, sincerely. Around his neck was a bib. Bright, with pictures. Like a toddler's. "Sit down! It's so fun! Sarah taught me how to make wings!" Benjamin sat down. Took a piece of clay. It was soft, warm. Pleasant to the touch. "You know what?" Robert leaned toward him conspiratorially. "Last night I had a dream. A good one! The first in... in a long time. I was little, and Mom was baking cookies. And I was helping. And it was so nice..." A tear rolled down his cheek, but he was smiling. "It's nice here, right? Here you don't have to pretend to be big and strong." Benjamin kneaded the clay, feeling something inside him respond to these words. Tiredness from pretending. From the need to be an adult. From constant struggle. What if he just let go? What if he allowed himself to... No. No, this was the honey thinking for him. This place. This atmosphere. Lucas was right—these weren't fantasies! He had to leave. Today. Now. Drop everything and run, run from this strange place. But his hands kept sculpting. A small, crooked, happy bee. And somewhere deep inside, a quiet voice whispered: "What are you losing? No job. No money. No life. Maybe at least here..." The sun climbed higher. The day rolled toward noon. Toward the mandatory quiet hour. The bee in his hands smiled with a crooked mouth. Almost like him. Almost. Noon came unnoticed. The sun hung directly overhead, casting short shadows. Benjamin still sat at the table, surrounded by an army of clay bees—his own and Robert's. His hands were stained with clay, brown matter packed under his nails, but he didn't notice. Or didn't want to notice. "Lunchtime!" Sarah's bell rang. She stood in the doorway, smiling. "Boys, go wash your hands. Today we have pumpkin soup and fresh bread." "Boys." She called them boys. Robert and him. Two adult men. Robert jumped up with the enthusiasm of a child promised his favorite treat. "Yay! I'm so hungry! Benjamin, are you coming?" Benjamin rose more slowly. His legs were stiff from sitting so long. Or... no, just stiff. Nothing strange. In the dining room, the others had already gathered. Michael sat in his place, before him—a special plate with high edges. Amelia looked... calmer? More relaxed? Hair loose instead of a strict bun. A light smile on her lips. Lucas wasn't there. "Where's Lucas?" asked Benjamin, sitting in his place. "With Miss Hart," Sarah answered, ladling soup. "A small... educational moment. Don't worry, he'll join us soon." The soup today was special—bright, orange, with funny carrot shapes. Stars, hearts, even tiny bees floated in the sweetish broth. Benjamin took the spoon—it seemed smaller than usual, with a rounded handle—and scooped. "Oh, look! I have three stars!" exclaimed Michael, showing everyone his spoon. An orange trickle ran down his chin. "That means I'll be lucky!" Benjamin caught himself examining his own spoon. Two bees and a heart. "And I have a moon!" Amelia raised her spoon like a trophy. "Sarah, can I fish out another moon? Pleeease!" "So it's true... everything Lucas said is true..." the thought flashed, but somehow didn't stick. Robert ate from a new plate—not just plastic, but with high sides and a suction cup on the bottom. Noticing Benjamin's gaze, he smiled shyly. "I don't spill anymore," he said proudly. "Yesterday Sarah showed me how to hold the spoon properly. Like this, see? Like a pencil!" He demonstrated the grip—not with a fist, but not quite adult-like either. "And I also learned to eat without rushing yesterday. I count my chewing movements. One-two-three... Sarah says it's good for you." There was joy in his voice, as if the ability to chew slowly was a great achievement. "Chewing is important!" Michael supported with a full mouth. "I always count now. Sometimes I lose track, but Sarah helps." Silence. Only the slurping of spoons against soup. Benjamin noticed he'd started counting his own chewing movements. "You know what?" Amelia suddenly said, looking at her spoon with a carrot star. "I'm thirty-eight years old, and I'm just... counting stars." "That's wonderful, sunshine," Sarah stroked her head. "You'll see, soon you'll find joy in the simplest things. Like all our good children." "Children." But somehow this word no longer grated on the ear. Lucas appeared in the doorway. But this was a different Lucas. Quieter. Smaller. Shoulders down, eyes red. He walked to the table, sat in his place. His movements were stiff, careful. Like a child who'd just been scolded. "Sorry for being late, Aunt Sarah," he said quietly. In a childish, high voice. Not a trace of his former sarcasm remained. "It's alright, dear. Eat." Lucas took the spoon. His hand trembled. Benjamin caught his gaze—for a second. In the boy's eyes was a plea. For what? Help? Silence? Lunch ended in tense silence. Even the ever-chattering Michael had gone quiet, sensing the atmosphere. Everyone stood up obediently. Even Amelia. Benjamin noticed how she took a book from the shelf—thin, with a bright cover. A children's book. He went up to his room. Closed the door. Leaned his back against it. "No... this just can't be true... Lucas made it all up, he's just a sick boy who scares guests, but then why is he himself, why Michael, Robert and Amelia... No, this is all nonsense... just... they're all just placed in a safe environment, and they yes... they all open up... the shackles fall off and..." He looked at his hands. Still stained with clay. He hadn't washed them after sculpting. Forgot. Like a child. In the bathroom, he spent a long time scrubbing off the dried clay. The water was warm, the soap smelled of lavender and honey. His hands became clean, but... smaller? He brought his palm to his face. The lines were thinner. The skin smoother. "It's all imagination," he told himself. "Lucas planted doubts, so you're seeing things that aren't there." But he had to pull up his pants again. He lay on the bed on top of the covers. Closed his eyes. The silence of the house enveloped, lulled. Somewhere far away came quiet singing—Sarah singing a lullaby. To whom? Robert? Sleep came unnoticed. He's in the field again. But now the grass is taller. Or is he shorter? Bees buzz around, big as birds. No, he's small. He looks at his hands—child's hands. Chubby fingers. He wants to scream, but only a squeak comes from his throat. "Don't be afraid," Eleanor Hart's voice envelops like honey. "This is natural. You're coming home." "I don't want to!" "Everyone says that at first. But then they understand—this is what they've always wanted. To stop pretending. To stop fighting. Just to be little." The hive before him is huge, glowing. The doors are open. Inside—warmth, comfort, safety. Outside—the cold world, full of pain and disappointment. "Choose," Eleanor whispers. "But remember—some doors only open one way." He takes a step toward the hive... A knock on the door pulled him from sleep. Sharp, insistent. "Benji! Open up!" Lucas's voice. Tense, almost panicking. Benjamin jumped up, swayed—his head spun from the sudden rise. Opened the door. Lucas burst inside, closed it behind him. Fear on his face. "We don't have much time. Sarah went to Robert, he's... never mind. Listen carefully." He spoke quickly, disjointedly. Adult words in a child's voice. "Miss Hart knows I told you. She's... unhappy. Very unhappy. Said if I try to 'sabotage the adaptation process' again, she'll apply 'enhanced measures.'" "What does that mean?" "It means," Lucas swallowed, "they'll increase my dose. By a lot. I'll become... I'll lose what's left. Become like Robert. Or worse. For several hours... days... weeks!" He grabbed Benjamin's hand. The child's hand was cold, damp with sweat. "You have to leave. Today. Now. While it's not too late. Every day, every meal—you're changing. You don't notice, but I see. You're already shorter than you were this morning. Voice higher. Movements... childish." "That's impossible!" "Stop denying the obvious! Look at me!" Lucas almost shouted. "I was like you! Tired, broken, ready for anything for peace! And here I am. Eleven on the outside, thirty-five inside. Neither one thing nor the other. An eternal child with an adult's memory." Tears ran down his cheeks. Children's tears on a face that remembered adult pain. "I can't leave," he continued more quietly. "I've tried. I get to the gates and... I can't. It's scary. What would I do out there? Who needs me... But you... you still have a chance." Benjamin stared at him in shock, as if he finally believed completely and irrevocably. "How do I leave? Taxi?" "No. Sarah won't call one. Not after I... On foot. Through the forest. A hundred to a hundred and fifty kilometers to town. Take water, food..." "Food? But it has honey in it!" "There's regular food in the pantry. For staff. I'll show you..." The door opened. Eleanor Hart stood on the threshold. Benjamin saw her up close for the first time. A beautiful woman of indeterminate age. Could be thirty-five. Could be fifty. Eyes—deep, understanding, dangerous. Smile—maternal and predatory at the same time. "Lucas," her voice was soft as honey. "What are you doing in a guest's room during quiet hour?" The boy shrank and seemed to become smaller. "I... I just... Benjamin couldn't sleep, and I..." "Were you trying to scare him with your fantasies? Again?" She entered the room, closed the door. She smelled of something floral. Her presence filled the space. "Mr. Wilson, I apologize. Lucas is... a special case. We saved him from a very sad fate, but sometimes old traumas make themselves known. He makes up stories. Scares new guests. It's his way of... coping." She placed a hand on Lucas's shoulder. He flinched but didn't dare move away. "Isn't that right, dear? You didn't mean to scare our guest?" "No, Miss Hart," Lucas whispered. "I'm sorry." "Good boy. Now go to your room. Aunt Sarah will bring you special milk. To help you calm down." "Special milk." Lucas paled but nodded. "Yes, Miss Hart." He left without looking at Benjamin. A small figure in the corridor. Defeated. Eleanor turned to Benjamin. Her smile widened. "Now let's talk about you. How are you feeling? The first days can be... disorienting." "I'm fine." "Really?" She came closer. "You're not experiencing any strange sensations? Changes?" Her eyes literally scanned him. Noticed every detail—how he fidgeted with the edge of his shirt, how he shifted from foot to foot, how he avoided direct eye contact. "A bit out of sorts. Not used to sleeping during the day." "Oh, but you did sleep. I saw. Such a peaceful sleep. Like an angel." "You have cameras?" Benjamin asked, trying to sound surprised. "Heaven forbid!" she laughed. "We just check on all guests during quiet hour. Quietly, so as not to disturb. Maternal instinct, you know. Making sure everyone is comfortable." She sat on the bed, patted beside her. "Sit. Let's talk." It wasn't a request. Benjamin sat, hands clasped between his knees, trying to keep his distance. "Tell me about yourself. What do you think brought you to us?" "Burnout. Job loss. The usual story." "There are no usual stories. Every pain is unique. Every wound requires special treatment. Did you suffer long?" For some reason he wanted to tell her. Everything. About failures, fears, loneliness. Her voice enveloped, lulled, promised understanding. "Yes. A long time." "Poor boy," she touched his cheek. Her hand was warm, smelled of honey. "Carrying this burden for so long. Pretending to be strong for so long. But inside you're still that little boy who just wants to be hugged and told everything will be alright." "I'm not a little boy." "Of course not. On the outside. But inside? Inside we all remain children. Some just deny it. Build armor from cynicism and fatigue. But armor is heavy. Sooner or later you break under it." She stood, walked to the window. "I... " Miss Hart paused for a moment, but after hesitating, continued. "I knew a girl once... Beautiful, smart... But the world... the world was too cruel to her. She tried to fit in. To be adult, successful, strong. At twenty-five she had a breakdown. Complete. Irreversible." Her voice wavered. "She left. Left a note: 'I'm tired of pretending...'" She turned to him. "You can leave. Right now. I'll call a taxi, you'll go, forget this place. Return to your gray life, debts, loneliness. Or... you can stay." "And what happens if I stay?" "You'll find peace. Maybe not the kind you expected. But real. Deep. Forever." "Forever." The word hung in the air. "Think about it," she headed for the door. "You have until tomorrow. Tell me your decision in the morning. But remember—some doors only open one way." This phrase from the dream burned Benjamin and brought him back to reality. "So everything Lucas said is true?" he called after her. Miss Hart stopped at the room's exit. "Truth is a relative concept," she said over her shoulder, carefully closing the door behind her. Chapter 6 Eleanor Hart stopped in the corridor, leaning against the wall. It seemed as though in that very moment, the entire weight and pain of her years came crashing down upon her. After catching her breath, she continued forward... upward... to her office. Once inside, she hurriedly closed the door behind her and turned the lock. Finally, she was here... alone... Miss Hart pressed her back against the door and slowly slid down to the floor. "Mom... don't pressure me... Mom... I'll manage... I just need a little more time," echoed in her head. "Mom, why is everything so complicated... don't yell at me!" "My sweet Emily," Miss Hart said to herself, and something like a tear glistened in the corner of her eye. "Benjamin is just like you, they're all just like you—lost, disappointed in adult life. But... I... I can do it... this time I can save them, save them all!" Miss Hart's face hardened in an instant. "The choice... to leave or to stay? Oh no, my dears, the choice has already been made." Benjamin sat on the bed, feeling the world around him swaying. Or was it him swaying? Like in childhood, when you'd spin around for too long and then suddenly stop. He stood up and approached the mirror. The face was his. But younger. Definitely younger. The wrinkles had vanished. His cheeks were fuller. His eyes... there was something in his eyes. Not innocence. More like... openness, vulnerability. He measured himself with his gaze. Shorter? Yes, definitely shorter. Not by much, but noticeably. Narrower shoulders. Thinner arms. "It's happening," he whispered. "It's really happening." Panic crashed over him in waves. What should he do? Run? But how? Lucas had mentioned through the forest, but he didn't know the way. What if he got lost? What if... A knock at the door. Quiet, timid. "Come in." The door cracked open. Amelia peered through the gap. "May I? I... I need to talk to someone. Someone normal. Before I go completely crazy myself." He nodded. She entered, closed the door. Sat in the chair by the window. She looked bewildered. Lost. Her hair was disheveled, fear in her eyes. "Have you noticed?" she asked without preamble. "What's happening here?" "I have." "Today I... I put on my skirt. The one I arrived in. It's too big. Two sizes too big! In just a few days!" Her voice trembled on the edge of hysteria. "And that's not all. I... during quiet hour today... I picked up a children's book. A fairy tale about a princess. And I was reading it. And crying! Do you understand? Me, a CFO with two master's degrees, crying over a fairy tale!" "Amelia..." "No, listen! This place... it's changing us. I can feel it. Every day I'm becoming... softer? Dumber? I don't know! Yesterday I caught myself drawing little flowers. Flowers! Me! I'm fishing carrot moons out of my soup!" She stood up, walked to the window. "We need to leave. But I can't. Why can't I? In the morning I think—that's it, I'm packing up and leaving. But then breakfast comes, that porridge with honey, and... and the desire disappears. All that's left is tiredness and the wish for someone to take care of me. And... more and more often I want to stay here forever." "The honey," said Benjamin. "Lucas said it's the honey." "Lucas?" She turned. "That strange boy? You believe him?" "I don't know. But look at him. At Robert. At Michael. They're adults behaving like children. And we... we're going down the same path." Amelia sat back down. Clutched her head in her hands. "What do we do?" A tense silence hung in the room. "Hart said we could leave if we wanted to," Benjamin replied, and now he understood that despite all the director's assurances, no one was actually going to give him that choice. "Leave just like that?" Amelia looked at Benjamin plaintively, and something inside him turned over at that look. "I'm not sure anymore that she'll really allow it... We need to... run, tonight." She raised her head. Hope in her eyes. "Together?" "Yes. Lucas said—a hundred and fifty kilometers through the forest. It's easier with two. And safer." "When?" "After dinner. When it gets dark. We'll gather water, food from the pantry..." "I know where the pantry is," Amelia perked up. "I saw Sara coming out of there. They have regular food there, canned goods." The plan was taking shape. A simple plan. Wait for darkness, grab supplies, leave through the garden into the forest. Walk all night. Reach the city by morning. Escape. "What about the others?" asked Amelia. "Michael, Robert... Lucas?" "Lucas won't come. He... can't. And the others... Look at them. They're happy. In their own way." "Happy," she repeated bitterly. "Yes, I suppose. Ignorance is bliss." They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Outside the window, the garden bathed in afternoon sun. Bees buzzing. Peaceful. Deceptively peaceful. "So, after dinner," Amelia confirmed, standing up. "We'll meet at the back door. There's a door to the garden there, I've seen it." "Agreed." She left, leaving him alone. Benjamin walked to the bed, picked up the bear. "What do you say, buddy? Am I doing the right thing?" The bear was silent, but his eyes looked understanding. "I can't stay. I can't become... like that. This isn't life. This is escape." But an inner voice whispered otherwise. Whispered about how good it had been in the morning. How peaceful. How right. Without pain, without fear, without the need to pretend. "No," he said aloud. "It's an illusion. A sweet trap." He hid the bear in his backpack. He needed to prepare. Gather the essentials. Plan the route. Not give in to temptation. The rest of the day dragged on torturously. He went down to the library—to read, to distract himself. But all the books were simple. Fairy tales, adventures, nothing serious. Benjamin picked up the book he'd brought with him, but now it seemed too complex, the words blurred, the meaning slipped away. In the garden, Michael and Robert were playing some kind of ball game. Running, laughing. Two adult men, genuinely rejoicing and having fun like children. There was something simultaneously beautiful and terrifying about it. Dinner came too quickly. Benjamin was nervous, barely touching his food. Vegetable stew, bread, compote. Everything with honey. Everything dangerous. "You're not eating," Sara noticed. "Not feeling well?" "No, just... not very hungry." "It's because of the nap. The body is still adapting to the new routine. But you need to eat. At least a little." She watched expectantly. He had to pick up the spoon, pretend to eat. The stew turned into a lump in his mouth. Sweet. Dangerous. Lucas wasn't at the table. His place was empty. "Where's Lucas?" asked Robert with childlike directness. "Resting," Sara answered. "He had a difficult day. Miss Hart decided it would be better for him to have dinner in his room." "Special milk," Benjamin remembered. What had they done to him? Amelia sat across from him, also barely touching her food. Their eyes met. A tiny nod. Still on. After dinner—the usual evening rituals. Tea in the living room. Michael showing off new crafts. Robert reading aloud from a book—slowly, syllable by syllable, but with pride. Amelia leafing through a picture magazine. A normal evening in a madhouse. At nine, Sara announced bedtime. "Everyone upstairs. Time to get ready for bed. Tomorrow's a new day." "Not for us," thought Benjamin. In his room, he quickly packed his backpack. The bear, spare clothes (already too big), documents. He filled a water bottle from the tap. Changed into dark clothes—jeans, hoodie. Sat down to wait. Time dragged torturously. Ten. Half past ten. Eleven. The house grew quiet. Only the old walls creaking, and somewhere far off a clock ticking. Time to go. He opened the door. The corridor was dark, only emergency lights glowing near the floor. He crept quietly, trying not to make the floorboards creak. The stairs. Every step—a challenge. Each creak seemed like thunder. First floor. Silence. To the right—toward the back door. Amelia was already waiting. In dark clothes, with a backpack. Pale, determined. "Ready?" she whispered. "First the pantry." They crept to the kitchen. The pantry wasn't locked—who would lock away food in paradise? They grabbed canned goods, even found a flashlight. To the door. Amelia grabbed the handle. Locked. "Damn!" "Quiet. There must be a key." They searched in the dark, feeling along shelves, hooks. Nothing. "Maybe another door?" "The front door is definitely locked. A window?" They checked the windows in the dining room. All closed, old frames, stiff. Impossible to open quietly. "What do we do?" Panic crept into Amelia's voice. "Look for another exit. There has to be..." "Looking for this?" The light turned on. Sara stood in the doorway. In her hand—a bunch of keys. Behind her—Eleanor Hart. Calm, sad. "I so hoped you would accept our gift," she said. "But some little bees always try to fly away from the hive. Not understanding that outside—there's only cold and death." "We're not your little bees," Amelia burst out. "We're people! Adults!" "Adults?" Eleanor approached. In the soft lamplight, it was visible how Amelia had changed. Shorter in height. Softer features. "Look at yourselves. You're already changing. Bodies are more honest than minds. They know what they really want." "Let us go," Benjamin asked. "Please. You promised, you said yourself there was a choice." "Let you go?" She shook her head. "But you came here yourselves. Asked for help yourselves. And we're helping. In our own way." "This isn't help! This is... this is..." "Salvation," Eleanor finished. "From a world that broke you. From the need to be what you can't be. Here you can just live. Isn't that what you wanted? Peace?" "Not this kind of peace!" "Then what kind?" Her voice grew harder. "Do you think something better awaits you out there? Debts? Loneliness? New failures? Or do you think everything will magically change?" Silence. "Sara, escort our guests to their rooms. And... I think they need an enhanced dose. To help with adaptation. In the morning they'll understand how foolish it was to try to leave." "No!" Amelia lunged for the door, but Sara intercepted her. Surprisingly strong for a nanny. "Let go!" "Shh, shh," Sara pressed her close, like a mother with a disobedient child. "It's all right. You're just tired. Overwrought. Everything will be different in the morning." Benjamin tried to help, but immediately felt a hand on his shoulder. Eleanor. Her touch was light but inexorable. "Don't resist, Benjamin. It will only make the process harder. For both of you." "You have no right! I'm leaving! Amelia, let's go!" Benjamin straightened up and took Amelia's hand. "STOP!" Eleanor Hart's voice thundered, a shiver ran down the failed escapees' spines. Not understanding why, they couldn't move, as if something invisible had chained them to the floor. "Rights?" Miss Hart smiled. "What a funny adult word. Different rules apply here. Hive rules. And the first rule is unconditional trust in the queen." They were led upstairs. Amelia no longer resisted, only whimpered quietly. Benjamin walked, feeling a strange weakness in his legs. Tiredness. At the door to his room, Eleanor stopped. "I truly am sorry it had to be this way. But believe me—this is for your own good. In the morning you'll wake up and wonder why you were so afraid. It will be a new morning. A new you." She nodded to Sara, who opened the door. On the nightstand already stood a glass of white liquid. "Drink," said Sara. "This will help you sleep. And don't be afraid of dreams. They'll be good ones." "What if I refuse?" "Then we'll have to give you an injection. Which is less pleasant. The choice is yours." Choice. The illusion of choice. He took the glass. The liquid smelled of honey and vanilla. Sweet. Cloying. "What happens in the morning?" he asked. "You'll wake up," Eleanor answered. "Renewed. Perhaps a little different. But definitely happier." "Like Robert?" "Robert found his path to happiness. You'll find yours. Everyone's is unique." Benjamin looked at the glass. At the women in the doorway. At the room that already seemed both prison and refuge. He drank. The taste was... childhood. Warm milk before bed. A bedtime story. Mother's kiss. "Good boy," Sara praised. "Now to bed. I'll help you change." "I can do it myself... I can manage..." But the words became thick. Thoughts blurred. His legs wouldn't obey. Sara caught him, sat him on the bed. Pulled off his shoes, socks. Her hands were warm, caring. Maternal. "That's it, good boy. Arms up." He raised his arms. When had she started calling him a good boy? Why wasn't he protesting? The hoodie vanished. T-shirt. Jeans. He was left in his underwear, feeling small, defenseless. "And now pajamas." Not pajamas—jammies. Soft, with pictures. Bees? Teddy bears? Couldn't make it out, everything was swimming. "And the last thing..." Something soft, thick. Around his hips. Protective. "Just in case," Sara whispered. "Enhanced doses sometimes have side effects. Don't worry, it's temporary." "A diaper. She put a diaper on me." He had no strength to protest. And why should he? It was more secure this way. Safer. "Into bed." Sara tucked him in, covered him with the blanket. Heavy, warm. Like a cocoon. "Sleep, little one. Tomorrow will be a new day." A kiss on the forehead. When do they kiss grown men on the forehead? Grown? The light went out. The door closed. He lay in the darkness, feeling himself sinking. Not into sleep—deeper. To where there are no fears, doubts, need to be adult. His last coherent thought was: "The bear. Forgot to put the bear next to me." And then—only honey and darkness. And somewhere far away, in another room, Amelia was crying. But even her crying was becoming quieter, softer. The Hive was absorbing its new little bees. Slowly and gently. Chapter 7 The viscous, drowsy awakening came with the realization that he was wet. Benjamin lay there, eyes closed, trying to understand what had happened. The sheet beneath him was damp and cold. The smell—from deep childhood. Familiar yet foreign at once. "No," the thought struck like a hammer. "This can't be happening." He jerked upright, throwing off the blanket. His pajama bottoms were soaked. And not just the bottoms. Underneath them, hugging his hips tightly, was the very thing Sara had put on him yesterday. Heavy, swollen, preventing him from bringing his legs together. Used. "No, no, no..." The words escaped on their own, high and panicked. He leaped from the bed, feeling the wet padding swing between his legs. He tried to pull down his pajama bottoms, but his fingers wouldn't cooperate—trembling, tangling in the elastic band. Finally managing it, the pants fell to his ankles, revealing the diaper—yes, a diaper, no point in lying to himself—sagging, yellowed from... Nausea rose in his throat. He rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet. His stomach heaved, though it was empty—just bile and yesterday's sweet aftertaste. When the spasms ceased, he slumped to the floor. The cold tiles burned against his bare skin. The diaper squelched with the movement, reminding him of its presence. "How do I get this thing off?" Velcro tabs on the sides. Silly tabs with little bees. His hands still shook, but he managed. Tore it off, crumpled it, threw it in the corner. Disgusting. He stood, swaying. In the mirror—a stranger. Face puffy from sleep, eyes red. And his body... God, his body. He was shorter. Definitely shorter. The sink that yesterday reached his hips now came almost to his waist. His shoulders were narrower, arms thinner. And down below... He turned away, unable to look. Shower. He needed a shower. To wash away the filth, the shame, this place. The water was hot, almost scalding. He scrubbed his skin with the washcloth until it was red, as if trying to scrape off what was happening. The soap—the same one, with honey and lavender—lathered, enveloping him in its sweet aroma. "Poison," he thought. "Everything here is poison." But his body relaxed against his will. Hot water, soft foam, familiar scent. Safety. Care. Home. "No! Don't give in!" He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower. The towel was enormous—or had he become smaller? He wrapped himself in it, feeling lost in the soft fabric. On the shelf—new clothes. Not what was there yesterday. Smaller. Brighter. A t-shirt with cartoon bees. Pants with an elastic waistband. And a stack of... Diapers. New, clean, arranged in a neat pyramid. "No," he said aloud. "Never." But there was no other underwear. He checked all the drawers—empty. Only these... things. A knock at the door made him jump. "Benjamin?" Sara's voice. Soft, caring. "Are you awake? May I come in?" "No!" he cried, his voice cracking into a squeak. "Don't come in!" "Dear, I understand you're upset. This is normal. Many have... incidents after an enhanced dose. It's nothing to worry about." "Nothing to worry about." He'd wet himself like an infant, and she was saying "nothing to worry about." "Go away!" "I can't leave. You need help. Clean clothes, fresh bedding. And breakfast—you must be hungry?" His stomach betrayed him with a growl. The hunger was sharp, almost painful. When had he last eaten? Yesterday at dinner, and barely then. "I can manage on my own." "Benjamin," her voice grew firmer. "Don't be stubborn. Open the door, or I'll have to use my key." She had a key. Of course she did. He approached the door without opening it. "Give me normal clothes. My clothes. And... and underwear. Regular underwear." Silence. "I'm afraid your clothes are gone. They've become too big. As for underwear... After last night's incident, the doctor recommends protection. At least for a few days." "What doctor?!" "Miss Hart has medical training. She examined you yesterday while you slept. Your body is going through serious changes. Temporary loss of control is a natural side effect." "Examined while I slept." What else had they done while he was unconscious? His cheeks burned with shame. "It's not temporary," he said hollowly. "Lucas told me. It's forever." "Lucas says many things. Not all should be believed. Now open the door. I'll count to three. One..." He stepped back from the door, clutching the towel tighter. "Two..." What would she do? Break in? Call for help? "Three." The click of a key. The door opened. Sara entered with the confidence of someone used to dealing with difficult patients. In her hands—a stack of clothes and a basket of supplies. "There's a good boy," she said, giving him an appraising look. "Good that you've washed up. Now let's get you dressed." "I can do it myself." "Of course you can. But I'll help. You're still weak after yesterday. The enhanced dose takes time to adjust to." She placed the items on the dresser, took out a smaller towel. "First, let's dry you properly." "I said I can do it myself!" But when he tried to step back, his legs gave out. The world tilted. Sara caught him, sat him on the edge of the bed. "See? Your body hasn't recovered yet. This will pass, but for now let me take care of you." Her hands were warm, movements confident. She patted his hair dry, his neck, his back. Professional. Without unnecessary tenderness, but without roughness either. "Stand up for a moment." He stood, holding onto her shoulder. The towel slipped away. Shame burned his cheeks, but Sara paid no attention to his nakedness. For her, this was routine. With a practiced and confident gesture, Sara spread out the towel. "Now let's lie down for a second." She lifted his legs, and she put on... no, not this. The diaper wrapped around his hips, the tabs fastened with a quiet crackle. Soft, thick, with a high waist. To the touch—like a cloud, like safety, like a cage. He felt warm fingers slip inside, gently smoothing out all the creases, and then a light pat on the front, gentle and affectionate. "There we go, now the pants." "Pants." Not trousers—pants. The soft sweatpants hid the shame. Then the t-shirt—the one with the bees. Bright, cheerful, absolutely childish. "There. Handsome boy." She combed his unruly hair. In the mirror was reflected... a child? No, a preteen. Eleven or twelve years old. Skinny, confused, in ridiculous clothes. "This isn't me," he whispered. "This is you," Sara gently corrected. "Just a little different. More relaxed. More real." "I want to go home." "You are home, dear. Now come along for breakfast. The others are waiting." She took his hand—a natural gesture, as if he really were a child—and led him to the door. In the hallway, he tried to pull his hand away, but her grip was firm. "No need to be embarrassed. Everyone goes through this." "Through what? Through humiliation?" "Through acceptance. Through liberation from adult constraints." They descended the stairs. Each step was difficult—the diaper was unfamiliar, changing his gait. He had to spread his legs wider. Almost everyone was already seated in the dining room. Michael, Robert, Amelia. And Lucas. The boy looked... smaller. Paler. Empty eyes, mechanical movements. What had they done to him? "Good morning!" Michael exclaimed cheerfully. "Oh, Benjamin, you too... I mean, hello!" Robert simply smiled and waved. Around his neck was a bib, before him—a bowl of porridge and a sippy cup. Amelia... Amelia was different. Hair in pigtails. Blush on her cheeks. Bright clothes with ruffles. And her eyes—lost, clouded. She looked at Benjamin and seemed not to recognize him. "Sit next to me!" She patted the chair beside her. Her voice had become higher, more melodious. "We'll eat together!" "Eat." Yesterday she'd said "have food." Sara led him to the table, seated him. The chair was higher than usual—or had he become shorter? His feet barely touched the floor. "What have you done to her?" he whispered. "Helped her relax," Sara answered, placing a plate before him. "Amelia controlled every step her whole life. Now she's learning to let go. To be spontaneous. Happy." The porridge steamed in the bowl. Oatmeal with honey and berries. "I won't eat this." "You will. You're hungry, your body needs energy. And don't be fussy." "Fussy." He took the spoon. His hand trembled—from hunger or something else. First spoonful, second. Sweet. Too sweet. But his stomach demanded food. "I have a new dress today!" Amelia chirped. "Look how pretty! With butterflies!" She stood up, twirled. The dress flared, revealing... God. She was wearing one too... Pink, with cute bunnies and ruffles around the edges. "Amelia, sit down," Sara said gently. "Finish your porridge." "Don't want to! Want to play!" "First breakfast, then play." Amelia pouted but sat down. She took her spoon, began eating, swinging her legs under the table. Lucas hadn't said a word. Mechanically eating, staring at one spot. Benjamin tried to catch his eye, but the boy seemed not to see him. "What's wrong with Lucas?" he asked Sara. "Adjustment. Yesterday's stress required additional correction. Don't worry, he'll be normal by lunch." "Normal." What was even considered normal here? After breakfast, Sara announced morning activities. "Michael and Robert—to the playroom. Amelia—with me for drawing lessons. Benjamin..." She considered. "I think you should rest. Yesterday was a difficult day. Lucas, take Benjamin to the rest room. And stay with him. Keep an eye on him." Lucas stood, nodded. Still silent, mechanical. They went to the same room where Benjamin had first seen Robert in his childish state—with the crib, stars on the walls, the smell of baby powder. Lucas let Benjamin enter first and slowly closed the door. As soon as the door closed, he seemed to come alive. He leaned against the wall, slid down to the floor. "God," he exhaled in his usual boyish voice. "I thought I wouldn't make it." "Lucas? Are you okay?" The boy laughed. Bitter, broken. "Okay? I've been pretending to be a vegetable all morning. You know what she injected me with yesterday? 'Special milk.' Enhanced formula. Should have turned me into a drooling infant for several days." "But it didn't?" "Partially did. The first hours I... I couldn't control anything. Not thoughts, not body. Wet myself every hour. Cried when I wanted to eat. Sucked my thumb. But then... my body adapted. Three years here—you develop immunity." He raised his head, looked at Benjamin. "But you... God, look at yourself." "I know." "No, you don't understand. Yesterday you were five foot eleven. Today—five feet, maximum. In one night! That's a record even for an enhanced dose." "But why did I change and they didn't?" "Who?" "Well, Michael, Amelia, and Robert. They're all the same as they were." "Not quite," said Lucas. "I told you that people regress physically and mentally, it's just that mental regression came first for them, and physical for you, but..." "The result is always the same..." Benjamin finished in a strangled voice and immediately continued. "But wait, you've been here three years and you're still sane." "I'll take that as a compliment," Lucas smiled. "Yes, I'm sort of a local attraction, for some reason the honey can't break me, or rather it breaks me for a day, two... maybe a week, but then everything returns to normal. You know that regression is only possible to the age you're ready to accept, even if not consciously, so my age is eleven, and not a year younger." This sounded with some pride. "Yes, they can push me deeper into childhood, but I'll come back anyway, consciousness returns." Benjamin sat on the floor beside him. "What if I stop taking the honey?" "The regression will stop." "And I'll start growing back?" Lucas shook his head. "No, you'll just stay as you are now... Probably if you'd left right away, there likely wouldn't have been consequences, honey has a cumulative effect, but it's already gone too far." "What should I do?" "I don't know. Honestly—I don't know. The windows here don't open. Doors lock from outside. Even if you get out of the house—forest all around, in a child's body you won't make it—not enough strength." "So that's it? I'm stuck here forever?" Lucas was silent. Then: "There's one way. But it's... risky." "What?" "Complete submission. Pretend the process is working. Become the perfect 'child.' Then supervision will relax. They'll start letting you into the garden unsupervised. And there..." "Escape?" "Or adaptation. Real adaptation. Many start pretending and end up... like Robert and Michael. Like Amelia will soon end. Though if you think about it, maybe it's not so bad..." Silence. They sat side by side, barely touching shoulders. "Why do you stay?" asked Benjamin. "Three years—you could have escaped." Lucas pulled his knees to his chest. In this position, he looked completely like a child. "Where to? Who needs an eleven-year-old boy without documents? To an orphanage? To new 'parents'? Or to the streets?" He shook his head. "Here I at least... exist. Even in this body, but with my memories. There—I'm nobody. A ghost. A mistake of nature." "But you said..." "I said what I wanted to hear myself. That there's a way out. That you can escape. But the truth is that some doors close forever. And mine closed three years ago when I drank my first cup of their damned tea." Tears ran down his cheeks. Childish tears on a face with adult pain. Benjamin awkwardly hugged him. The small body tensed, then relaxed. Lucas buried his face in his shoulder and cried for real. Not quietly, not restrainedly—sobbing, as children cry. Or as adults cry when they have nowhere else to go. The door opened. "Oh," Sara stood in the doorway with a tray. "So that's how you are. Well done, Benjamin. Comforting a friend." She placed the tray on the table. Two glasses of milk, cookies, wet wipes. "Lucas, dear, it's all right. Crying isn't shameful. It helps release tension." She approached, stroked the boy's head. He flinched but didn't pull away. "Drink your milk. It will help you calm down." "Don't," Lucas began, but his voice broke into a sob. "You must, both of you. And Benjamin, don't forget—check-up in half an hour. If you're dry, you'll get a sticker." "A sticker." For a dry diaper. Like a three-year-old. She left, leaving them alone with milk and cookies. "Don't drink it," said Lucas, wiping away tears. "There's honey in it too." "And you?" "And I..." he took the glass, sniffed. "I've already lost. What difference does it make?" He drank it in one gulp. Put down the empty glass, licked his lips. A milk mustache remained on his upper lip. "Tasty," he said with bitter irony. "Like in childhood. Which I never had. Because I only remember adult life. And childhood... childhood I'm living now. Second time. Or first?" He took a cookie, bit into it. "You know what's scariest? Sometimes I forget. Forget that I was an adult. I wake up and for the first seconds think—I'm a boy who lives in a big house with kind Aunt Sara. I have a garden, toys, friends. And it's happiness. Then I remember. And happiness turns to hell." Benjamin looked at him—at the boy who was and wasn't a boy. "But you know what?" Lucas continued. "Maybe forgetting isn't so bad. Maybe Robert is happier than me. He doesn't remember pain. Doesn't remember failures. For him, every day is a new adventure. Isn't that what we wanted? To start over?" "Not like this. Not at the cost of our minds." "What difference does the cost make?" Lucas stood, went to the window. Outside—garden, bees, sun. Idyll. "We all pay. Some with freedom. Some with memory. Some with dignity. You paid today..." He didn't finish, but Benjamin understood. The diaper under his pants reminded him of its presence—warm and thick. "It's temporary." "Nothing here is temporary. Everything only deepens. Today—a diaper during the day. Tomorrow—a pacifier for comfort. The day after—bottle feeding because your hands shake. And in a week you won't remember why this should be embarrassing." He turned to Benjamin. "Want advice? Don't fight too hard. Those who fight break harder. Accept what is. Find your way to... exist." "Like you?" "Like me." There was a knock at the door. "Boys? Time for check-up!" Sara entered with a businesslike air. In her hands—a bag of supplies. "Lucas first. Come here, dear." Lucas approached, head down. She pulled down his pants, checked—quickly, professionally. "Good boy. Dry. Here's your sticker." She stuck a sticker with a smiling bee on his shirt. Lucas looked at it with an expression of absolute emptiness. "Now you, Benjamin." Shame burned his cheeks. He stood while she checked. Humiliating. Unbearable. "Also dry! Good boy! Here's your sticker." The bee stuck to his shirt. Bright and cheerful, with a mockingly cute smile. "And now—playtime. Let's go downstairs to the others." She took their hands—naturally, as if it should be—and led them to the door. The playroom was chaos. Michael was building a castle from blocks. Robert was rolling toy cars. Amelia... Amelia sat on the floor surrounded by dolls. She was combing their hair, humming something. On her cheek—a smeared tear track. "Here are the boys!" Sara announced. "Play nicely. Lunch in two hours." She left, leaving them in this surreal kindergarten for adults. Benjamin stood by the door, not knowing what to do. Play? At his age? In his condition? But Amelia raised her head, smiled. And in that smile was so much lostness, so much plea for company, that he couldn't refuse. He sat down beside her. Took a doll. "What's her name?" he asked. "Princess Sunshine!" Amelia answered joyfully. "She lives in a tower and waits for a prince. But the prince never comes. He must be lost." She combed the doll's hair—focused, careful. As if it were the most important thing in the world. "You know," she said more quietly, "I remember... something. An office. Numbers. Shouting. But that's not important, right? What's important is that Princess Sunshine is beautiful. And that lunch is soon. And that Aunt Sara is kind." A tear rolled down her cheek, but she continued smiling. "Right? That's more important?" Benjamin didn't know what to answer. What could you answer to someone dissolving before your eyes? He simply took another doll and began clumsily combing its hair. And in the corner, Lucas was building something from blocks. Silently, focused. On his shirt, the bee smiled at the whole world. Time flowed strangely. Minutes stretched into hours, hours compressed into moments. Benjamin lost track of time, mechanically playing "house" with Amelia. She commanded the plot—doll wedding, then tea party, then bedtime. "Your doll needs to ask to go potty!" she declared at one point. "What?" "Well, before bed you have to! Otherwise she'll wet herself at night!" She was absolutely serious. For her, this was an important part of the game. "My doll... is already big," he tried. "Nonsense! All dollies go potty! Look!" She took her doll, led it to the corner where there was a toy potty. "Pee-pee-pee!" she sang. "Good girl, Sunshine! Dry bed!" Madness. But contagious madness. Because everyone around behaved as if this were normal. A bell rang. "Lunch!" Michael cried joyfully, dropping his blocks. Everyone headed for the door. Benjamin stood, and then... Warmth. In his lower abdomen, spreading across his bottom. He froze, not believing. No. Not again. But the diaper was already absorbing the moisture, swelling, growing heavy. He hadn't even felt the urge. It just... happened. "Benjamin?" Lucas was beside him. "Are you okay?" "I..." his voice broke. Lucas understood. Sympathy flashed in his eyes. "First time during the day?" A nod. "It's normal. After an enhanced dose, control weakens. Let's go to Sara." "No!" "We have to. Otherwise you'll get a rash. Trust me, that's worse." He took Benjamin's hand, led him to the door. The others had already left, no one saw the shame. Sara was waiting in the hallway, as if she knew. "Oh, dear," she said without even asking. "Don't be upset. This happens. Come, let's change you." The changing room was nearby. Small, with a changing table, lockers, a sink. It smelled of powder and fresh diapers. "Up on the table," Sara commanded. "I don't..." "Benjamin. On the table. Quickly." The tone left no room for argument. He climbed up, feeling huge and clumsy on this pseudo-children's furniture. She pulled his pants down to his ankles in one motion. The diaper was... yes, wet. Very. "Oh my," she whistled. "Good thing we chose the reinforced one. A regular one wouldn't have managed." The tabs unfastened with a loud rip. Cold air touched his skin. The shame was almost physical. "Legs up." He raised his legs, closing his eyes. Don't look. Don't think. This isn't happening. Cold wipes. Thorough wiping. Powder—lots of powder. "You're starting to get irritated. Should have said something right away." Cream. Cool, soothing. Sara's hands were professional, quick, but somehow that made it worse. As if this were routine. Normal. A new diaper. Thicker than the previous one. "This is just in case. Should last until evening." "Until evening?!" "Well, yes. Dinner at six, then bath time. It's harmful for the skin to endure so many hours in wet conditions." She pulled his pants back on, helped him down. "By the way, after lunch—nap time. The body needs rest." "I slept during the day yesterday." "And you'll sleep every day. New routine. Now march to the dining room before the soup gets cold." A new surprise awaited him in the dining room. His chair had been replaced with a high chair. Not quite a baby's—adapted for more weight, but essentially the same. High back, armrests, even a removable tray. "What's this for?" he asked, freezing in the doorway. "After such a growth spurt, you've become shorter," Sara explained. "It's uncomfortable at a regular table, you might fall. Sit down." Everyone was watching. Michael and Robert with curiosity, Amelia... Amelia seemed to see nothing strange. He sat. The tray clicked in front of him, locking him in. Like a trap. The soup was served in a deep bowl with high sides. The spoon—with a thick handle, comfortable for clumsy fingers. "If it's difficult, I'll help," Sara offered. "I don't need help." But his hands were shaking. From humiliation, fatigue, something else. The soup spilled, dripped onto the tray. "Oh dear," Sara was already beside him with a bib. "Let's protect your clothes." The bib tied around his neck. Bright, with bees. Like Robert's. "I can do it myself!" Benjamin flared up, clumsily, childishly. "Of course you can. But a little help won't hurt." She took his hand in hers, guiding the spoon. The first spoonful went right into his mouth. Second. Third. "There you go. See, together it works better." He wanted to break free, run away, but hunger was stronger than pride. And the soup was delicious. Hot, filling, with a taste of honey. Always this honey. "I have a new toy!" Robert announced, pulling a stuffed bear from under the table. "Aunt Sara gave it to me! His name is Mr. Fluffy!" The bear was almost like the one in Benjamin's backpack. "He'll sleep with me! And protect me from bad dreams!" "That's wonderful," said Sara. "Everyone should have a sleep friend." She looked at Benjamin meaningfully. "You have a teddy bear too, don't you? I saw it in your room." A traitorous blush colored his cheeks. "That's... an old thing." "Old friends are the most loyal. Don't be embarrassed. Here everyone sleeps with toys." "Everyone sleeps with toys." Adult people, still adults, or not anymore. After soup—the main course. Mashed potatoes with cutlets. Soft food, easy to chew, easy to swallow. Dessert—fruit jelly. Trembling, sweet, melting in the mouth. "And now everyone upstairs," Sara announced. "Nap time." "I don't want to sleep," Amelia declared, but immediately yawned. "Everyone wants to sleep after a filling lunch. It's natural." They were lined up in pairs. Benjamin with Lucas, Amelia with Robert, Michael alone. "Why in pairs?" asked Benjamin. "It's calmer," Lucas answered. "Some are afraid to sleep alone. After... changes." They walked holding hands. "We're not sleeping in our room?" Benjamin asked with surprise. "No," Lucas answered. "Sara said it would be better for us to rest in the regression therapy room today, it'll be more comfortable for you there now." Benjamin bit his lip at that word... regression therapy, how sarcastically that sounded now. The room greeted them with dim light. As before, there was a crib with sides, a children's one, but sized to fit an adult and especially a twelve-year-old boy. "I'll keep watch," said Lucas, settling on the small sofa in the corner. "In case you... need help." Sara helped Benjamin undress. Day clothes changed to pajamas—soft, with feet. And, of course, diaper check. "Still dry. Good boy. But just in case..." She took out a bottle of milk. "Drink this before sleep. It will help you relax." "More milk with honey?" "What else? The most beneficial for a growing body." "Growing." He wasn't growing—he was shrinking. But he had no strength to argue. The morning hysteria, the humiliation with changing, this surreal lunch—everything crashed down at once. He lay in the crib. The mattress embraced his body, the blanket was a weightless cloud. The bottle in his hands—warm, comfortable. The nipple soft... No. He wouldn't drink from a bottle. This was the last line. Lucas lay on his bed. "Don't fight," he whispered. "You'll tire yourself out fighting and break even harder." Sara turned off the main light, leaving only the nightlight. Stars on the ceiling began to glow softly. "Sleep, boys. I'll come in two hours." The door closed. The lock clicked. They were locked in. "Lucas?" "Mm?" "What happens next? After I..." Silence. Then: "I don't know. Some stay here. Some are sent... to families." "What families?" "Ones that want children. Special children. Who will never truly grow up." Horror. "Is that true?" "I don't know. But guests disappear. They say—'graduated.' But where to? In what form?" The bottle was still in his hands. The milk was cooling. "Drink," said Lucas. "Otherwise Sara will come back and force-feed you. Trust me, that's worse." Benjamin unscrewed the nipple. But the milk was delicious. Sweet, soothing. With each swallow, his body relaxed, thoughts slowed. "There you go," Lucas murmured sleepily. "Good boy." "Good boy." From whom—from a boy who was pretending himself? But he didn't want to object. He wanted to drink warm milk and look at the stars. Benjamin put the bottle on the nightstand and fell onto the pillow. He wanted someone to say everything would be all right. Sleep crept up unnoticed. He's small. Very small. Standing in a huge room full of toys. But the toys aren't interesting. He's looking for something. Someone. "Mommy?" The voice is thin, squeaky. A three-year-old's? Younger? "I'm here, sunshine." Eleanor Hart enters the room. Huge, like a giantess. She bends down, extends her arms. "Come to me." He runs. Little legs get tangled, he falls. It hurts. Tears. "Oh no, did my boy fall?" She picks him up. He's so light in her arms. Presses him to her, rocks him. "It's all right. Mommy's here. Mommy will always be here." Warmth. Safety. Home. But something's wrong. Something screams inside—this isn't your mommy! You're not a child! Run! "Shh," she presses his head to her shoulder. "Don't think. Just be little. It's so easy." And he relaxes. Because fighting is too hard. And being little is easy. So easy... He woke because he'd wet himself. Again. The warm moisture spread, the diaper swelled, forcing him to spread his legs wider. But this time there was no panic. Only tired resignation. Lucas was stirring nearby. Also awake. "Hey," he whispered. "How are you?" "Wet," Benjamin answered. What was the point of lying? "It's the milk... Relaxes everything. Including the bladder. Don't worry, I'm not back to normal yet either." They lay in wet diapers, looking at the glowing stars. Absurd. Nightmare. Reality. "You know what?" said Lucas. "The first week I cried every night. Quietly, so they wouldn't hear. I thought—this is hell. This is the end. And then... I got used to it. People get used to everything." "Even to this?" "Especially to this. When there's no choice." The door opened. Sara with a changing bag. "Awake? Excellent. Time to change and get ready for evening activities." She approached the cribs, lowered the sides. "Who's first?" "Me," Lucas volunteered. "Benjamin is still... embarrassed." "Nonsense. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. But fine, we'll start with you. You'll probably be able to do without it tomorrow." She changed Lucas quickly, routinely. The boy didn't resist, didn't close himself off. Accepted it as given. Then it was Benjamin's turn. This time he didn't fight. What was the point? He lay while she did her work. Cold wipes, powder, cream. A new diaper—again thick, "reinforced." "The irritation is passing. See how good it is that we noticed quickly. Now get dressed. Downstairs you have a surprise waiting." The surprise was in the living room. A new TV—huge. On screen—cartoons. Bright, colorful, with a simple plot. Everyone was already sitting on the floor on cushions. Michael hugging a stuffed rabbit, Robert—his new bear. Amelia braiding her doll's hair, glancing at the screen. "Sit down, boys," Sara pointed to free cushions. "Cartoons until dinner. Today's a marathon of 'Buzzy Bee Adventures.'" Buzzy Bee was an animated beauty with big eyes and a squeaky voice. She flew around the garden, helped friends, learned important lessons about friendship and obedience. Children's content for adult children. But strangely—it was captivating. Simple plot, bright colors, predictable jokes. The brain shut off, following the adventures. "Look, Buzzy found honey!" Robert exclaimed joyfully. "Shh," Amelia hissed. "Don't talk or we won't hear!" They sat on the floor and watched cartoons. And somewhere between the third and fourth episode, Benjamin caught himself smiling at the bee's jokes. Dinner. Bath time. Bedtime. Rituals that were becoming familiar. In the bathroom, Sara washed him like a child. He stood in warm water while she soaped him with a washcloth—back, chest, legs. He didn't resist. He was tired of resisting. "Head back." "No tears" shampoo ran through his hair. It smelled of honey and chamomile. "Close your eyes tight." Water washed away the foam. Cleanliness. Freshness. And strange calm. Pajamas waited on the hook. Soft, with long sleeves and pants. And of course, a night diaper—even thicker, with teddy bears and stars. "This is for the whole night. We'll change in the morning. I hope you won't lose any stars during the night," said Sara, fastening the tabs. A surprise waited on his bed. His bear sat on the pillow. "Where did this..." "I found it in your backpack," Sara smiled. "I thought you'd sleep more peacefully with a friend." She was right. Holding the bear, pressing it to his chest—it gave an illusion of control. Something of his own in this strange world. "Good night, Benjamin. Sweet dreams." A kiss on the forehead. Lights out. Door closed. He lay in the darkness, hugging the bear. The diaper was dry and didn't remind him of its presence yet. But he knew—by morning that would change. As everything else would change. Day by day. Drop by drop. Until nothing remained of Benjamin Wilson, thirty-year-old copywriter. Only a boy with a stuffed bear. Who didn't even remember who he once was. Tears ran down his cheeks. Childish tears—light, without bitterness. Because bitterness requires understanding of loss. And he was already beginning to forget what exactly he was losing. Chapter 8 The scream tore through the morning stillness. High-pitched, piercing, full of surprise, it rudely yanked Benjamin from his restless sleep, making him sit bolt upright in bed. Then another cry joined the first, a girlish voice with notes of delight: "Oh! Oh! Look, I'm little!" "Michael and Amelia," came a calm voice from very close by. "Looks like morning surprises have caught up with everyone." Benjamin practically jumped out of bed in shock and spun toward the source of the voice. On the neighboring bed, pushed up against his own—which definitely hadn't been there the night before—sat Lucas. The boy was rubbing his eyes and yawning, his hair sticking up in all directions, giving him the appearance of a disheveled sparrow. His rocket-print pajamas had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a thin collarbone. "What... why are you here?" Benjamin blurted out, feeling his voice crack. He coughed, trying to clear his throat after sleep. Lucas shrugged, but looked away—a gesture Benjamin had already learned to recognize as a sign of embarrassment. "I asked Aunt Sara yesterday. When you were already asleep. I said that..." He hesitated, starting to fidget with the edge of his blanket. His cheeks turned pink—a childish blush, uncontrollable and genuine. "What did you say?" Another cough. "That I had nightmares after the 'special milk.' About monsters. About... about dark corridors and doors that won't open. And I thought if I didn't sleep alone, maybe I'd feel calmer." The lie was so obvious, so childishly clumsy, that Benjamin almost smiled. Lucas lied like a child—stumbling, getting tangled in details, blushing with every word. Benjamin tried to get out of bed, but his feet didn't reach the floor—they dangled in the air. Everything was wrong. Everything was higher. Much higher. The dresser that yesterday reached his chest now towered almost level with his head. The door handle was at shoulder height. The window he'd looked through standing yesterday now required something to stand on. "No," he breathed, and his voice completely betrayed him. High, ringing, unmistakably childish. "No, no, no..." Lucas jumped off his bed and came closer. Now the difference in height was shockingly obvious—he towered over Benjamin by a whole head, maybe more. "Don't panic," he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. The hand seemed large, almost adult. "This happens to everyone. Physical regression continues. I warned you that after the enhanced dose..." "How much?" Benjamin looked at his hands. Small, with plump childish fingers, pink and clean nails. "How old do I look now? Visually?" Lucas walked around him in a circle, tilting his head appraisingly from side to side. "Eight. Maybe nine at best. You've shrunk... significantly. Overnight." The words hung in the air like a heavy weight. Just yesterday they'd been almost peers in appearance—two pre-teen boys. Today... "Benji, you look like my little brother now," Lucas finished quietly, and there was something strange in his voice. Not pity—something more complex. "Little brother." Benjamin wanted to answer, but the door burst open with such force it hit the wall. Sara rushed into the room with an alarmed expression. Her robe was hastily thrown over her nightgown, hair escaping from her usually neat bun. "Boys, are you alright? Not scared? I heard screams and..." She broke off, seeing Benjamin. Her eyes widened for a split second—a professional caught off guard. "Oh, honey. You've... the process has accelerated." "We're fine, Aunt Sara," Lucas answered in that obedient tone he used with adults. "It's Amelia and Michael? Physical regression has started, right?" "Yes, sometimes transformation happens in leaps. Especially for those who are... receptive." She approached, crouching down before Benjamin. "How are you feeling, sunshine?" "Sunshine." Yesterday she'd called him Benjamin. "I'm... confused," he admitted, his thin voice making the admission even more pitiful. "Don't worry, everything's fine. Get dressed and come down for breakfast. The others need support too." She was already turning toward the door but stopped, glancing at the two pushed-together beds. "And Lucas? Thank you for looking after Benjamin during the night. That was very... diligent of you." There was something strange in her voice. Not approval—more like wariness, carefully masked as gratitude. "It's my job, Aunt Sara. Helping new guests." "Of course. Your job." She emphasized the last word, leaving the room. Benjamin took a step, swaying to the side as if on a ship's deck. Lucas caught him by the elbow. "Careful. The first morning in a new size is always disorienting. Center of gravity, proportions, all that. You'll stumble, drop things, miss door handles." "How do you know?" "Experience," Lucas answered shortly. "Come on, we need to wash up and get dressed." The pink unicorn toothbrush fit perfectly in his small palm—what had recently seemed like a child's toy was now just right. Benjamin brushed carefully, afraid to look in the mirror, but eventually curiosity won. He looked up. A boy stared back from the mirror. Round face, big eyes, chubby cheeks. His features, recognizable, but twenty years younger. "Hey, you didn't drown in there?" Lucas knocked on the door. "Sara will start worrying if we're late for breakfast." Benjamin came out, still stunned by what he'd seen. Lucas was already dressed—the usual uniform t-shirt with a bee, jeans. Next to him, Benjamin felt tiny. His new clothes were already laid out on the bed—a t-shirt with bright robots, jeans with an elastic waistband, dinosaur socks. Everything screamed about the owner's age. "I'm not wearing this," Benjamin began, but even his protest sounded childishly petulant. "You will. Your yesterday's clothes are hanging on you like a sack now. Come on, I'll help." Without waiting for agreement, Lucas pulled the t-shirt over his head. "There, now your arms!" "Lucas... don't..." "Sorry," the boy replied. "I got a bit... carried away..." The diaper under the clothes seemed even bulkier on his diminished body. The jeans hid it rather unsuccessfully, and Benjamin was acutely aware of its presence with every movement. When they went out into the corridor, Lucas extended his hand. Benjamin looked at him with a hint of offense. "Don't be stubborn. Stairs will seem steeper. Distances—bigger. This isn't weakness—it's necessity." The corridor did look different. Wider, longer, almost threateningly endless. Pictures on the walls hung higher, doors seemed more massive. Benjamin took the offered hand, trying not to think about how this looked from the outside—the older leading the younger. On the stairs, another sight awaited them. Amelia stood on the top step, gripping the railings with both hands. Her physical transformation was even more radical—from an adult woman, she had turned into a skinny girl of about ten. Angular elbows and knees, long legs she hadn't yet learned to control. "Aunt Sara, the stairs have become huge!" she exclaimed with childish amazement. "I'm like Alice now, who drank the shrinking potion!" Sara stood nearby, patiently supporting her by the elbow. "You've just become the right size, dear. Now your body matches your inner age." "Really?" Amelia looked at her small hands with curiosity. "Oh, and my shoes are huge now! Can I have new ones, with bows?" They carefully slipped past Amelia and headed down. "This really isn't easy," said Benjamin, carefully moving his feet from step to step. His walk was very toddler-like now. "Yeah, what did I tell you," Lucas held his hand. "If you feel like you're going to fall, try to land on your bottom, it's soft now," he joked. "Lucas!" Benjamin blushed, looked up at his friend and froze. In his eyes, he didn't see the expected pain or sadness, but only... care? A genuine desire to help and... "What?" Lucas asked worriedly. "I... No... everything's fine..." "Sure? Maybe we should go back to the room and I'll bring you lunch there?" "No, don't... everything's fine." "Well, as you wish." And they continued on. At the dining room entrance, Benjamin stopped. "Listen, why is it that... I was getting younger gradually... But Amelia lost several decades literally overnight?" "Hard to say," the boy answered. "Generally, it's considered that the hardest and longest is mental regression, and the body... The body is just a shell." "So I still have to go through all this?" Lucas silently nodded, and Benjamin immediately darkened. The dining room was in chaos. Michael sat at the table, but Benjamin didn't recognize him at first. The plump middle-aged man had turned into a chubby boy of five or six. Round cheeks, small chubby fingers with which he was delightedly examining a spoon. "Look, look!" he shouted joyfully, waving his arms. "I'm little now! Just like I wanted! Aunt Sara, did the magic work?" Around his neck hung a bright bib with cars, which he proudly adjusted. "Now I can play with little cars! And they'll be just right for my hands!" Eleanor Hart stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder. "You were always like this inside, dear. Now you're just the same on the outside too." "Hurray!" Michael clapped his hands. "Can I have more porridge? With honey? Please-please!" But the real shock awaited them at the neighboring table. Robert... Benjamin froze, not believing his eyes. In a high chair sat a toddler. A tiny child of three, maybe younger. Thin light hair, huge blue eyes, chubby cheeks. He was concentratedly poking at porridge with a spoon he held in his whole fist, periodically missing his mouth. "God," Benjamin breathed. "This is... this is impossible." "Don't stare," Lucas warned, directing him to their seats. "For him, this is reality. Don't make it harder with your horror." A chair with a booster cushion had been prepared for Benjamin. Humiliating, but necessary—a regular chair would have been too low, the edge of the table would have reached his chin. As soon as they sat down, Lucas deftly switched their plates. "What are you doing?" "Regular oatmeal without additives for you, honey porridge for me. Eat quickly and don't attract attention." "But it's harmful for you too..." "I'm used to it. My body has adapted. But you still have a chance to slow the process. Every day without honey is time gained." "Lucas," Eleanor Hart's voice made them both flinch. "What are you doing?" She stood right behind them. How had she approached so quietly? "Nothing special, Miss Hart. It's just that Benji doesn't like things too sweet in the morning. Sensitive stomach after yesterday." "Benji?" her perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. "How sweet. Have you become friends?" There was something strange in her voice, hidden under a layer of maternal care. "Yes, Miss Hart, Lucas is my friend," Benjamin interjected, but his words seemed to interest her little. "I'm helping him adapt. As you asked—support for newcomers." "Of course. Support is wonderful. But remember, Lucas—too close attachments... however, I think right now this is exactly what Benji needs." She walked away, but Benjamin felt her gaze on his back. After breakfast, creative time was announced. In the playroom, tables were already covered with large sheets of paper, pencils, markers, and paints laid out. "Today we're drawing what we want most in the world!" Sara announced with kindergarten teacher enthusiasm. "Close your eyes, imagine your most cherished wish and transfer it to paper!" Amelia sat at the table and took a pencil. Her hand trembled—fine motor skills had clearly suffered along with the shrinking. She tried to draw something resembling a castle, but it came out crooked, childishly clumsy. Michael snorted over his drawing, sticking out the tip of his tongue with effort. On the paper appeared something between a car and a dinosaur—perception of space and proportions had regressed along with the body. Robert just moved colored pencils across the paper, leaving chaotic lines and scribbles. Sometimes he hummed something to himself—a disconnected melody without words. "Let's do it together," Lucas suggested, moving his chair closer to Benjamin's. "We'll draw a story. Like a picture book." "What story?" "Any. Just start drawing, the story will come by itself." Lucas took a pencil and began sketching outlines. A hill, a winding path, a house on top. The movements were confident—he'd clearly drawn before. Benjamin added a tree next to the house. Big, with a spreading crown. Then another. Then a small river at the bottom of the hill. "And who's this?" he asked, looking at two figures that appeared on the path under Lucas's hand. "Travelers. Brothers. Older and younger. They're going home after a long journey." "Where are they coming from?" "From the forest. See?" Lucas began adding trees in the background. "They got lost, searched for the way for a long time. But the older brother remembered the path, and he led the younger one out." They drew in silence, passing pencils to each other. The story on paper grew with details—a bridge over the river, birds in the sky, flowers along the road. But the center remained the two figures walking hand in hand. "What a sweet picture!" Sara looked over their shoulders. "Are these brothers?" "Yes," Lucas quickly answered. "Wonderful. And where are they going? To the house on the hill?" "Home," Benjamin said without thinking. "They got lost and are looking for the way home." Sara stroked his head. "But they're almost home. There it is, the house. Just a little bit left." "That's not their home," Benjamin said stubbornly. "It's just... a house. Someone else's." An awkward pause hung in the air. Then Sara smiled. "Continue, boys." When she walked away, Lucas leaned closer. "Be careful with words. They don't like it when people talk about 'another home.'" After creativity—mandatory walk in the garden. "Fresh air is necessary for growing organisms," Sara said, dressing Robert in a jacket that hung on him like a sack. "Who would have thought that our Robbie would regress so quickly that the nanny wouldn't have time to pick out clothes for him," Sara said, addressing the boy. Robert looked at her uncomprehendingly; apparently, such long words were now very difficult and incomprehensible for him. "I'm proud of you, baby," Sara said and kissed the boy on the nose, which made him smile and giggle. During the walk, Lucas waited for the right moment and, when Sara got distracted by the "little ones," grabbed Benjamin's hand and dragged him to the far part of the garden to the old apple trees. "They won't see us here," he said, looking around. "The trees are thick, and Sara usually watches the little ones. I mean... Michael and Robert." They climbed into the thickest part of the small garden, which now seemed even denser than before. Branches closed above their heads, creating a green tent. Sunlight broke through the leaves, painting spots on the grass. "Want a real apple?" Lucas asked. "Without honey, without additives. Just an apple." Benjamin nodded. He was constantly hungry—the changed body demanded energy, as if trying to catch up with itself. Lucas nimbly climbed the tree. He moved confidently, knowing exactly which branch would hold and which wouldn't. He picked two red apples, checked for worms, jumped down with feline grace. "Here you go, little one." "Little one." From anyone else, it would have sounded offensive, humiliating. From Lucas—almost tender, with that intonation older brothers use. They sat right on the grass, leaning their backs against the trunk. The apples were sweet with a slight tartness, juice ran down their chins. Real taste, not masked by omnipresent honey. "You know," Benjamin began, taking a small bite, "I always wanted an older brother. In childhood. In real childhood." "Why?" Lucas turned to him, genuinely interested. "Parents were always working. Came home late, tired. Nannies changed every few months—either the salary didn't suit them, or I was 'too difficult a child.' I sat in my room for hours, making up stories. And in each one there was an older brother. We traveled together, had adventures, he protected me from monsters under the bed..." Lucas listened silently, occasionally nodding. "And once," Benjamin continued, "I was about seven, I even wrote a letter to Santa. Asked not for toys, not for a construction set. I asked for a brother. Thought if I asked really hard..." "And what did your parents say?" "Said Santa doesn't bring brothers. They bought a big teddy bear." Lucas smiled—sadly, understandingly. "And I..." he began and fell silent, choosing words. "I also wanted something in childhood." "What?" "Not to be an adult," Lucas breathed out. "Sounds stupid, right? All children want to grow up quickly. But I looked at my parents—always tired, always stressed, always 'not now, later, not now'—and thought: is this all? Does growing up mean becoming like that?" He plucked a blade of grass, began methodically tearing it into small pieces. "And here's the irony of fate—I got my wish. Forever remained a child. Only it turned out to be not a fairy tale, but..." he didn't finish. "I'm sorry." "For what? It's not your fault. Nobody's fault. We all just... looked for a way out. And found it here. Only the exit turned out to be an entrance with no way back." They sat in silence, finishing the apples. Then Lucas stood up, brushed off his jeans. "Come on, I'll show you something. My secret." He led Benjamin by roundabout paths, through rosehip thickets, past an old greenhouse with broken glass. Behind the greenhouse, almost completely hidden by overgrown bushes, stood a small shed. "Nobody comes here," Lucas explained, removing the rusty lock. "Old tools, nobody needs them. Sara thinks I store garden equipment here." Inside it smelled of earth, rusty iron, and dampness. In the corner under old burlap, something was hidden. "My emergency stash," Lucas threw back the fabric. There was a box with canned goods, several bottles of water, a pack of cookies, even a small folding knife. "I collected bit by bit. In case I... decide. Now you know where it is. If something happens—take it without asking." "Thank you," Benjamin said, understanding that he'd just been shared with the most precious thing. Lucas pulled a handful of cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket. "Stole from the pantry this morning. Regular, no additives." They sat right on the earthen floor, backs against the wall. The cookies were simple, even stale, but to Benjamin they seemed tastier than any delicacies. "Why are you helping me?" he asked between bites. "Taking risks. If they find out..." "Because..." Lucas was silent for a long time, choosing words. "Three years I've been here. Three years watching people arrive broken, and then... change. Become different. Forget who they were. And this is considered success. Healing. And I watch and think—is this healing or final death?" He turned to Benjamin, and in the semi-darkness of the shed his eyes seemed very adult. "But you still remember. Still fighting. Still remaining yourself, despite..." he gestured at Benjamin's diminished figure. "And you see me. Not a broken toy, not an eternal child, not a 'special case.' Just me. That's worth a lot." "You're my friend," Benjamin said simply. "People don't become friends in six days." "But we did. Time flows differently here. Six days like six years. Or sixty." Lucas smiled—shyly, almost bashfully. There was so much warmth in that smile that the small shed stopped seeming gloomy for a moment. Outside, a bell rang—signal for the end of the walk. On the way back, Benjamin felt a strange tingling in his mouth. A metallic taste. He carefully touched his front tooth with his tongue. Loose. "Lucas..." He turned, saw the expression on his face—a mixture of horror and disbelief. "Oh no. Already? This is early, even for an enhanced dose." "What... what does this mean?" "Baby teeth. During regression, the body... restructures. Completely. Including teeth. I had it too..." He smiled widely and pulled his cheek with a finger, showing an uneven row—a strange mixture of baby and permanent teeth, like a child during the transition period. "See? And nothing, I'm alive. Doesn't hurt. Just... strange." At lunch, Benjamin ate as carefully as possible, trying to chew with his back teeth. Soup, mashed potatoes, soft vegetables—the menu seemed designed with possible problems in mind. Sara knew. Of course she knew. Lucas sat next to him, occasionally touching his elbow—a silent reminder that he wasn't alone in this nightmare. "Quiet hour!" Sara announced after dessert. "Everyone upstairs, get ready for sleep!" "Don't want to sleep!" Amelia traditionally whined, but immediately yawned, covering her mouth with her palm. The protest of a ten-year-old girl looked almost cute. "I'm an adult!" "All adults sometimes sleep during the day," Sara gently replied. "It's called a siesta. Very good for the body." In their now shared room, they changed into pajamas. Benjamin tried not to look at Lucas, embarrassed by his diminished body. The pajamas with spaceships, which had been too big yesterday, fit perfectly today. And then it happened. He just exhaled—and felt the tooth slip out. Without pain, without blood. Just fell onto his tongue, leaving a strange emptiness and metallic taste. A small white square on his palm. So ordinary and so terrifying. Irrefutable proof of the process's irreversibility. "No, no, no..." panic came in waves, squeezing his throat. Lucas was instantly beside him, hugging from behind, holding tightly. "Quiet. Breathe. Slowly, deeply. This isn't the end of the world." "These are my teeth! My adult teeth! They're falling out!" "Which no longer match your new body. Listen to me—panic will only accelerate the changes. Honey reacts to stress. Breathe." But tears were already flowing. Fear, acute awareness that there was no way back—everything mixed into one lump in his throat. "Can I..." Benjamin sobbed. "Can I sleep with you? Please?" "Of course. Come here." Lucas helped him climb into his bed, covered him with a blanket, lay down beside him. Hugged carefully, as if something fragile. "Want a secret?" he whispered. "I cried too when the first tooth fell out. Sobbed like... well, like a baby. For two hours. Sara found me curled up under the bed." "Really?" "Really. And then the second fell out, the third... And you know what? It got easier with each one. Not because I got used to it. But because I understood—this body is temporary. Like a costume. But the real me is here," he lightly touched Benjamin's chest near his heart. "And as long as you remember who you really are, body size doesn't matter." "I don't want to forget!" "You won't forget. I won't let you. I promise." The door quietly opened. Sara looked in, saw them in one bed—Benjamin curled up in a ball with the tooth clenched in his fist, and Lucas hugging him. "Oh, boys... First tooth?" Benjamin nodded without raising his head. "It's an important milestone. A sign that the body is accepting the changes. Do you want to put it under your pillow? For the tooth fairy?" "No," Benjamin mumbled into Lucas's shoulder. "Alright, honey. You can keep it. As a memory. Rest now. Lucas can stay with you if it helps. Sometimes... sometimes we all need someone nearby." There was something new in her voice. Understanding? Sadness? She quietly closed the door. "Thank you," Benjamin whispered when the footsteps faded. "For everything. For the apples. For the cookies. For not leaving me alone in this nightmare." "This isn't a nightmare," Lucas answered just as quietly. "A nightmare is when you're alone. But there are two of us. And that changes everything." Sleep came unexpectedly peaceful. No transformations, no fields with golden grass. Just the warmth of another person nearby and a strange feeling of security—like in childhood, when you climbed into your parents' bed after a bad dream. Sara woke them, gently shaking their shoulders. "Boys, time to get up. Snack time soon." She didn't comment on them sleeping in each other's arms. Just stroked both their heads—a gesture so maternal that Benjamin momentarily gave in to the illusion of safety. At snack time, Amelia demonstrated with undisguised pride the result of an hour's effort—a crooked braid on a doll. "Look! I did it myself! Aunt Sara showed me, but I braided it myself! By myself!" She beamed with pride, waving the doll so the braid flew. Michael clapped his hands, Robert babbled something joyfully. "Well done, Amelia," said Lucas. "Beautiful braid." "Really?" she blushed from the praise. "Beautiful! Amelia did great! I want a doll too! Can I, Aunt Sara?" Michael asked. Benjamin watched this scene with a strange feeling. On one hand—horror. On the other... He had never seen Amelia so happy. After snack time, Lucas was called to Miss Hart. He rose from the table with a stone face, but Benjamin noticed his fingers trembling. "I'll come with you," he said. "No. That will only make things worse. Do something. Put together a puzzle or read a book. Act like you're adapting normally." He had to wait over an hour. Benjamin mechanically assembled a puzzle with a fire truck, but his thoughts were far away. What if Eleanor decided to separate them? What if she applied "enhanced measures" to Lucas? What if... Lucas returned pale but outwardly calm. He sat down, took several puzzle pieces. "What did she want?" "To warn. That our friendship is becoming an 'unhealthy attachment.' That I'm hindering your proper adaptation with my 'negative influence.' That if I continue..." "What?" "They'll apply special measures. To both of us. Separate accommodation is the minimum. Maximum..." he didn't finish. "What will we do?" "In front of everyone—keep our distance. I'm just doing my helper job. No special closeness. Professional politeness." "And in private?" "In private we remain who we are. Brothers in misfortune. Or just... brothers." The rest of the day they tried not to attract attention. They played in different corners of the room, sat on different sides of the table at dinner. But their gazes met—quick exchanges of support, silent questions "how are you?" and answers "hanging in there." Evening bathing had become routine. Benjamin no longer resisted when Sara washed his hair, checked behind his ears. What was the point of clinging to dignity when your body betrayed you with every hour? "You have another loose tooth," she noticed, helping him dry off. "It'll probably fall out tomorrow. That's good—means the process is going correctly." "Correctly." Correct for whom? Before bed, already in their beds, they whispered in the darkness. "Lucas?" "Mm?" "How much time do we have? Before it's... too late?" A long pause. Then quietly: "I don't know. Everyone's different. You're strong—maybe a week. Maybe two. But sooner or later..." "I understand." "No, you don't. But that's normal. Nobody understands until they go through it." "Do you regret it?" "What?" "Coming here three years ago." Another pause, longer. "Sometimes. When I remember who I was. What I lost. But then I look at Robert—he's happy. Truly happy. Maybe that's the answer? Forget and be happy?" "You don't think that." "No. But sometimes I want to think that. It would be easier." "Why did you really ask to move into my room?" A quiet laugh came from the darkness. "You want the truth? Not about nightmares and monsters?" "Yes." "Because when you're near, I feel needed. Not Sara's tool, not Hart's exhibit, not a broken toy. Just... needed. Important to someone. I'd forgotten that feeling long ago." "You're important to me. Very important." "I know. Thank you." In the darkness, their hands found each other across the gap between beds. Children's fingers intertwined, holding tight, as if that could stop time. Under Benjamin's pillow lay the fallen tooth—a small white reminder of who he'd been just this morning. But that seemed unimportant now. What was important was different. The warmth of a friend's hand. Steady breathing nearby. Knowing that morning, whatever it brought, he wouldn't meet it alone. Chapter 9 Lucas woke with a scream. Not the childish whimper he'd grown accustomed to over three years, but a hoarse, adult groan tearing from the throat of an eleven-year-old boy. On the adjacent bed, Benjamin stirred but didn't wake, only clutching his teddy bear tighter to his chest. In the weak nightlight glow, his face looked entirely childlike—round cheeks, slightly open mouth, long lashes trembling in sleep. "Just one week," Lucas thought, sitting up in bed. "He was a thirty-year-old man, and now..." The sheet beneath him was damp with sweat, his pajamas clung to his back. The nightmare still clung to the edges of his consciousness—fragments of images from his past life, which he'd tried so hard to bury. An apartment in Chicago. View of Lake Michigan. A prestigious job. A beautiful wife. Everything a successful person was supposed to have at thirty-five. And it all crumbled like a house of cards. Lucas stood, trying not to wake Benjamin. His bare feet moved silently across the soft carpet. He approached the window, pulled back the curtain. Beyond the glass, the garden bathed in moonlight, so peaceful, so far from the nightmares. "Can't sleep?" Benjamin's voice made him flinch. Lucas turned—his friend sat up in bed, sleepy, disheveled. In his spaceship pajamas, he looked about seven, maybe younger. "Nightmare," Lucas answered shortly. "Want to... want to come here?" Benjamin lifted the edge of his blanket. "I'm scared alone too." Simple words, but behind them was understanding that Lucas had missed so much all these years. He climbed into Benjamin's bed, and Benjamin immediately hugged him, holding him close. His small arms were warm, smelling of children's soap and something indefinably homey. "Tell me," Benjamin whispered. "About the nightmare. About everything. I can see—you're carrying this inside, and it's tearing you apart." And Lucas told him. About his prestigious job as an accountant at a major firm. About Lisa—beautiful, ambitious, always wanting more. About loans for the car, apartment, renovations. About how debts grew faster than income. "She wanted to live beautifully," he spoke in the darkness, feeling Benjamin hold him tighter. "Italian tiles, German kitchen, designer furniture. And I... I just wanted her to be happy. Took extra work, sat up nights over reports. Coffee became my only friend—five cups before lunch, three more after." He told about Mark—the wealthy banker Lisa met at a charity event. About how she left, leaving him all the debts and an empty apartment. About how he started drinking—first a glass of wine to relax, then a bottle, and then whiskey proved more effective. "Mistakes in reports started small," his voice trembled. "A missed comma, mixed-up numbers. Then bigger. And then I transferred a client's money to the wrong place. A large sum. Very large." "And they fired you?" "'The firm cannot risk its reputation,'" Lucas quoted. "Career over at thirty-five. And that's when I bought the gun." Benjamin froze. Lucas felt his breathing quicken. "Glock 19. For protection, I told the seller. He didn't believe it, but sold it. That night I sat in the kitchen—where Lisa and I once drank morning coffee and made plans. Gun on the table. Bottle of whiskey. And a note: 'Tired of pretending everything will be okay.'" He paused, gathering strength. "Sat for three hours. Loading, unloading. Bringing it to my mouth. The taste of metal and gun oil—I still remember. Finger on the trigger. Three and a half pounds of pressure—I read online. Just three and a half pounds between life and nothing." "But you couldn't." "Not from fear of death. Death seemed like relief. I was afraid even this wouldn't work out. That even in suicide I'd be a failure. Miss, survive, remain disabled. Or worse—they'd save me, lock me in a psych ward." Tears ran down his cheeks. "In the morning, there was an envelope in the mailbox. Cream-colored, with a golden bee. 'Tired of pretending? We understand.' As if they'd read my note." "And you came." "What was there to lose? Couldn't get worse, I thought. If it's a cult—fine. If they poison me—that's a way out too. Any exit seemed better than sitting in the kitchen with a gun." Lucas told about his first days at the Hive. About how he turned out to be partially receptive to the honey, about how Eleanor offered him to become a helper—to become a child physically and help guests find relief. About how he agreed because it seemed the lesser evil. "Three years I've been meeting newcomers. Comforting them. Telling them everything will be fine. And lying to each one. Drowning each one in honey syrup. And now..." he turned to Benjamin, and in the dim light their faces were very close. "Now I'm drowning you. The only person in three years who saw me not as a function, but as a friend." "You're not drowning me. You're helping me stay afloat." "I should have warned you earlier. The first day. But you smiled at me, extended your hand for a handshake, as an equal. And I... I couldn't. For the first time in three years, I felt human." Benjamin was silent, then pulled Lucas closer, buried his face in his shoulder. "You know what? I'm glad you didn't warn me. Otherwise, I would have run on the first day. And never would have known what it's like to have a real friend. An older brother I always wanted." "Benji..." "No, listen. Yes, this place is horrible. Yes, terrible things are happening to me. But you... you make it bearable. When you're near, I don't feel like a lonely freak losing himself. I feel... protected. Needed. Important to someone." They lay in each other's arms, two boys on the outside, two broken adults inside. Outside the window, dawn was beginning to break, but they didn't want to let go. "Yesterday at breakfast," Lucas whispered, "when you told Eleanor we were friends... It was the first time in three years someone called me a friend. Not a helper, not a 'good boy,' but a friend. And I realized—if I lose this, if I betray you like I betrayed others... Then better the gun. Only this time I won't miss." "Don't say that!" "Why? It's the truth. You gave me back my humanity, Benji. Gave me a reason to fight. Not for myself—for you. And you know what? That changes everything." Benjamin lifted his head, looked into Lucas's eyes. In the morning light, they seemed very young and very old at the same time. "Promise me," he said seriously. "Whatever happens, however our bodies change, we'll stay together. We'll remember each other. Support each other. Won't let each other get completely lost." "I promise," Lucas kissed his forehead—a simple, brotherly gesture. "You're my little brother now. And big brothers protect little ones. Even if they're the same size as the little ones." They laughed—quietly, so as not to wake the house. Laughter through tears, but genuine. In the corridor, footsteps could be heard—Sara's morning rounds. Lucas wanted to return to his own bed, but Benjamin held him back. "Stay. Let them see. I don't care." "Hart won't like it. She talked about 'unhealthy attachment.'" "What will she do? Punish us? Separate us? We'll find a way to outsmart her anyway. Because now I know—you're afraid too. You suffer too. You need someone nearby too. And I'll be that 'someone.'" The door opened. Sara froze in the doorway, seeing them in one bed. "Boys?" "Lucas had a nightmare," Benjamin said calmly. "I was comforting him. Isn't that what friends are for?" Sara smiled and said nothing. She placed a tray with the morning bottle on the nightstand. "Breakfast in half an hour. Don't be late." When the door closed, Lucas whispered: "Thank you." "For what?" "For not letting go. For not being scared of my truth. For staying close even though you know now how broken I am." "We're both broken," Benjamin took his hand. "But together we can build something new from the pieces. Maybe small, maybe fragile, but ours." The sun rose higher, flooding the room with golden light. Ahead was a new day at the Hive, but now it was for the two of them. And that changed everything. Breakfast passed in tense silence. Benjamin sat on his chair with a booster cushion, picking at his oatmeal. The spoon seemed heavy in his small hand, periodically slipping from his fingers. Drops of porridge fell on the bright bib with bees that Sara had tied "to protect his clothes." Lucas sat across from him, stealing worried glances. After the morning confession, a new closeness had been established between them, but it also made what was happening even more painful. "Benji, sweetie, eat well," Sara adjusted the slipping bib. "A growing body needs strength." "Growing," thought Lucas. "Only in reverse." After breakfast, creativity time again. Small tables were set up in the playroom, finger paints laid out. Amelia was already enthusiastically smearing bright colors on paper, Michael was molding something from clay. Robert sat on the floor, hugging a plush giraffe, humming something. Benjamin took a brush, but it slipped from his fingers. He tried again—his hand trembled, lines came out crooked. Coordination was deteriorating with each day. Lucas sat down next to him. "I'll help." Together they drew a sun—a circle with rays. "You know," Benjamin said quietly, dipping his finger in yellow paint, "this is even... nice. Not thinking about complicated things. Just drawing a sun." Anxiety pricked Lucas. "Benji, that's the honey talking. Don't give in." "What if it's not so bad?" Benjamin turned to him, and there was strange peace in his eyes. "You said yourself—don't resist too hard, or you'll break faster." "I'm an idiot!" Lucas blurted out, forgetting to lower his voice. "Don't listen to me! You have to resist always, every minute, otherwise..." "Lucas," Sara's warning voice. "Don't disturb others." He bit his tongue, but inside everything was boiling. Seeing Benjamin beginning to give up was unbearable. After creativity—mandatory walk. Outside, Benjamin ran to the swings—impulsively, childishly. He tripped over his own feet, fell on the grass. His knees were scraped, blood appeared. "Ow-ow-ow!" he whimpered, and the crying was completely childish. "It hurts!" Lucas was instantly beside him, helped him sit, examined the scrapes. "It's not serious, just scratches. Now Sara will..." "I don't want Sara!" Benjamin clung to him. "You heal it! You're my big brother!" The words hit straight to the heart. Lucas took a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully dabbed the blood. "Will you blow on it?" Benjamin asked hopefully. "Mom always blows when I fall." "Mom." Not "my mom once." Just "mom," as if it was yesterday. Lucas blew on the scraped knees, feeling something tearing inside. It was simultaneously right and wrong. Natural and unnatural. "Better?" "Uh-huh," Benjamin smiled through tears. "Thank you. You're the best brother!" Lunch. The spoon was too heavy, he had to grip it in his fist. Several times Benjamin spilled on himself, and Sara patiently wiped with a napkin. "Maybe I should help feed you?" she suggested. "I can do it myself!" Benjamin answered stubbornly, but gave up after a minute. "Okay... help a little." Lucas watched as Sara fed him from the spoon. As Benjamin obediently opened his mouth. As he swallowed the honey poison spoonful by spoonful. Quiet hour. In their room, Benjamin was changing into pajamas, and Lucas noticed—movements had become clumsier. Buttons wouldn't yield to small fingers. "Will you help?" Benjamin asked, holding out his shirt. Lucas silently unbuttoned the buttons, helped remove the t-shirt. The diaper was slightly damp. "Don't look like that," Benjamin blushed. "I know it's... embarrassing. But what can I do? Control isn't what it used to be." "It's not about the diaper. It's that you're giving up." "What should I do?" tears appeared in his voice. "Fight? How? My body won't listen, thoughts get confused. Yesterday I forgot the name of the street where I lived. This morning I couldn't remember my phone number. Tomorrow I'll forget something else." He sat on the bed, pulled his knees to his chest. "But you know what I remember? That I have you. My friend. My brother. And as long as you're near, it's not so scary." "Benji..." "Maybe that's my way of coping? Not fighting the inevitable, but finding something good in it? You found it yourself—you found me." Lucas sat down beside him, hugged him. The small body pressed against him trustingly. "I'm afraid of losing you," he admitted. "Not physically. Mentally. That one day you'll wake up and won't remember who you were. You'll just be a little boy who likes to draw suns." "I'll remember the important thing. That you're my brother. That you take care of me. Isn't that more important than remembering a phone number?" A knock at the door. Sara with a tray. "Boys, time for afternoon sleep. Here's your milk, Benji." A bottle with warm milk. Benjamin took the bottle with both hands, leaned back on the pillow, brought it to his mouth. He began to suck—slowly, with obvious pleasure. "Good boy," Sara praised. "Holding it correctly. Well done!" When she left, Lucas couldn't hold back: "You said yesterday you wouldn't! That this was the last line!" Benjamin took the nipple from his mouth, milk dripped on his chin. "Yesterday I was bigger. Yesterday my hands didn't shake so much. Yesterday I could hold a glass. And today..." he shrugged. "Today the bottle is more convenient. And the milk is tasty. Warm." "This is capitulation!" "Or adaptation. You've been adapting for three years yourself." "And look what I've become!" "My brother," Benjamin answered simply. "A person who takes care of me. Who blows on scraped knees. Who hugs when it's scary. If that's bad, then I don't want good." He finished the milk, carefully placed the empty bottle on the nightstand. Lay down in bed, pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Will you lie with me? Please?" Lucas couldn't refuse. He lay down beside him, and Benjamin immediately pressed against him, hugged with small arms. "You know what's strange?" he mumbled sleepily. "I should be panicking. Screaming. Having hysterics. But I'm... calm. Because you're near. Because for the first time in my life I'm not alone." Sleep overcame him quickly—the milk was doing its work. Lucas lay holding his sleeping friend, thinking about the paradox of their situation. He wanted to save Benjamin. But what if Benjamin didn't want to be saved? What if for him this place wasn't a prison, but a refuge? Not an end, but a beginning? A quiet "pshhh" broke the silence. A familiar smell. Benjamin had wet himself in his sleep—the diaper began to swell, absorbing moisture. Before, this would have caused panic, tears, despair. Now Benjamin only pressed closer to Lucas, not waking up. Trustingly. Calmly. "Maybe he's right," Lucas thought. "Maybe all these guests I've met over the last three years really are happy now?" Birds sang outside the window. The house was quiet. Only the breathing of the sleeping boy beside him, who was his friend, brother, anchor in this strange world. Quiet hour passed surprisingly quickly. The door made its familiar creak, and Sara's voice sounded: "Wake up, sleepyheads. Time for afternoon snack." Benjamin woke, stretched like a kitten. Then realized the wet diaper and blushed. "I... I need to..." "Of course, sweetie. Come on, let's change you. Lucas, will you help?" This was unexpected. Usually Sara handled "hygiene procedures" herself. In the bathroom, she took out everything necessary—wipes, cream, fresh diaper—and stepped aside. "You two can manage, boys?" And without waiting for an answer, she left. When the door closed, Lucas was at a loss. "I... I don't know..." "I'll show you," Benjamin lowered his pajama pants to his ankles. "It's not hard. Just... a bit embarrassing. But not so embarrassing with you." With trembling hands, Lucas unfastened the tapes and closed his eyes. "Luke, you look so funny right now!" Benjamin giggled. Mechanically, trying not to think, Lucas did everything necessary. Wipes. Cream. Powder. New diaper. "Thank you," Benjamin whispered when it was over. "I know it's... disgusting." "No," Lucas helped him stand. "Not disgusting. Just... sad. That we've come to this." "Or risen?" Benjamin pulled up his pants. "Depends how you look at it. You take care of me like no one ever has. Not even my parents." At afternoon snack, a small miracle happened. Amelia, who had already completely transformed into a ten-year-old girl mentally, approached their table. "Can I sit with you? You're like real brothers. I never had brothers." She sat down, and soon the three of them were enthusiastically discussing which cartoon was more interesting—about Buzzy the Bee or Teddy the Bear. Lucas caught himself fully engrossed in this argument, as if he really was 11 years old or even younger. "No, has my immunity disappeared?" flashed through his mind, but immediately vanished. An ordinary children's conversation in children's voices. But for Lucas, it was a revelation. They were creating something of their own in this place. Not a family—that word was poisoned by the Hive's lies. But a connection. A real one. Evening. Dinner. Bath time. In the bathroom, Sara washed Benjamin while Lucas helped—handed the towel, held the pajamas. A domestic ritual that had become almost normal. As if they were all a real family. "Head back, sunshine," Sara poured water from a ladle. "Close your eyes tight-tight." Benjamin obediently followed commands. His small wet body shivered from the coolness, and Lucas quickly wrapped him in a towel. "Like a caring big brother," Sara smiled. "Eleanor will like your... dynamic." Something in her tone was alarming, but Lucas said nothing. Before bed, already in their beds, they whispered in the darkness. "Lucas? Are you mad at me?" "For what?" "For giving up. For not fighting like you wanted." Long pause. Then Lucas moved to Benjamin's bed, hugged him. "I'm not mad. Just... afraid. That I'll lose you. The real you." "And who's the real me? A thirty-year-old loser or a seven-year-old boy who has a loving brother?" "You are you. In any body. At any age. As long as you remember your name and our friendship." "Benjamin Wilson," he whispered. "Benji to friends. I have a big brother Lucas who blows on scraped knees and changes my diapers. And I... I'm almost happy." "Almost" caught. In that "almost" was the last thread to his former life. "Sleep," Lucas kissed the top of his head. "Tomorrow's a new day." "Will you stay with me?" "Yes." Upstairs, Miss Hart sat in her office making notes. "Day 7. Benjamin showing signs of acceptance. Mental regression has finally begun—presumed catalyst Lucas Martinez. Consider possibility of permanent co-housing. Potential for applying 'family model' to other guests." Chapter 10 Sunlight filtering through the lace curtains painted dancing patterns on the wall. Benjamin woke in Lucas's warm embrace, feeling protected and... almost happy. That "almost" still clung to the edges of his consciousness, but it grew quieter with each passing day. "Good morning, sleepyhead," Lucas whispered, gently ruffling his hair. "Mmm," Benjamin stretched, yawning so wide his jaw cracked. "Five more minutes? Please?" His voice sounded sleepy, childishly petulant. "Can't, little one. Sara will be coming to check soon." They got up, and the morning rituals flowed in their usual course. Lucas helped Benjamin wash up—small hands struggled to hold the toothbrush, which kept slipping from clumsy fingers. Then he changed the night diaper for a day one, trying not to think about how natural this had become for both of them. "You know," Benjamin said while Lucas tied his shoelaces, "I just remembered how Mom does this the same way. She squats down, smiles and says: 'There we go, my good boy, now you can run.' And it's... nice to remember." Lucas froze, the shoelace hanging in mid-air. "You remember your real mom?" "Of course!" Benjamin blinked in surprise. "Why, shouldn't I? She's nice. Kind. Just works a lot. But when she has time, she always..." He faltered, frowning. "Strange. I remember how she ties shoelaces, but I don't remember... don't remember her face. Just the feeling. Warmth. Care. Like now with you." Anxiety slithered down Lucas's spine like a cold snake. If Benjamin was starting to mix childhood memories with the present, if the boundaries between then and now were blurring... "It's okay," he said quickly, helping Benjamin to his feet. "Sometimes memories get fuzzy. It's normal." "Really?" Benjamin looked up at him trustingly. "Do you get confused too sometimes?" "Yes," Lucas lied. "All the time." At breakfast, the usual atmosphere of chaos reigned. Michael, who had definitively transformed into a six-year-old, enthusiastically recounted his dream about a magical cookie castle. Amelia sat focused on braiding her doll's hair, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration. Robert methodically spread porridge across the table, occasionally getting the spoon to his mouth. "And in the castle lived a dragon!" Michael exclaimed excitedly, waving his spoon. "But he was nice! And he blew rainbow bubbles!" "Dragons can't be nice," Amelia stated didactically, not looking up from her doll. "They're mean and eat princesses." "Not true! My dragon only ate cookies!" Benjamin listened to their argument with a slight smile, mechanically bringing the spoon to his mouth. The porridge was sweet, with honey and cinnamon. He no longer noticed the cloying sweetness, didn't try to analyze every bite. He just ate because he was hungry and the food was tasty. "Lucas," Sara's soft voice made them both jump. She had materialized beside their table as silently as always. "After breakfast, Miss Hart wants to see you. In the honey room." The spoon froze halfway to his mouth. The honey room—the inner sanctum of the Hive, Eleanor's personal office, where guests were invited only for the most serious conversations. In three years, Lucas had been there only a handful of times, and each visit left a bitter aftertaste. "Did something happen?" His voice sounded calm, but under the table his fists clenched. "Just a conversation. About your... successes with Benjamin." Sara smiled that professional smile that expressed nothing. "Don't worry, it's not a reprimand. Quite the opposite." She left as quietly as she'd appeared. Benjamin reached under the table, found Lucas's hand, squeezed it with small fingers. "I'll come with you! We're together, right?" "No, sunshine," Sara had already returned with wet wipes, starting to clean Michael's face. "This is a conversation for adults." "For adults." In any other situation, the irony would have made Lucas laugh. But now the words sounded like a sentence. After breakfast, he headed to the honey room. The Hive's corridors seemed longer than usual, each step echoing in his head with a dull thud. Behind him remained the sounds of morning games—Amelia's laughter, Michael's excited shouts, something indistinct from Robert. The honey room door was ajar, golden light spilling from within. The smell hit him even before he reached it—thick, cloying, enveloping. Honey was everywhere here—in the air, in the furniture, in the very amber-colored walls. "Ah, our little helper," Eleanor's voice was soft, almost tender. "Come in, Lucas. Have a seat." She sat behind a massive light wood desk, shuffling through some papers. To look at her—an ordinary businesswoman in her middle years. Only her eyes gave her away—yellow glints danced in them, like in a hive full of bees. Lucas sat on the edge of the chair, ready to jump up at the first sign of danger. An old habit, developed over years. "Do you know why I called you?" "No, Miss Hart." "To thank you." The words hung in the air. Lucas blinked, not believing his ears. "Excuse me?" Eleanor leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together. "In the past week, you've accomplished what I couldn't have done with years of therapy. Benjamin has finally begun to mentally regress. And in record time." Cold ran down his spine despite the warmth of the room. "What do you mean?" "Oh, haven't you noticed?" A note of surprise appeared in her voice, feigned or genuine—impossible to tell. "Yesterday he called you brother twelve times. Not friend, not Lucas—brother. He cried when he fell, though the scrapes were minimal. And he cried not from pain, but because he wanted comfort. Your comfort." She stood, walked to the window. Beyond the glass stretched the garden—a sea of flowers under the morning sun. "He drank from the bottle without a single protest. Moreover—with obvious pleasure. And most importantly—he's starting to confuse memories. Real childhood is mixing with the new one. This is a critical moment in the process." "It's... it's not because of me," his voice wavered. "Of course it's because of you, dear." Eleanor turned, and sunlight created a golden halo around her. "I was starting to worry. The physical changes were proceeding at record speed, but the mind... the mind was resisting. Like yours did once. I was afraid he'd turn out to be another partial case." "I have immunity to honey." "Partial immunity," she corrected. "To the chemical effects. But not to the emotional ones. And then you appeared. The older brother he always wanted. Protector. Comforter. The one who blows on scraped knees and changes diapers without disgust." Each word hit like a slap. Lucas jumped up, the chair toppling over. "You used me!" "Used?" Eleanor tilted her head, studying him like an interesting exhibit. "Such a crude word. I gave you both what you wanted. You—purpose, meaning for existence, a younger brother to care for. Him—the older brother from childhood fantasies. Isn't that wonderful?" "It's manipulation! You deliberately didn't separate us, though you threatened to! Everything was staged!" "Not everything," she objected. "I couldn't have predicted you'd bond so quickly. That you'd develop genuine care for him. That he'd attach to you more strongly than to a mother-figure in me. That was... a pleasant surprise." "Pleasant?!" His voice broke into a scream. "Because of you... because of me... He's losing his identity! Forgetting who he is!" "He's gaining a new identity. Happy. Carefree. Loved." "That's not him! That's your puppet!" "It is him," Eleanor explained patiently, as one explains to a slow child. "Just without the burden of the past. Without pain, disappointments, failures. A clean slate for a new, better story." "Better?!" Lucas laughed, and there was more hysteria than humor in it. "Turning an adult into an eternal child—that's better?!" "And what awaited him outside?" Eleanor's voice suddenly became hard, metallic. "Shall I remind you? Debts. Depression. Alcohol as his only friend. Loneliness eating him from within. And in the end—another suicide attempt. Successful this time." She came closer, and Lucas retreated, feeling the wall cold against his back. "Don't pretend you don't recognize the scenario, Lucas. You went through it yourself. The gun on the kitchen table, the bottle of whiskey, the note 'Tired of pretending.' Remember?" The blow hit its mark precisely. Lucas staggered. "That's different..." "Really? How? Because you 'chose' to stay here? But was it really a choice? Between a bullet to the head and life in a child's body?" "At least I decided myself!" "And Benjamin decided. Every day he decides to stay with you. To be your younger brother. Don't you see how happy he is?" "This isn't happiness! It's escape!" "ALL LIFE IS ESCAPE!" The scream tore through the room's silence. Eleanor slammed her palm on the desk with such force that the windows shook. For a moment, the mask of maternal care slipped, revealing something raw, bleeding. Silence hung between them, thick as honey. Eleanor breathed heavily, then slowly straightened, fixing a strand that had escaped from her hairstyle. "Forgive me," her voice became even again. "I... got emotional. But you must understand—I do this out of love. For all of you. I give you a chance at happiness, even if it's like this." "Like you loved Emily?" The words burst out before Lucas could stop them. Three years of silence, three years of observations, three years of overheard conversations and rumors gathered piece by piece—everything poured out in two words. Eleanor paled. For a moment, it seemed she might fall. "What did you say?" But the dam had already burst. "Emily! Your daughter! Whom you drove to suicide with your 'love'! With your demands to be better, more successful, more adult!" "Be quiet." "'Mom, don't pressure me! Mom, I'm tired of measuring up!'" Lucas mimicked, not recognizing his own voice. "That's what she wrote, isn't it? In her diary? Before she took the sleeping pills!" "BE QUIET!" "And now you're trying to fix your mistake! Giving others what you didn't give her—the right to be little! Only they didn't ask for this! They asked for help, not this... perversion!" The door burst open with a crash. All the Hive's inhabitants crowded in the doorway—Sara with the guests, drawn by the screaming. Michael was already starting to whimper, sensing the tension. Amelia pressed her doll to her chest like a shield. Robert sat in Sara's arms, his face buried in her shoulder. And Benjamin. He stood slightly apart, small, confused, but in his eyes still glimmered a spark of understanding. A spark of adult Benjamin, fighting for the right to be heard. "What's happening here?" Sara began, but Eleanor raised her hand, stopping her. "Lucas is just expressing his opinion about our work." Her voice was calm, but steel rang in it. "Go on, boy. Tell everyone what monsters we are. How we ruin lives. Turn adults into children against their will." "Yes, I will!" Lucas turned to the gathered crowd. "This place is a lie! The honey is poison! They're turning you into children not for your benefit, but because Miss Hart couldn't save her own daughter! And now she's compensating, playing god with other people's lives!" "Lucas..." Benjamin took an uncertain step forward. "And you know what's funniest?" Lucas laughed, feeling hysteria rise in his throat. "I'm just as much a hypocrite! I decided Benjamin was better off staying adult! Decided for him! Just like she decides for all of you!" "Finally a glimpse of honesty," Eleanor slowly applauded. "Bravo, Lucas. You're absolutely right. We both play god. Only I at least admit it openly." "You're destroying lives!" "I'm giving new ones!" She gestured around at the frightened guests. "Look at them! Michael a few weeks ago stood on the roof of an office building, ready to jump. Amelia drank a bottle of wine a day, washing it down with antidepressants. Robert... oh, dear Robert has a whole collection of scars under his long sleeves, each one—a failed attempt to find a way out." She walked to the window, gesturing for everyone to look at the garden. "And now? They smile! Play! Create! Live! Yes, like children. But they live!" "This isn't life! It's an illusion!" "And how is adult life better?" Eleanor turned sharply. "The endless race for success that always slips away? Eternal fatigue that makes every morning torture? Disappointments, betrayals, loneliness in a crowd?" She paced the room, and everyone involuntarily stepped aside. "Emily was twenty-five. Beautiful. Brilliant. The youngest partner in a law firm. I gave her everything—the best education, connections, opportunities. I forgot to give only one thing—the right to be weak. The right to make mistakes. The right to remain a child." Her voice cracked. For a moment, everyone saw not an iron lady, but a broken mother. "Do you know what she wrote in her note? 'I'm tired of measuring up. Tired of being perfect. I want to go back to where I can just BE.' The same words you wrote, Lucas. And you, Michael. And all the others in your letters, diaries, unsent messages." "And now you're forcing everyone to be children!" Lucas shouted. "I'm giving a choice!" "What choice?! Honey in every spoonful of food! Manipulation! Lies!" "The doors are open. They've always been open. Anyone can leave after the first night, but no—everyone preferred to stay and pass the point of no return... everyone, including you." "For those who can still make decisions! And the others?" Lucas pointed at Robert. "Can he choose? Or is it already too late?" "And did you ask Benjamin?" Eleanor turned to the boy. "Does he want to leave? Return to adult life? To debts, depression, an empty apartment?" All eyes turned to Benjamin. He stood, shifting from foot to foot, clearly struggling with himself. Then, slowly, as if not controlling the movement, he brought his thumb to his mouth. Started sucking, looking at the floor. "I... I don't know," he mumbled around his thumb. His voice sounded childishly uncertain. "It's scary there. It hurts there. Here... here there's Lucas. He takes care of me. Loves me." "You see?" Triumphant notes appeared in Eleanor's voice. "He's happy here. With you. Thanks to you. And you want to take this happiness away from him?" "This isn't happiness! It's... it's..." "It's love," she finished. "Distorted, strange, built on regression and dependence, but love. You love him and want to protect him. I loved Emily and wanted to protect her. We both made mistakes. But my mistake gives others a chance. And yours?" Lucas was silent, feeling the ground slip away beneath his feet. All his arguments shattered against a simple truth—he really was deciding for Benjamin. Hadn't asked what he wanted. Just decided he knew better. Like Eleanor once decided for Emily. "You know what?" Eleanor returned to the desk, opened a drawer. "I'll give you what I didn't give my own daughter. A choice. A real choice." She took out a small vial of clear liquid, placed it on the desk. "The antidote. Yes, it exists. I didn't create a poison without an antidote—that would be irresponsible." Dead silence filled the room. Even whimpering Michael fell quiet. "Is it true?" Lucas's voice cracked. "You can reverse... everything?" "You can try. The antidote destroys the honey's chemical effects, starts the reverse process. The body tries to return to its biological age. But..." She paused, looking at the vial. "The process is imprecise. Unpredictable. Remember Thomas?" Lucas remembered. A guest who'd been at the Hive only a week. Rough, aggressive, demanding they "stop this circus." "He threatened to go to the police, sue, expose us in the press. I gave him the antidote. He wanted his forty-two years back." Eleanor looked up. "He got ninety." "What?" "The body overcompensated. In three days, he aged fifty years. Bones became brittle as glass. Skin like parchment. Organs began failing one by one. He died two weeks later. Heart attack." "You killed him!" "I gave him what he demanded. Freedom. Adulthood. His body just miscalculated the dose. The same could happen to you. Or worse. Or better." She pushed the vial to the edge of the desk. "But the choice is there. Stay—and live as you have. With your brother, your little family, your purpose. Or drink—and take the risk. Maybe you'll return to thirty-five. Maybe you'll age to death. Maybe something in between. The odds are about even." "And Benjamin?" "He has the same odds." "I'll take him with me!" "Where? In what form?" Eleanor spread her hands. "A seven-year-old boy without documents? Will you explain to the police that he's actually an adult? They'll arrest you for kidnapping at best." "Then what happens to him? He stays here forever?" Eleanor walked to the bookshelf, took out a thick folder of photographs. "You've always suspected what happens to those who 'graduate,' haven't you? Thought we... eliminate them?" She opened the folder. Dozens of photographs—happy families with children. At the beach, in the park, at holiday dinners. "This is Marcus. Remember him? Left a year ago." She pointed to a photo where a boy about six rode a bicycle, with a middle-aged woman running alongside. "Now he lives in Oregon. With Martha and John Miller. They couldn't have children for ten years. Now they have a son who'll never grow past six, but will love them with all his heart." Next photo—a girl with pigtails on a swing. "Sophia. Former financial analyst. Now the daughter of Helen Ross—a woman who lost her only child in a car accident. They both got a second chance." "You... you sell people?" The horror in Lucas's voice was almost tangible. "Sell?" Eleanor shook her head. "I connect broken hearts. There's a whole network of families—people who've lost children or can't have them. People ready to love and care for 'special' children. Those who'll never grow up, never leave, never break their hearts with teenage rebellion or adult indifference." "But that's... that's human trafficking!" "It's salvation," she corrected. "Both sides get what they want. Our graduates—a loving family, care, a home. The families—the child they dreamed of. All documents are processed legally—adoption of children with developmental disabilities. No one asks unnecessary questions." She showed more photos. In all of them—clearly happy children with new parents. "We monitor each one. Monthly reports, photographs, medical checkups. If something goes wrong—we take them back. But in five years of the program, there hasn't been a single return. Not one." "Do they remember?" Lucas's voice dropped to a whisper. "Who they were?" "At first—vaguely. Like a dream. Then new memories displace the old ones. After a year, they completely believe they've always been children. That Martha and John are their real parents. That their past life was just a bad dream they finally woke from." Lucas stared at the photos, unable to look away. Indeed, everyone looked... happy. Relaxed. Loved. "But they'll... they'll never grow up?" Horror of understanding seeped into his voice. Eleanor nodded, and something like sadness appeared in her eyes. "Never. The honey changes not just the body—it rewires the biological program itself. Stops the internal clock. Marcus will forever remain six. Sophia—eight. Their bodies no longer know how to grow." "That's... that's a curse!" "Or a blessing," Eleanor objected softly. "Think about it. They'll never age. Never know the pain of arthritis, dementia, lonely old age. Never lose the childish joy in simple things—soap bubbles, ice cream, bedtime hugs." She walked to the window, gazing at the garden. "And their parents? They'll never endure teenage rebellion. Never hear 'I hate you' from a fourteen-year-old. Won't suffer when their children leave for college and forget to call. Their little ones will remain little forever—loving, needing, grateful for care." Lucas suddenly went cold with a sudden thought. "Wait... eternal? Are they immortal?" Eleanor shook her head, and bitter wisdom appeared in her smile. "Oh no, dear. I haven't created an elixir of immortality. That would be... cruel. Imagine—eternity in a child's body, outliving generations of parents, watching the world change while you remain the same. No, that would be a true curse." She approached the bookshelf, ran her finger along the spines. "They're mortal, like all of us. Just their path is... different. They won't experience the slow destruction of the body. Arthritis, dementia, frailty. Their bodies remain childlike—strong in their fragility, flexible, full of energy." "But how... when?" "It varies. Normal lifespan, maybe a bit less—children's bodies are more vulnerable. But the end comes... gently. They just fall asleep one day and don't wake up. Like children sometimes pass in their sleep—quietly, without struggle, without fear." Eleanor turned to him, tears standing in her eyes. "The first was Lily. Five years ago. She was biologically six, chronologically sixty-two. She lived twenty happy years with her new family. Her parents wrote—on her last day she played in the park, laughed, ate ice cream. In the evening she asked for a bedtime story, hugged her mom, said 'I love you' and fell asleep. Forever." "That's..." "Merciful? Yes. They don't know the fear of death, because children don't know how to truly fear. They don't suffer in hospitals, don't count their last days. They just live while they live, then gently leave, like falling asleep after a long day of play." Lucas felt something squeeze in his chest. "You're playing god." "I'm trying to fix god's mistake," Eleanor answered sharply. "He gave us consciousness so we could suffer, aware of life's finite nature. Gave us old age so we could slowly lose everything we love—strength, beauty, mind. I just... shortened the path. Removed the middle, full of pain." "But the middle is life!" "For them, life is eternal childhood. Yes, they'll never experience many things. First love. Wedding. Birth of their own children. Wisdom of maturity. But they also won't experience betrayal by loved ones. Bitterness of divorce. Death of their own children. Loneliness of old age." She returned to the desk, sat in the chair. Suddenly looked very tired. "Do you know what Lily's mother said after the funeral? 'Thank you for twenty years with my little girl. She left happy, never knowing the world could be cruel.' Isn't that the best epitaph?" "And the families? Do they know the truth?" "Partially. They know they're taking an adult in a child's body. That they'll never grow up. That at first there might be oddities—fragments of adult memories, skills. But we prepare them. Teach them how to react, how to help with adaptation. And you know what? They manage brilliantly. Because they want this child more than anything in the world." "It's still wrong!" "And what's right?" Eleanor closed the folder. "Leave Marcus to drink himself to death in his apartment? Let Sophia make her fifth suicide attempt? Or give them a new life where they're loved, protected, happy?" She returned the folder to the shelf. "Benjamin could have a wonderful family. I'm already looking at options. There's a couple in Maine—a teacher and librarian who lost a son his age. There's a single woman in California—a child psychologist who's dreamed of a child all her life. They'd give him everything." "No!" Lucas stepped forward. "He's not a thing to be regifted!" "Of course not. He's a person. Who deserves love and care. The question is just—can you give him that? Forever? Or will you tire of playing big brother in a year?" "I'm not playing!" "I know. That's why I'm giving you a choice. But think—what's better for him? Stay here, in an institutional setting, or go to a real home? With real parents?" "He has me." "An eleven-year-old boy can't be a guardian. Even here you're just a helper. But there, in a new family, Benjamin would be the center of the universe. The only and beloved one." Lucas was silent, processing the information. Part of him understood the logic. Another part screamed that it was monstrous. "Why are you telling me this?" "Because you need to understand all the options. If you stay and interfere with his adaptation—he'll get stuck between worlds, like you. Won't be able to return or move forward. And then no family will take him. Who needs an eternal teenager with fragments of adult memories?" "And if I don't interfere?" "Then maybe in a year or two he'll be ready. Fully adapted, a happy child ready for a new life. And you can let him go, knowing he'll be in good hands." "Or keep him here. With me." "Or keep him. But think—what's better for him? Your love, limited by the Hive's walls? Or a complete family, a home, the chance to go to school for special children, play with peers, live a normal childhood life?" The question hung in the air. Lucas understood the manipulation, but also saw the grain of truth. What could he really give Benjamin besides his care? "And yes, one day Benjamin will leave too," Eleanor continued. "In twenty, thirty, forty years. But he'll leave as a child—not knowing bitterness, disappointments, regrets. He'll leave loved, surrounded by care. Isn't that better than dying alone, as you were planning to?" "It's deception!" "It's mercy. I can't give them immortality—that would be torture. But I can give them life without old age. Death without dying. Eternal childhood that will one day gently end, like a happy dream ends." She paused, looking out the window. "Emily was twenty-five when she decided to leave. Do you know what I think about every day? If I could have given her this—eternal childhood, protection, absence of the pressure to grow up... Would she have lived longer? Happier? Would she have left in her time quietly, and not..." Her voice cracked. "Every one of our graduates is an Emily I managed to save. Even at the cost of adulthood. Even at the cost of the fullness of experience. But a living child-Emily is better than a dead adult-Emily. Isn't it?" Lucas was silent. Arguments shattered against the simple, terrible logic. What's really more important—to live a full life with all its pain or a truncated but happy one? "So no," Eleanor finished. "This isn't an elixir of immortality. It's an elixir of a different life. Shorter, perhaps. Simpler, definitely. But for many—the only possible one. And when their hour comes, they'll meet it without fear. Because children aren't afraid to fall asleep. They just close their eyes, knowing mom is nearby." "Can I... talk to him?" His voice sounded lost. "Alone?" Eleanor nodded. "Five minutes. In the garden. Sara will watch from a distance so you don't run off with the antidote. That's my only condition." In the garden, under the old apple tree where they hid their secrets, Lucas and Benjamin sat on the grass. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating a play of light and shadow. An idyllic picture for an impossible conversation. Benjamin was still sucking his thumb—nervous regression from stress. Lucas gently removed his hand, interlaced their fingers. "Don't. You're a big boy." "Not very big," Benjamin tried to smile. "And getting smaller. Soon I'll be like Robbie. Babbling and blowing bubbles." "Don't say that!" "Why? It's true. And you know what?" He turned, looked directly into his eyes. "When you're near, it doesn't seem scary. On the contrary. It seems... right?" "Benji..." "Don't leave." His voice broke, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please. I'm scared without you. With you I can be little. I can cry when it hurts. I can ask for help. I can just BE, without pretending to be strong." "But you'll forget yourself!" "And who am I?" Benjamin wiped his tears with his sleeve, smearing them across his face. "Loser Benjamin Wilson? Fired copywriter? Debtor? Or your little brother Benji, who you're ready to fight the whole world for?" "You're more than that!" "Really? What was more in me? An empty apartment? Debts? My only friend—a teddy bear?" He shook his head. "But here I have you. A real friend. Brother. Family. Isn't that more important?" "It's an illusion!" "All life is an illusion!" Benjamin jumped up, small fists clenched. "Or do you think it was more real there? Where I drank three liters of coffee to not fall asleep at the computer? Where I counted pennies until payday? Where the best thing waiting for me was drunken sleep without dreams?" He sat down again, hugged his knees. "If you drink that thing and die, I'll die too. Not physically. Inside. Because you're the only good thing that's happened to me. Even here. Even like this." "And if I stay? You'll disappear. Become just a child." "Or become a happy child with a loving brother. Who blows on scraped knees. Reads fairy tales. Hugs when it's scary." Benjamin looked at him with wet eyes. "Is that so bad?" "I don't know!" Lucas clutched his head. "I don't know what's right! Save you from this or save you from what's waiting outside! I'm confused!" "Then choose with your heart. What does it say?" Lucas closed his eyes. His heart beat fast, driven. What did it say? It said that this past week he'd been happier than in the three years before. That caring for Benjamin gave him purpose. That their strange friendship-brotherhood was real, despite all the artificiality of the situation. It said—stay. But reason screamed—run. "Time's up," Sara's voice came from afar. "Boys, come back." They stood. Benjamin clutched Lucas's hand with desperate strength. "Whatever you choose, I'll understand. But know—I love you. As a brother. As a friend. As the only person who saw more in me than a loser." The way back seemed both too long and too short. In the honey room they were waiting—Eleanor by the window, the vial on the desk. "Well?" she asked without turning. "What is your choice, Lucas Martinez?" Lucas approached the desk. Took the vial, turned it in his fingers. The glass was cold, inside the liquid shimmered like water. Freedom in a bottle. Or death. He looked at Benjamin. He stood by the door, fists clenched, all tense with anticipation. Small. Defenseless. His. Then at Eleanor. In her eyes was no triumph—only fatigue and understanding. "Is there a third option?" he asked quietly. "What kind?" "I stay. But you don't interfere in our relationship anymore. Don't manipulate. Don't use me to accelerate his regression. Just... let us be." Eleanor thought about it. "And what in return?" "I never rebel again. I help with new guests. I become part of the system. But Benjamin... let him change at his own pace. Without enhanced doses. Naturally." "He might get stuck. Like you." "That will be his choice." A long pause. Then Eleanor nodded. "Fine. But the vial stays with me. And no more talk of the antidote. Ever." "Agreed." Lucas put the vial back on the desk, stepped back. In that instant Benjamin rushed to him, hugged with such force it became hard to breathe. "Thank you! Thank you! I knew! I knew you wouldn't abandon me!" "I... I don't know if I did the right thing," Lucas admitted, hugging him back. "The right thing is that we're together. The rest doesn't matter." Eleanor walked around them, stopped at the door. "You know what, boys? Maybe you're right. Maybe the illusion of happiness is better than the reality of pain. Maybe love—even this strange kind—is more important than freedom. Emily never learned that. You have a chance." She left, leaving them alone. "What now?" Benjamin asked, not loosening his embrace. "Now..." Lucas stroked his head. "Now we live. Day by day. Together. And come what may." "Do you regret it?" "Ask me in a year. Or ten. When I can answer honestly." "And now?" "Now I'm just glad you're here." Outside the window the sun was setting, painting the honey room in red tones. Ahead lay uncertainty—days full of regression and loss, illusions and strange happiness. But they would meet them together. And for now, that was the only truth Lucas was sure of. Epilogue September 20th Entry Decided to start keeping a journal. Eleanor said it would help "structure my thoughts." I think she just wants to make sure I'm not losing my mind. Well, we'll see. Today Benji learned to tie his shoes. Or rather, re-learned. He sat for half an hour with his tongue sticking out in concentration, puffing like a little steam engine. When he finally got it, he beamed as if he'd made a great discovery. "Lu, look! I did it myself! Like a big boy!" "Like a big boy." The irony is that not so long ago, he was tying my shoes when my hands shook after another "conversation" with Hart. I didn't tell him that. Why would I? September 25th Entry Another nightmare. Third one this week. Same "sad man" again. "He was sitting in a dark room again," Benji told me, pressing close. "Looking at some glowing box. And his face was so... empty." A laptop. He's dreaming of himself at a laptop. "Why doesn't he go play?" Benji asked. "Why doesn't he call his friends?" "Maybe he doesn't have any friends," I answered. "That's so sad. I'm glad I have you!" He hugged me and fell asleep. I lay awake until morning, thinking about how memory lane is a one-way street. Thank God. October 2nd Entry A new "guest" arrived today. Carla, 28, had a panic attack right on the doorstep. I greeted her, as usual. Benji tagged along. While I showed her to her room, he brought his teddy bear. "This will help!" he declared seriously, offering the toy to the trembling woman. "When you're scared, you can hug it. Lu taught me that." She took the bear, pressed it to her chest. Started crying. Then Benji took her hand: "Don't cry. It's nice here. Everyone's kind. And the honey tastes good!" I cringed at the last phrase, but Carla smiled through her tears. That evening Benji asked: "Did I do good? Did I help?" "You did very well, little one." "I'm a good helper! Just like you!" Just like me. God, what am I turning him into? October 18th Entry Eleanor called me in. Monthly "progress evaluation." "He's stabilized at age five. Perfect for family placement." I nearly knocked over my chair. "We agreed..." "Calm down. I'm just informing you of options. There's a wonderful couple in Vermont. Elementary school teachers who lost their son..." "No." "Lukas, think about what's best for him. A real home, school for special children, friends at his... developmental level." "He has a home. Here. With me." She was quiet for a long time, then nodded. "Fine. But the offer stands. In case you change your mind." I won't change my mind. I can't. He's all I have. And I'm all he has. Selfish? Yes. But I accepted long ago that I'm not the hero of this story. October 31st Entry Halloween. Benji's first Halloween (that he remembers). Sara made costumes—I'm a pirate, he's a bee (of course). We went door to door asking for candy. Eleanor gave us a whole basket of sweets. And gave me a strange look—almost envious. "Enjoy it," she said. "Childhood only comes once." Or twice, if you're lucky. If you can call it luck. Benji fell asleep in his costume, hugging the candy basket. I pulled off his wings, covered him up. My little bumblebee. Forever stuck in the hive. We're both stuck. But sometimes being stuck in the right place isn't so bad. November 5th Entry Benji's birthday. Not his real one—he forgot that. We chose a new date—the day he "woke up happy" (his words). Sara baked a cake. Amelia gave him a drawing. Even Robert mumbled something that sounded like "congratulations." Benji made his wish for a whole minute, squeezing his eyes so tight that wrinkles appeared on his forehead. "What did you wish for?" Amelia asked. "Secret! But it's about Lu!" In the evening he confessed: he wished I would never become "the sad man from the dreams." I promised. It's easy to promise a child the impossible. November 23rd Entry They took Michael. Or rather, he left with "mommy and daddy." Happy beyond belief. Benji walked him to the gate, waved until the car disappeared. "Lu, will someone take us too?" My heart clenched. "Do you want to leave?" He hugged my leg tightly (now he only reaches my waist). "Only if you'll be my daddy! Or mommy. Or just Lu. Is that okay?" "We'll stay here. Together." "Forever?" "Forever." He beamed. And I thought—"forever" means something very different for us than for normal people. December 25th Entry Christmas. Benji's first real Christmas (the others were erased along with his past life). Woke at four in the morning to someone shaking my shoulder. "Lu! Lu! Santa came! I heard him! The bells were jingling!" Sleepily, I led him to the tree in the living room. Sara and Eleanor had outdone themselves—a mountain of presents under the tree. For all the "children" of the Hive. Benji froze in the doorway, eyes round with wonder. "Is... is it all real? Santa knows where we live?" "Of course he knows," I answered, feeling a lump in my throat. "Santa knows where all the good children live." He rushed toward the presents but stopped halfway, turning back. "Lu, did you write to Santa? Did you ask for anything?" "I already got everything I wanted." "What?" "You, silly." Benji blushed, ran over, hugged me with all his might. "That's the best present! But still, you should have something too!" Turns out he'd secretly made me a gift—a clumsily molded clay figure. Two people holding hands, the smaller one wearing a crown made of matchsticks. "It's us!" he announced proudly. "And the crown is because you're the king of big brothers!" I'm sitting here now, holding this ridiculous figure. Benji fell asleep under the tree hugging his new fire truck, covered in glitter from the tinsel. "King of big brothers." If only he knew that his king is just another lost boy who learned to pretend to be an adult. But maybe that's the secret—we're both pretending. He pretends he was always a child. I pretend I was always an adult. And in this game, we both find what we were looking for. Merry Christmas, diary. The first of many identical but always magical ones. January 10th Entry Taught Benji to play chess. Or rather, tried to. He moves pieces however he wants, makes up his own rules. The knight jumps across the entire board ("because he's magic!"), pawns can move backward ("they changed their minds!"), and the king and queen absolutely must get married at the end of the game. "That's not how you play," I tried to explain. "Why play by someone else's rules?" he asked with such sincerity that I had no answer. We play by his rules. Chess. Life. And you know what? His version is more fun. January 28th Entry Carla (the one with panic attacks) has fully regressed. She looks about nine now. She's become best friends with Amelia, they're inseparable. Today she came up to me: "Thanks for the bear on the first day. It really helped." She didn't recognize me as the one who gave her the tour. To her, I'm just "Lukas, Benji's big brother." Strange to realize that to all of them, I only exist in relation to him. Lukas-who-takes-care-of-Benji. And you know what? I'm fine with that. I've finally found my role. Not the failed accountant. Not the potential suicide. Just a big brother. February 15th Entry That dream again. But now with more details. "The man was trying to write something," Benji told me. "He kept hitting the buttons, then erasing, then hitting them again. And then he cried and drank something bitter from a bottle." Benjamin Wilson's last night. The one before the letter came. "I feel so sorry for him, Lu! Maybe I should draw him a friend?" We drew together. It came out as two figures—one big and sad, one small and happy, holding hands. "Now he's not lonely!" Benji declared and hung the picture above his bed. "Now he knows someone loves him." If only he knew he was drawing a self-portrait. Or an epitaph. Or both. March 3rd Entry Benji is sick. Just a common cold, but I can't sit still. He's so small, fragile. The fever makes him seem even younger—clinging to me, asking for "water," sucking his thumb. Sara says it's normal. During illness, regression can temporarily deepen. I've been sitting by his bed for two days straight. Reading fairy tales, singing lullabies (badly, but he likes it), changing compresses. "Lu," he whispered tonight. "You're better than mommy." "Why?" "Mommy in dreams always goes to work. But you're always here." He remembers mom. Not her face, not her name. Just the feeling of leaving. I promised I'd never leave. Easy to promise when you have nowhere to go anyway. March 20th Entry He's recovered. Races around the garden like a meteor, I can barely keep up. Today he climbed a tree ("I'm big and strong!"), fell, scraped his knees. Cried so loud the whole Hive came running. Blew on the wounds, applied bandages, comforted him. Standard big brother procedure. "All better?" I asked when he calmed down. "Uh-huh. You're magic!" Not magic. Just learned the right way to blow on children's wounds. The physical ones, at least. April 5th Entry Eleanor hinted again about a family for Benji. "They sent a letter. Very touching. Ready to take both of you." "Both?" "Brothers are rarely separated. They could arrange it as a double adoption of special needs children." Tempting. A real home. Real... parents? But. "What if they realize I'm not a real child?" "You've changed, Lukas. Physically, you're completely a child. Behavior... adaptive. If you wanted, you could pass for a teenager with developmental delays." "If I wanted." "Or you could let him go alone. Give him a chance at a complete family." That evening Benji climbed into my bed (now it's a daily ritual). "Lu, we're happy here, right?" "Would you like to live in a real house? With a mom and dad?" He thought about it, then shook his head. "I have you. That's better." Decision made. We're staying. May 10th Entry They're taking Carla tomorrow. Benji drew her a card—a house, sun, figures holding hands. "So she won't forget us!" She won't forget. Rather, she'll remember two strange boys from a dream before real life. And that's right. Some things are better remembered as dreams. June 1st Entry First day of summer. Benji woke me at six in the morning: "Lu! Summer! Can we swim?" Sara set up an inflatable pool in the garden. Benji splashed around all day, lips blue, but stubbornly insisting: "I'm not cold!" Taught him to blow soap bubbles. He puffed out his cheeks, tried with all his might. The bubbles came out tiny, but he rejoiced at each one: "Look, Lu! Rainbow!" By evening he was exhausted. Sat on my lap wrapped in a towel, hiccupping with happiness. Sunburn on his nose. "Lu, everything's magical in summer, right?" "Right." "And we'll be together all summer?" "All summer." Fell asleep just like that, in the towel. Carried him to bed. My summer boy. For him, it will always be the first day of summer. July 7th Entry Summer. Benji collects flowers and various grasses, making a herbarium. I help with the labels (his handwriting... let's just say doctors would be jealous). "This is for the sad man!" he announced. "When he comes, I'll show him. Pretty flowers make people happy!" He's still waiting to meet the ghost from his dreams. Doesn't understand he's already met him. That the sad man dissolved into himself, leaving only a shadow of memories. I help with the herbarium. Write neatly: "Summer Flower Collection by Benji and Lukas, Summer of the New Life." Let there be something beautiful for the non-existent guest. August 15th Entry Anniversary. Exactly one year since Benjamin Wilson crossed the threshold of the Hive. Benji doesn't remember. For him, life began "when I woke up happy." I sit here writing while he snores beside me. Smiling in his sleep. You know what? Maybe he's right. Benjamin Wilson died a year ago. Benji was born—a boy who has a brother, a home, and a whole life of identical happy days ahead. Is this a tragedy? Probably. Is it salvation? Possibly. Is it our reality? Definitely. And we've learned to live in it. Because sometimes a fairy tale is the only truth we can bear. Lukas Martinez, big brother, keeper of dreams, co-author of a rewritten story P.S. Benji just mumbled in his sleep: "Love you, Lu." And you know what? That's enough. To justify everything. Or almost everything. We're staying.

Chapter 1: The castle nursery is a haven of soft pastels: plush cream carpet, a rocking horse carved from pale wood, and a changing table piled high with folded squares of pink fabric, each embroidered with a tiny, gilded tiara. The air is warm, smelling faintly of lavender and fresh powder. Princess Peach sits on the floor, her satin dress pooled around her, her shoulders slumped. She traces a pattern on the floorboards with a single, polished fingernail, her brows knitted together. The weight of her crown, even when not on her head, feels immense today. The council meetings, the diplomatic letters, the endless, gentle guidance required for her people- it presses down on her, a heavy, invisible hand. Mario kneels in front of her, his expression soft and knowing. He wears his usual red shirt and blue overalls, but his posture is relaxed, his arms open. "Hey, Peachie," he says, his voice a low, gentle rumble. "Long day?" She looks up, her blue eyes wide and shimmering. A single tear wells at the corner, tracking a slow path down her cheek. She doesn't answer, just gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. He reaches out and brushes the tear away with his thumb. "It's okay, little sister. Your big brother's here now." He scoops her into his arms as if she weighs nothing, settling her on his lap. She immediately melts against him, burying her face in the familiar warmth of his overalls. The fabric smells of him, of sunshine and adventure and safety. "Do you need to be little for a while?" Her response is a muffled whimper against his chest, followed by a soft, "Mawio..." "That's my girl," he murmurs, rocking her gently. "That's my good girl. Let's get you out of these big girl clothes, huh?" He carries her to the changing table, laying her down on the padded mat. With practiced, gentle hands, he unzips her elaborate gown, carefully lifting her arms to slide it off. He folds it neatly and places it on a nearby chair, followed by her silky tights and royal slippers. Now she's just Peach, shivering slightly in her cotton slip, looking up at him with complete trust. Mario reaches for the stack of diapers. He pulls one free- a thick, soft puff of pink, the plastic shell smooth and cool. In the center, the embroidered tiara gleams a cheerful, bright gold. "Perfect for our little Princess," he says, holding it up for her to see. A small, genuine smile touches her lips. "Pwincess," she babbles, kicking her feet. "Exactly right," Mario agrees, unfolding the diaper with a soft crinkle. He lifts her legs by the ankles, sliding the thick padding under her bottom. The soft fluff encases her, a warm, secure cloud. He pulls the front panel up snugly between her legs, making sure the leak guards are positioned just right before fastening the tapes on either side. The diaper is on, a bulky, pink reminder that she has no responsibilities now. She is small and she is cared for. "There now," he says, patting the front of her diaper gently. "All cozy and safe in your special princess pants." The golden tiara on the front seems to wink in the soft light. "Doesn't that feel better?" Peach wriggles, a happy sigh escaping her. "Buhbuh," she says, her hands coming down to pat the thick padding around her hips. The bulk feels right, a comforting pressure against her skin. Mario laughs, a warm, genuine sound. "That's right. Buhbuh's here." He scoops her up again, the thick diaper rustling with the movement. "What should we play with today, little sis? Blocks? Or maybe read a story?" She points a small finger towards a colorful bin in the corner. "Bwocks!" "Blocks it is!" He carries her over to a large, circular play mat and sets her down in the center. The diaper provides a soft cushion for her bottom as she sits. He dumps the bin over, and a cascade of bright, oversized wooden blocks clatters onto the mat. Peach immediately grabs a blue one, holding it up for him to see. "Bwoo!" "Very blue!" Mario confirms, sitting cross legged opposite her. He picks up a red block. "Red!" They play for a while, a simple game of naming colors and stacking precarious towers. Peach's babble is a constant, happy stream of "buhbuh," "pwincess," and "up!" when she wants him to add another block to their creation. Her movements are clumsy, her focus entirely on the simple task in front of her. The crown, the kingdom, the worries- they're all gone. There is only Mario, the blocks, and the soft, secure feeling of her diaper. They play a few minutes more before Peach's attention wanders. She crawls away from the blocks on her hands and knees, her padded bottom wiggling in the air. She finds her favorite teddy bear, a plush brown one with a red bow tie, and hugs it tight, rocking back and forth on her bottom. Mario watches her, a fond smile on his face. "Having fun with Sir Teddington?" She looks up at him, her eyes shining. "Tedd-uh," she says, patting the bear's head. She then crawls back to him, climbing onto his lap and settling in, her head against his chest. The bulk of the diaper pushes her legs apart, making her sit securely against him. He wraps an arm around her, holding her close. "You're doing so good today, Peachie. So calm." He feels her relax completely in his arms, her breathing soft and even. He keeps rocking her, humming a simple tune. The nursery is peaceful, the only sounds the gentle hum of his voice, the rustle of plastic, and the soft babble of the little girl in his arms. This is their secret. This is their safe space. It's a little while later that Mario notices the small change. On the front of Peach's diaper, peeking out from where it presses against his overalls, the tiny golden tiara has begun to fade. It's no longer a brilliant, sparkling gold. It's slowly, surely, turning a soft, pale pink. He gently pats her back. "Hey, little one. Someone's getting a little pink down there, huh?" Peach wiggles, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She doesn't seem to mind, just snuggles deeper into the warmth of the wet padding. "Pee pee, buhbuh," she whispers, her speech slurry and sleepy. "I know, sis," Mario says softly. "It's okay. Big brother's got you." He continues to hold her and rock her for a few more minutes, letting her enjoy the warmth before the discomfort sets in. When her face starts to scrunch up just a little, he decides it's time. "Alright, little Princess. Let's get you changed into a fresh, dry diaper." He lifts her, carrying her back to the changing table. She lies placidly while he works, her eyes half closed. With gentle, efficient movements, he unfastens the tapes, the pink tiara now a vivid reminder of its use. He cleans her with warm, damp wipes, the scent of baby powder filling the air again. The wet diaper is bundled up and disposed of, and a fresh, dry, pink one is secured around her hips. The tiara on this one is a brilliant, shiny gold once more. "There we go," Mario says, patting the fresh diaper. "All clean and dry for my baby sister." He dresses her in a simple, soft pink onesie, the snaps at the crotch fastening easily over the bulk of her new diaper. Peach coos happily, kicking her feet. She looks completely content, her earlier stress a distant memory. After her diaper change, Mario's stomach rumbles. "Time for a snack, I think! What does my little Princess want to eat?" "Appy!" she says instantly, her face lighting up. "Appy sauce!" "Apple sauce it is," Mario chuckles. He gets her settled into a large, wooden high chair, strapping her in securely. The tray clicks into place in front of her. He returns a moment later with a small bowl of warm, smooth apple sauce and a soft tipped baby spoon. "Open wide for the airplane!" he says, scooting a spoonful towards her face. She opens her mouth obediently, her eyes focused on the spoon. The apple sauce is sweet and familiar. "Mmm," she hums, swallowing it down. "Mawio, more!" "You got it, Peachie." He feeds her another spoonful, and another, making airplane and train noises as he does. She giggles, her happy babbling mixing with the sounds of her eating. A little bit of sauce smears on her cheek, but Mario just wipes it away with a smile. By the end of the snack, her belly is full and she's starting to look sleepy again. He wipes her face and hands clean, then unstraps her from the high chair. He carries her over to the rocking chair by the window, sitting down with her cradled in his arms. He's not sure if she's fallen asleep or is just drowsy and content when he feels it. A sudden tension in her little body, her legs straightening out against him. Her head, which had been lolling sleepily against his shoulder, lifts. Her babbling, which had faded to happy murmurs, ceases entirely. He glances down. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, her bottom lip pushed out in a slight pout. Her hands, which had been clutching his overalls, are now fisted, pressing firmly against her own tummy. A soft, low whine escapes her, a sound of pure discomfort. "What is it, little one?" Mario asks softly, his rocking slowing to a gentle sway. He rubs a soothing circle on her back, right between her shoulder blades. She squirms in his arms, a restless, wriggling movement that is different from her earlier happy wiggles. Her heels dig into the soft cushion of the rocking chair. Her thighs are pressed as tightly together as she can manage with the thick padding of the diaper. Her feet are crossed at the ankles, her little toes curling inward. The subtle tell tale signs of a little one trying desperately to hold something in. "Oh, I see," he says, his voice a gentle balm. "I see what's happening, Peachie. Does my little sister need to go potty?" Her face scrunches up, and she gives a frantic, desperate nod. Her eyes are wide and pleading, fixed on his face. "Mawio," she whispers, the word catching in her throat. "Pee pee. Pee pee coming." "I know," he says, his hand moving from her back to her hair, stroking the soft, golden strands. "It's okay. You're okay. Just try to relax, sis. Let it happen. That's what your diaper is for." But she can't. The regression has taken away her control, her understanding. The sensation is overwhelming and frightening to her small mind. She only knows the desperate pressure and the instinct to hold it, to wait. She lets out a frustrated cry, a sharp, unhappy sound. "No, no, no," she sobs, her face turning against his chest. "No pee pee!" "Hey, shhh, shhh, it's alright," Mario soothes, shifting her in his arms so he can look at her better. "It's not your fault, little Princess. You don't have to hold it for your big brother. Let go, Peachie. Let it all go. I'll clean you up, I promise. It's okay." He continues to murmur reassurances, rocking her gently, one hand rubbing her back, the other stroking her hair. He can feel the fine trembling in her limbs. He waits patiently, a steady, solid presence against her distress. The fight is a small one, but it's all she can focus on. Then, with a final, shuddering sob, her body goes limp. She gives up the fight. Mario feels a sudden, blooming warmth spread against him. A soft, relieved sigh escapes Peach's lips. Her body uncoils completely, all the tension draining away. She looks up at him, her eyes heavy lidded, a little bit dazed. "There you go," Mario says, kissing her forehead. "That's my good girl. See? All better now." He pats the front of her onesie, feeling the distinct squish of a thoroughly soaked diaper beneath the fabric. "Wow, someone was holding a lot of pee pee for their brubber!" A small, sleepy giggle escapes her. "Bwubber," she whispers, snuggling back into him, completely unbothered by the warm, wet padding she now sits in. The crisis is over. She is safe, and she is wet, and she is deeply, profoundly sleepy in her big brother's arms. The rocking chair continues its slow, steady creak, a gentle rhythm in the quiet room. The warmth spreading through her diaper is a familiar comfort, a final surrender of control that allows sleep to finally claim her. Her head is a heavy, trusting weight on Mario's shoulder. Her breathing evens out into the deep, soft rhythm of a baby asleep. Mario holds her for a long while, just listening to her breathe. He can feel the damp warmth through her onesie against his arm, a tangible sign of the peace he's just helped her find. He knows he should change her soon, to prevent any rash, but he lets her sleep. This fragile peace is precious. He'll let her have it for just a few more minutes. The afternoon sun begins to dip lower, casting long, golden rectangles across the nursery floor. The dust motes dance in the slanted light like tiny fairies. After about ten minutes, Mario decides he can't put it off any longer. A sleeping baby in a wet diaper is a recipe for a grumpy baby later. "Alright, little Princess," he murmurs against her hair. "Time to get you into a cozy, dry diaper for your nap." He shifts her weight, standing up from the rocking chair with a soft grunt. She stirs, letting out a small, discontented murmur, but doesn't wake. He carries her to the changing table for the second time that afternoon, her sleeping form a dead weight in his arms. He lays her down gently, her body limp with sleep. The tiara on her diaper is now a deep, dark pink, the plastic shell stretched tight with the sheer volume it contains. He works quietly and efficiently, unsnapping the crotch of her onesie. The scent of urine becomes more pronounced as he frees the diaper. He unfastens the tapes, one by one, and pulls the front of the diaper down. The inner lining is heavy and swollen, glistening in the soft light. He uses more wipes this time, making sure she's completely clean and dry before patting her skin with a light dusting of powder. The cool powder against her skin causes her to stir, her legs kicking out in her sleep. He just smiles, working around her sleepy movements. A third clean, pink diaper is secured around her waist, its golden tiara bright and new. He leaves her in just the diaper, deciding the extra clothes are unnecessary for a nap, and lifts her from the changing table and carries her to the large crib in the corner. He lowers her gently into the soft, padded mattress, tucking a light pink blanket around her small form. "Sleep well, my Peachie," he whispers, leaning over the crib railing. "Sleep well, little sister. I'll be right here when you wake up." He stands there for a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall, the rhythmic proof of her peaceful slumber. Then, he turns and quietly leaves the nursery, closing the door almost all the way, leaving just a sliver of light to fall across the sleeping baby princess in her crib. The door to the nursery clicks shut, leaving the room in a cocoon of soft silence. Mario stands in the hallway for a moment, the scent of baby powder still clinging to his clothes. He can hear the faint, even breathing from within the crib, a sound more calming than any lullaby. His job, for now, is done. He has guided his princess back to a place of peace. He pads down the grand, echoing corridors of the castle, his usual buoyant walk replaced by a quiet tread. The castle feels different when he's in this caretaker role. The grand halls aren't just a setting for adventure; they're the shell that protects the most precious thing in the kingdom, and right now, that precious thing is a little girl in a pink diaper, dreaming in a crib. He heads to the kitchen, a cheerful, bustling place even in the afternoon. A few Toads are busy polishing silverware and preparing the evening meal. They nod to him respectfully. "Mr. Mario," one chirps, "Princess Peach is in her council meeting, I presume?" Mario offers a small, private smile. "She's resting. A very long council meeting," he adds, using their well known code for one of Peach's regression sessions. The Toads, who are more astute than anyone gives them credit for, simply nod and go back to their work. The secret is safe with them all. Mario gets himself a glass of water and leans against a counter, sipping it slowly. He thinks about the afternoon: the initial tension in her shoulders, the slow bloom of trust as he changed her, the simple joy of playing with blocks, and finally, the sweet, sleepy surrender, and he feels a deep, profound warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with adventure or heroism. This is a different kind of saving. He finishes his water and decides to check on the laundry. He finds the two used diapers he'd disposed of, wrapped tightly in their own plastic bag, waiting to be taken to the special laundry chute. The tiaras on both are a distinct shade of dark pink. He ties the bag up and drops it down the chute, listening to it clatter and slide down to the laundry room below. A small, domestic task that feels immensely important. He's about to head to the library to read for a while when he hears a soft cry from down the hall. It's not distressed, not yet. It's the sound of someone waking up alone, a little confused. He abandons the library and heads straight back to the nursery, peeking through the crack in the door. Peach is sitting up in her crib, her blonde hair a fluffy halo around her head. She's rubbing her eyes with her fists, her blanket pooled around her waist. She's wearing nothing but her thick, clean diaper. Her bottom lip is trembling slightly. She lets out another soft, whimpering cry. "Mawio?" she calls out, her voice small and lost. "Buhbuh?" Mario pushes the door open. "I'm right here, little sis," he says softly, crossing the room to the crib. "Your big brother's right here." Her face, which had been scrunched in confusion, breaks into a wide, tearful smile. "Bwubber!" she exclaims, her arms reaching for him. He leans over the railing, scooping her up and hoisting her onto his hip. She immediately burrows into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He bounces her gently, patting her back. "Did you have a good nap, Peachie?" She nods against his shoulder. "Appy," she mumbles. "I'm glad." He carries her over to the rocking chair, sitting down with her in his lap. She's still a little sleepy, her body soft and pliant against him. He holds her for a few minutes, just letting her reorient herself. After a bit, she starts to stir, her head lifting. She looks around the room, her gaze landing on the colorful play mat. "Bwocks," she says, her voice a little more awake now. "You want to play with the blocks again?" Mario asks. "Yeah! Bwocks!" she says, her enthusiasm returning. She starts to wiggle, trying to slide off his lap. "Alright, alright," he chuckles, setting her down on the playmat. She immediately crawls over to the wooden blocks, her padded bottom crinkling softly as she moves. Mario sits on the floor with her, leaning back against the leg of the rocking chair. He watches as she starts to build a new tower, her concentration absolute. She carefully stacks the blocks, her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth. She's a meticulous little architect, and Mario is a captivated audience. Peach chatters away in her baby talk, narrating her building process with soft babbles and happy squeaks. Mario responds with encouraging words and gentle smiles. Then, her movements become a bit more frantic. She's trying to place a yellow block on top of a red one, but her hands are shaky. The tower wobbles precariously. She grunts with effort, her face turning red. But it's not just the tower that's making her strain. Mario notices it again. The subtle tensing of her body. The way her legs, which had been casually splayed, suddenly press together. Her babbling stops, replaced by a series of soft, grunting whimpers. She drops the yellow block, her hands flying to her tummy. "Uh oh," she whispers, her eyes wide with a familiar panic. "Uh oh, Mawio." "What is it, sweetie?" he asks, moving closer to her. "I... I..." she stammers, her face scrunching up. "Tummy owie." The words are small and scared. For a baby, this is a much bigger, more intimate thing. The feeling is different, more intense and demanding. She looks at him with utter terror, her body frozen in a sudden, rigid stillness. Mario's voice is a calm, steady anchor in the storm of her fear. "It's okay, Peachie. It's okay. Just like with the pee pee. You can let it go. Your big brother is right here. I'll take care of you." He reaches out and rubs her back in slow, soothing circles. "You don't have to be scared. It's a perfectly normal thing to do. You're just a baby. Babies make messes. It's what they do." His words seem to penetrate her panic. She looks at him, her bottom lip trembling. She's still holding on, her whole body rigid with the effort. "That's my girl," he says softly. "Just try to relax. Push a little bit if you have to. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." He keeps rubbing her back, his touch a constant, reassuring presence. He can feel the fight in her, the struggle between her body's need and her mind's fear. He waits patiently, a silent, strong support system. Then, with a final, shuddering cry, her body pushes forward. Mario can feel the subtle shift in her padding, the way it swells and grows heavier. Her face, which had been scrunched in fear, relaxes into a look of pure relief. "There you go," he says, his voice filled with pride. "That's my brave little Princess. You did it. You were so brave." He scoops her up, the messy diaper warm and heavy against his arm. She's limp in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. She's not crying, just breathing heavily, her body exhausted from the effort. "Let's get you all cleaned up," he says, carrying her to the changing table. "And then we can play some more." Mario's hands are a blur of gentle efficiency. The messy diaper is whisked away, replaced by the warm, soft scent of wipes and powder. A few moments later, she's snug, clean, and sealed into a fresh, dry diaper, the golden tiara on its front gleaming like new. He pulls a soft, fuzzy sleeper over her, the pink fabric zipping up to her chin, the crotch snaps popping easily over the thick padding. "There we go," he whispers, kissing her nose. "All cozy for my best girl." He carries her not to the rocking chair, but to the large, open space on the carpet. He lies down on his back, propping his head up on a pillow. "I have a secret," he says in a conspiratorial whisper. Peach's eyes, which had been drooping, snap open. "Sekwet?" she asks, her curiosity piqued. "Yup. Your big brother is a..." He pauses for dramatic effect, then brings his hands up and wiggles his fingers. "...a tickle monster!" Her eyes go wide with a mixture of fear and delight. "No!" she shrieks, a grin already spreading across her face. "No monster!" "Raaargh!" Mario growls playfully, lunging for her. She squeals and tries to scramble away on her hands and knees, the thick diaper between her legs making her crawl wobbly and slow. He catches her easily, flipping her onto her back and gently attacking her tummy. His fingers dance over her fuzzy sleeper, finding the spots that make her giggle the most. She thrashes on the carpet, her laughter bubbling up like a fountain, uncontrollable and pure. "Stop! Stop, buhbuh!" she gasps, her words lost in peals of laughter. "The tickle monster never stops!" he declares, moving to her ribs, then to her feet, which he frees from the sleeper's booties. Her tiny toes curl as he tickles the sensitive arches of her feet. "Bwubber, pwease!" she begs, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with tears of joy. "Tummy owie!" "Alright, alright," he relents, collapsing back onto the pillow beside her. "The monster is tired. All out of tickles." She lies there panting for a moment, a huge, happy smile on her face. Then she rolls over, propping her chin on her hands and looking at him. "Mawio silly," she says, her voice soft and fond. "Only for you, Peachie," he says, reaching out to smooth her messy blonde hair. "Only for my little sister." She snuggles close, resting her head on his chest. The soft sleeper rustles. "Wuv you, brubber." Mario's heart swells. He wraps an arm around her, holding her tight. "I love you too, little Princess. More than all the stars in the sky." They lie there for a long while, just breathing together, the stress of the day a distant, forgotten thing. Chapter 2: The afternoon sun slants through the nursery window, painting stripes of warm gold across the plush carpet. Peach is fast asleep in her crib, a small, pink lump under a light blanket. She’s been down for her nap for over an hour, her breathing soft and even. Around her hips, the diaper is warm and heavy, the tiny golden tiara on its front having faded to a deep pink some time ago. She’s lost in dreamless baby sleep, a world away from crowns and treaties. A sudden, violent crash shatters the peace. The stained glass window of the nursery explodes inwards, a rain of colorful shards and stone dust. A spiky shelled figure lands with a heavy thud on the carpet, his impact making the floorboards groan. Bowser straightens up, a triumphant grin on his face. "Peach!" he bellows, his voice a deafening roar in the serene room. "You're coming with me!" Peach startles awake with a terrified shriek. Her eyes fly open, wide and confused. The world is loud, scary, and full of broken glass. She doesn't see the King of the Koopas; she just sees a big, loud monster. "AAAAH!" she wails, pulling the blanket up over her head. "Mawio! Mawio, monster!" Bowser blinks, nonplussed. This isn't the usual defiant speech he gets. He stomps closer to the crib, his brow furrowed. The wailing continues from under the blanket. He reaches down, hooks a massive claw under the covers, and pulls them back. He finds the Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom, but not as he's ever seen her. She's in a fuzzy pink sleeper, her face red and tear streaked, her bottom lip trembling. "Hey! Why are you crying? And why are you dressed like that?" he grumbles, reaching into the crib. He doesn't waste any more time. He simply scoops her up, sleeper and all, tucking her unceremoniously under one arm like a football. The sudden movement and the pressure on her full bladder make her cry even harder. "No! No! Pwease! Wet! All wet!" she sobs, her babbling lost to him. "Yeah, yeah, ," Bowser says dismissively, not understanding. "C'mon, we're going on a little trip." He turns and leaps back out the window, his Clown Car hovering just outside. The ascent is bumpy and terrifying, jostling Peach in his grip. She cries all the way back to his castle. He finally lands in the throne room of his fortress, a cavernous space of dark stone and burning lava pools. He drops Peach onto the hard, cold floor, and she lands with a soft poof, the padding of her diaper cushioning her fall. She immediately tries to scramble away on all fours, her movements clumsy and babyish. Bowser puts his hands on his hips, glaring down at her. "Alright, what is your deal, Peach? You're not screaming orders at me. You're not trying to escape. You're just...crawling around and crying. Are you sick?" Peach stops her crawling and looks up at him, her big blue eyes full of tears. She pushes herself into a sitting position, her legs splayed wide by the bulky diaper. "Up," she says, her voice a small, pathetic whimper. "Hold me. Pwease?" Bowser stares at her, utterly bewildered. "Hold you? What for? You're my prisoner!" Her face crumples, and a fresh wave of tears begins. "Wan' buhbuh," she sobs, hugging her knees to her chest. "Wan' Mawio." "Buhbuh? Mawio? What are you talking about?" Bowser grumbles, pacing back and forth. The constant sobbing is starting to grate on his nerves. "Oh, for crying out loud, fine!" He leans down and awkwardly picks her up, holding her out at arm's length as if she's something unpleasant. "There. You're 'up'. Now stop that racket!" Being held, even awkwardly, is a comfort. Peach immediately clings to him, her small hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair. She buries her face in the rough scales of his chest. "Tank, Bowsy," she mumbles into him. "Bowsy?!" Bowser recoils slightly. "Nobody calls me Bowsy!" He tries to set her down, but she just clings tighter, her body trembling. He sighs, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils. This is not how kidnappings are supposed to go. He sits down heavily on his stone throne, the exhausted captive still clinging to him like a barnacle. "Okay, fine. But if you try any funny business..." She doesn't, she just snuggles closer, her crying finally subsiding into quiet hiccups. After a few minutes of tense silence, she starts to wiggle. Her brow furrows, and she lets out a soft, uncomfortable whimper. She shifts her weight, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the sodden, cold diaper squishes against her skin. It's no longer a comforting warmth, just a miserable, clammy bulk. "Ugh," she whines, patting the front of her sleeper. "Owie. Owie diapy." Bowser looks down. "What now? Did I sit on you?" He pokes her gently in the belly. She shakes her head, pushing at her padded bottom. "Wet," she says, her voice clear and insistent. "Bowsy, change pwease?" "Change? Change what? Your clothes?" Bowser is completely lost, until it occurs to him what looks so off about her sleeper, the way it sags right around…and then, there’s a certain smell to her that he’s been trying to ignore/ Along with her strange, infantile behaviors, Peach is wearing a diaper, and demanding he change it. Bowser can see no universe where trying that turns out well for him. "You're fine. Just...sit still." The discomfort grows. She tries to pull at the zipper of her sleeper. "Owie!" she says again, her frustration mounting. "All wet! Change!" He sets her down on the floor with a thump. "Go...play or something. Just leave me alone," he growls, turning away from her. Peach, undeterred, sees the vast throne room as a new playground. She crawls over to a pile of gold coins Mario had left behind during a previous visit. She picks one up, her eyes wide with delight. "Shiny!" she squeals, putting it in her mouth. "No!" Bowser roars, spinning around. He rushes over and snatches the coin from her. "Don't eat the money! That's the kingdom's budget!" Peach just giggles at the sudden attention, her earlier discomfort momentarily forgotten. She starts crawling again, this time towards a long, red banner hanging from the wall. She stands up, holding onto the fabric, and begins to bounce on her feet. "Boing, boing, boing!" she chants. Bowser watches, completely flummoxed. This is... exhausting. He just sits on his throne, rubbing his temples, as the baby princess explores his evil domain, a place of doom and lava, as if it's a soft playroom. Her attention is eventually caught by a pair of Chain Chomps sleeping in a corner. "Doggies!" she squeals, toddling towards them. "No, no, those are not doggies!" Bowser bellows, leaping from his throne and grabbing her just before she can pat one on the head. "Those bite!" He carries her back to the center of the room, his patience completely gone. "Alright, that's it. You stay here." But her discomfort returns with a vengeance. The soggy diaper is making her miserable, and her bladder is demanding her attention. She squirms, her hands pressed firmly against her crotch. "Bowsy," she whines, tugging on his leg. "Pee pee coming. Need potty." He just stares down at her. "So go! I'm not stopping you. I don't know why you're acting like this, I don't know why you're wearing a diaper, but just use it, I don't care." Her face crumples in confusion. She doesn't understand. She knows she's supposed to go in her diaper, but it's already so wet and uncomfortable. She starts to dance from foot to foot, her desperation growing. "No! Too wet! Too full!" "I am not touching that!" Bowser declares, taking a step back. "You got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out!" She can't hold it anymore. The pressure is too much. With a sob of pure misery, her body gives in. A sudden warmth spreads into the already saturated diaper, but it's too much. The padding, long past its capacity, can't hold another drop. A dark patch begins to spread across the front of her fuzzy pink sleeper. A small trickle escapes from a leg cuff, dripping onto the stone floor and forming a tiny puddle, as her overfull diaper leaks. Peach looks down at the dark wetness on her clothes and the puddle at her feet, her face a mask of horror and shame. She bursts into tears, loud and heartbroken. "Mess! I made mess! Bowsy, I'm sowwy!" she wails, her small body shaking with sobs. Bowser just stares. At the crying baby, at the puddle on the floor, at the ridiculous pink sleeper now soaked all the way through. He looks at the ceiling as if begging for divine intervention. This is a nightmare. "Oh, for the love of..." he grumbles, but something in her desperate, apologetic sobbing gets to him. With a frustrated sigh that sounds like a volcano about to erupt, he stomps over to her. He picks her up, holding her at arm's length to avoid the wet spots. "Stop crying! I'll...I'll do something!" He looks around desperately, then grabs a nearby banner. He lays it out on the floor and places her on it. "Okay, stay there." He then rummages through a chest, finally pulling out a rough, dry towel. There's absolutely no way he's taking her clothes off, so he does the next best thing. He wraps the towel around her waist, over the top of her soaked sleeper, like a makeshift skirt. "There! Now you're...less leaky." Peach looks down at the towel, then up at him. The crying stops, replaced by a hiccup. She reaches out a small hand and pats his massive arm. "Bowsy funny," she sniffles, a tiny giggle escaping her. Bowser just groans. But the crying has stopped. And now, she's looking at him with wide, curious eyes. She points a tiny finger at the spikes on his shell. "Shiny pokies." He sighs, sitting down on the floor, defeated. "Yeah, those are my spikes. Don't touch them." Peach doesn't listen. She crawls over and gently pokes one of the spikes on his back. "Boop," she says. He flinches, but doesn't pull away. "Hey!" She giggles and boops another one. "Boop, boop, boop!" It's a new game. He's a giant, spiky, boopable mountain, and she's a tiny explorer. Bowser finds himself letting it happen. He lets the little princess crawl all over him, booping his spikes, tugging on his hair, and giggling when he growls. He's exhausted, utterly confused, but a tiny part of him is...enjoying it? It's certainly less stressful than fighting Mario. He's actually sitting still, and she's not screaming anymore. It's a win, of a very, very weird kind. They're in the middle of a very serious game of "Boop the Spike" when a familiar heroic cry echoes through the throne room. Mario, having seen the shattered nursery window, burst in with fists raised and a furious scowl. But he stops dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping. The scene before him is not one of a damsel in distress. It's Bowser, the Koopa King, sitting on the floor of his own throne room looking utterly exhausted. And Princess Peach, in a soaking wet sleeper with a towel tied around her waist, is perched on Bowser's back, gleefully booping him on the head while babbling, "Bowsy sleepy! Bowsy pokie mountain!" Bowser looks up, a wave of relief washing over his face. "Mario! Thank the stars. Please, just take her. I don't know what's wrong with her, she's leaking, she won't stop calling me Bowsy, and she tried to pet a Chain Chomp!" The sight of her boyfriend, her hero, her big brother, is like a switch being flipped deep inside Peach's mind. The baby fog, the comforting regression, evaporates in an instant, replaced by the chilling, crystal clear horror of adulthood. The booping stops. Her eyes go wide. She looks at her hands, then at her own outfit- the pink sleeper, the dark wet patch, the ridiculous towel skirt. She looks at Bowser, who she was just playing with. She looks at Mario, who is staring at her with a mixture of concern and utter bewilderment. And then the embarrassment hits. A tidal wave of it, so powerful and absolute it makes her want to melt into the floor and become one with the lava pools. "M-Mario..." she stammers, her adult voice returning, though it's shaky and thin. She scrambles off Bowser's back, her movements clumsy with the bulky diaper. She's standing before her rescuer in the most humiliating state imaginable, a literal puddle of her own making still drying on the floor of her kidnapper's castle. Mario's expression softens instantly. He sees the panic and shame in her eyes, and all the confusion about the scene melts away, replaced by a fierce, protective instinct. He strides across the room, not even glancing at Bowser. He shrugs off his coat and gently wraps it around her, hiding the soaked sleeper and makeshift towel. "It's okay, Peachie," he says, his voice low and gentle, for her ears only. "I'm here now. It's okay." She bursts into tears again, but these are not the tears of a frustrated baby. They are the hot, mortified tears of a grown woman whose most secret, most vulnerable coping mechanism has just been exposed to her mortal enemy. Mario scoops her into his arms, holding her tight. He glares over her head at Bowser. "Bowser. You've got some nerve." Bowser throws his hands up in surrender, looking utterly drained. "I didn't do anything! I just wanted to kidnap her like normal! She's the one who's all... like that!" Mario just shakes his head, adjusting his hold on the trembling princess. "I'm taking her home. And you...you stay out of it." "Fine by me!" Bowser bellows, slumping back onto his throne. "But she needs a change! And a nap! She's been a menace!" ~X~ Back in the safety of her nursery, the chaos of Bowser's invasion already cleaned up by the Toads, Mario gently sets her down on the changing table. He removes the sodden sleeper and the towel, tossing them into a laundry basket. He works in silence, cleaning her up with gentle, efficient hands. The diaper change is a return to normalcy, a familiar ritual that slowly begins to soothe her frayed nerves. "It's all over now, Peachie," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "The mean, spiky monster is gone. You're safe with me. You're safe with your big brother." He applies a generous layer of soothing cream to her skin, which is red and irritated from being in a wet diaper for so long. He knows how uncomfortable it must be, and he takes extra care, making sure she's completely clean and dry. He then sprinkles on some powder, the soft scent filling the air, and secures a fresh, clean diaper around her waist. The new padding is soft and comforting, a stark contrast to the clammy, overused one she had been wearing. "There," he says, snapping the crotch of a clean, dry sleeper. "All cozy again. My poor little Princess. What a rough day you've had." He lifts her into his arms, and she immediately burrows into him, her body still trembling slightly. He carries her to the rocking chair, sitting down and holding her close. He begins to rock, the gentle motion a familiar comfort. He can feel the tension in her body, the lingering shame and embarrassment that is too big for her adult mind to process, let alone her little one. He knows he needs to help her find her way back to the safety of little space, where the world is simple and her worries are small. "It's okay, sweet girl," he says, his voice a low, steady hum against her ear. "All that scary stuff is over. You're home now. You're with me." He starts to sing, a soft, simple lullaby about stars and moonbeams. The melody is a familiar one, a tune he's sung to her a hundred times. He feels her body begin to relax, the tension slowly draining away. She snuggles closer, her breathing evening out. "That's my Peachie," he whispers, his lips brushing against her hair. "My sweet, brave little Princess. You were so, so brave. Your big brother is so proud of you." He continues to rock and sing, the words and the motion weaving a spell of calm around her. The memories of the day- the fear, the confusion, the embarrassment- begin to fade, replaced by the warm, secure feeling of being held and loved. She can feel the soft padding of her clean diaper, the gentle rocking of the chair, the steady beat of Mario's heart against her ear. All the right pieces are falling into place. After a few more minutes, he feels her stir. She lifts her head, her eyes no longer wide with panic, but soft and sleepy. "Bwubber?" she murmurs, her voice a small, sleepy whisper. "I'm right here, Peachie," he says, smiling down at her. "Hungy," she says, her little tummy rumbling. "Okay, let's get you a snack," he says, standing up and carrying her to the play mat. Mario sits her down, her padded bottom crinkling softly as she lands. He goes to the small fridge in the corner and pulls out a bottle of milk that he warms for her. He comes back and sits down on the floor with her, leaning against the leg of the rocking chair. He cradles her in his arms, holding the bottle to her lips. She drinks greedily, her eyes half closed in contentment. The warm milk fills her tummy, a soothing warmth that spreads through her body. She finishes the bottle quickly, her little body relaxing completely. He sets the empty bottle aside and just holds her for a moment, letting the food settle. "All full?" he asks. She nods, a milky burp escaping her lips. He pats her back gently, and she burps again, a big, satisfying one. She giggles, her whole body wiggling with delight. "Good girl," he says, smiling. "Now, what should we play with?" He gestures to the toys scattered around the play mat. "Blocks? Or maybe your dolls?" Peach's eyes scan the room, her gaze landing on the pile of wooden blocks. "Bwocks," she says, her voice a happy little chirp. "Blocks it is," he says, setting her down on the play mat. She immediately crawls over to the blocks, her movements still a little clumsy but full of purpose. She starts to build a tower, her concentration absolute. Mario sits with her, handing her blocks when she needs them, and offering words of encouragement. As they play, her mind drifts back to the day's events. But the fear and shame are gone, replaced by a strange, fuzzy memory of the big, spiky monster. She remembers being scared, but she also remembers being held. She remembers the funny, frustrated look on his face, the way he let her boop his spikes, the way he wrapped a towel around her when she leaked. A small smile plays on her lips. "Peachie thinking hard over there," Mario says, noticing her faraway look. "What's on your mind, sweetie?" She looks up at him, her blue eyes wide and clear. "Bowsy," she says, her voice a little dreamy."Big Buhbuh Bowsy." Mario's brow furrows slightly. "Big Brother Bowser?" She nods, her face serious. "Funny Bowsy. Pokie mountain." A slow smile spreads across Mario's face. He understands. In her own simple, baby way, she'd processed the confusing events of the day and found a way to make them okay. She'd turned her kidnapper into a playmate, a big, spiky, grumpy brother. It's a testament to her incredible resilience, her ability to find light in the darkest of places. "Yeah," he says, his voice soft. "He's a big, funny Buhbuh, isn't he? With all his shiny pokies." She giggles, the sound like tiny bells. "Like Bowsy," she says, her voice firm. "Okay," he says, ruffling her hair. "If you like him, then I guess he can't be all bad." He's relieved, honestly. He was worried the experience would traumatize her, but instead, she's found a way to make it a funny, weird memory. It makes him love her even more. They continue to play, the afternoon sun slowly dipping towards the horizon. They build a magnificent tower, a wobbly creation of wood and imagination that reaches all the way to Peach's waist when she stands. She claps her hands with delight, her face shining with pride. "Tall! Bwubber, tall!" "It's the tallest tower in the whole Mushroom Kingdom," Mario declares, playing along. "All thanks to my little architect." She beams at him, her love for him shining in her eyes. They play until the last rays of sun fade from the window, and the room is bathed in the soft, golden light of the lamp on the nightstand. He can see her eyelids starting to droop, her movements becoming slower and more deliberate. She's getting tired. "Alright, little one," he says, scooping her up. "Time for bed." She doesn't protest. She just snuggles into him, her head resting on his shoulder. He carries her to the crib, laying her down gently. He pulls the blanket up to her chin, tucking her in. He leans down and kisses her forehead. "Goodnight, my sweet Peachie," he whispers. "Sleep tight." "Nigh, nigh, Bwubber," she murmurs, her eyes already closed. "Love Bowsy." He smiles, a wave of warmth washing over him. "I know you do, sweetie. I know you do." He stays for a moment, watching her sleep, her chest rising and falling with each even breath. She's safe, she's happy, and she's home. Everything is right in the world again. He quietly leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him, leaving the little Princess to dream of pokie mountains and big, funny Buhbuhs. - If you're interested in my writing updates, please join my discord server! https://discord.gg/xUrPXDH (18+ ONLY) I stream here, and the chat is locked when there isn't a stream going on, so for the most part, it's only posts that are updates from me Or, follow me on twitter @ZappGuatiche/bsky @ZappOBrien!

Welcome to Mommy Anna's Diapered Storybook! Some of you may know me from my website, diaperhypnosis.com My recent experience of having my store on Etsy closed because of their discrimination against our community (they are closing down all ABDL hypnosis audio there) has been one more reminder to me of how important it is for us to stay together as a community. I've decided to publish full-length diaper and regression stories, for free, as a special way of giving back to our community. I'm also recording these stories and posting them (full-length) on my YouTube channel, so you can hear me read them there. Mommy Emma from diaperhypnosis.com will also be recording some of these stories for YouTube. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these stories and keep being the wonderful you that you are! This multi-part story will end up about 15,000 words. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Samantha Hartley had always taken pride in being a woman of discipline. She built her life on structure—long days at the firm, power lunches with high-profile clients, and perfectly orchestrated evenings with Mark, her husband of eighteen years. Yet lately, something had begun to unravel in the quiet corners of her world. Not chaos—no, that would be easy to notice. It was a slow fade. A dullness creeping in where intimacy once bloomed. She loved Mark, of course. But the passion between them had thinned to a polite current. Predictable. Safe. Sterile. The longing didn’t come as a scream, but a whisper. Something primal. Not just sexual, but maternal. She wanted to be touched, yes—but more than that, she wanted to be needed. Cherished. She wanted to give—not in the transactional way she was used to, but through something sacred. The blog article she found one evening wasn’t something she would’ve ever shared with a colleague. The Intimacy of Adult Nursing Relationships—the title itself made her sit up. She read it, then reread it, heat rising in her chest. This wasn’t about babies. It wasn’t about kink, either—not exactly. It was about trust. About nourishment. About connection. And for women like her, it was about softness reclaiming space in a life hardened by power. She learned everything she could. Inducing lactation without pregnancy was possible. Time-consuming, yes. But possible. She needed a plan. The first thing she ordered was a breast pump—hospital-grade, quiet, efficient. It arrived at her office, tucked discreetly in a nondescript box. She unpacked it in her private office, her hands trembling slightly. It was real now. She also began taking supplements: fenugreek, blessed thistle, goat’s rue, and brewer’s yeast. She kept them in an elegant tea tin in her purse. A secret ritual. The first few days of pumping felt clinical. She sat in the firm’s lactation room, blouse open, watching the plastic flanges work rhythmically against her nipples. The suction pulled and tugged, awkward and mechanical. But she committed. Five times a day, twenty minutes per breast. She created a schedule and followed it like scripture. By the end of the first week, she started to notice tenderness. Her breasts ached faintly—swollen just enough to remind her that something was happening. She began to massage them gently in the evenings, imagining warm skin, a loving mouth, a needful tongue. At first, she imagined Mark. Later, she imagined herself cradling his head against her chest, rocking him, soothing him. Week three brought more obvious changes. Her breasts were noticeably fuller, her nipples darkened and sensitive to even the softest brush of fabric. She had to buy new bras—stretchy ones, no underwire. Her C-cup curves swelled into Ds. Then double-Ds. She noticed the glances in meetings. A junior associate stared openly one morning. Samantha smiled, amused. She didn’t mind. Let them look. They had no idea what these breasts were becoming. At home, she wore robes more often, opting for soft fabrics that brushed over her skin just so. She began sleeping without a bra, loving the weight of her full breasts against her chest. Sometimes she would wake in the early morning hours, nipples tingling, her body whispering: Soon. Soon, you’ll feed him. She kept it all from Mark. Not because she didn’t trust him—but because this was hers. A private power growing inside her. By week six, she began expressing small beads of milk. Just droplets, but enough to soak the tips of her cotton pads. When she saw them, she wept. Silently. A quiet, shaking joy. That weekend, Samantha made her move. She bathed first, using lavender oil in the water. Then she dressed in a pale pink robe, the silk hugging her curves. Her breasts looked glorious—full, heavy, maternal. She lit candles in the bedroom and turned off the television. When Mark entered, towel around his waist, she called to him softly. “Lie down, baby. Let me take care of you tonight.” He raised an eyebrow, but complied, settling into the pillows. She straddled him slowly, pressing her soft, warm weight into his lap. She kissed him, long and slow, and reached for his hands, guiding them up her sides. “I’ve been doing something... for us,” she whispered. “Something new. Something ancient.” He looked up at her, breath slowing. “I’ve induced lactation. My milk is coming in. And I want to feed you.” His eyes widened. A mix of shock and wonder. “You... want to nurse me?” She nodded. “Not just want to. Need to. I want you to drink from me, to need me, to let go and just be mine.” There was a long pause. Then he reached up, reverently, cupping her breast. She gasped—it was so sensitive, so ready. She guided his mouth to her nipple. He hesitated. Then suckled. Tentatively at first, like he wasn’t sure. But her hand at the back of his head steadied him. Encouraged him. “That’s it, baby,” she cooed, stroking his hair. “Good boy. Drink.” His lips created suction, and the faintest taste of sweet colostrum touched his tongue. He moaned—just a whisper—and pulled deeper. Her nipple tingled, then released. A slow leak of warmth into his mouth. He groaned again, this time deeper. A noise of gratitude. Of surrender. Samantha felt a flood of emotions—maternal pride, sensual power, overwhelming intimacy. She wrapped her arms around him, rocking him gently as he suckled. Her thighs clamped tighter around his waist. “Good baby,” she whispered. “Mommy’s so proud of you.” The word Mommy slipped from her lips before she even thought it through. And the way he shivered told her everything she needed to know. Mark’s hands gripped her hips. His eyes closed. He suckled harder, deeper, with devotion. She could feel him surrendering—not just physically, but emotionally. Letting go of control. Trusting her. Needing her. From that night on, they nursed every evening. Mark came to crave it—more than food, more than sex. When he arrived home from work, he would undress and kneel beside her chair, resting his head in her lap. “Please,” he would whisper, “let me nurse.” Sometimes, she would make him wait—just a little. She liked watching him squirm, liked how desperate he became for her milk. His body softened, his voice took on a different timbre. He stopped challenging her in small ways. He followed her lead. She could see the shift in him—more attentive, more obedient, eager to please her. When she asked him to do something—cook, clean, massage her feet—he did it immediately, sometimes with a hopeful glance toward her breasts, silently begging for his reward. And she gave it. When he earned it. “You want Mommy’s milk?” she’d say, arching a brow. “Yes,” he’d breathe. “Please.” She would let him suckle on the bed, stroking his hair, murmuring affirmations into his ear. “Good boy. Drink it all. Mommy needs you to be full.” She felt powerful—not in the way she did at the office, where power was hard and cold. This was soft and irresistible. A biological power. He depended on her. And the more he drank, the more her body gave. Her breasts now leaked when he wasn’t near. Her nipples ached for his mouth. It became a cycle of devotion. The more she gave, the more he worshipped her. And the more he worshipped, the more she gave. Sometimes, she held him after, breast damp and lips swollen, and whispered, “You’re mine now, aren’t you?” And he would nod, eyes wet. “I’ve never belonged to anyone more.” Samantha no longer missed the spark. She was the spark now. The center of their intimacy, their rhythm, their ritual. She gave milk. She gave softness. She gave control. And Mark? He gave everything else. And neither of them had ever been more fulfilled. Over the next week, Samantha had never felt this alive. Every evening, Mark came to her as though drawn by an invisible cord, the same one that now tied them together in a bond deeper than sex, deeper than words. The nursing was no longer just a ritual—it was a necessity, a sacred exchange. He craved her milk. Needed her body. And she delighted in his neediness. In his surrender. He had become more attentive, deferential, soft in his manner. The once self-assured man who used to interrupt her with suggestions or forget to take out the trash now waited for her cues. He folded the laundry without being asked. He texted her during the day just to check in. He stopped making jokes at her expense. When she told him she expected the dishwasher loaded her way, he apologized—sincerely—and redid it without a word. At first, it amused her. Then it thrilled her. Samantha began to shape their home life around her authority—not with cruelty, but with deliberate control. She crafted a schedule. A bedtime. A list of expectations. When Mark complied, she rewarded him with nursing. When he didn’t, she withheld it. “You don’t get Mommy’s milk until you earn it,” she’d say, brushing his cheek with mock sympathy. “Do better, sweetheart.” And he did. It was intoxicating. One quiet afternoon at the office, in between briefs and billing reviews, Samantha found herself browsing again. Her body still buzzed with energy from the morning’s pump session. Her breasts were fuller than ever, leaking now if she went too long without release. Her nipples stayed hard throughout the day, sensitive and swollen, a constant reminder of what she’d become—a source of nourishment and power. She was scrolling a forum on female-led relationships when a sidebar article caught her eye: “Wives Who Diaper Their Husbands: A New Level of Loving Control.” She blinked. Then clicked. The article opened with a soft, almost poetic tone—about caregiving, regression, and trust. About how some wives, especially in nurturing dominant roles, found deep emotional satisfaction in caring for their husbands in the most complete way possible. Diapers, it said, were not about humiliation—not necessarily. They were about surrender. About devotion. About returning a man to a state of complete dependency, where the wife ruled not only his heart and mind, but his body. As she read, Samantha’s breath caught. The author described the intimacy of diapering a man. Of wiping him, powdering him, pulling the thick padding up between his legs. Of nursing him afterward, freshly diapered and helpless in her arms. She spoke of the peace it brought. The power. Samantha’s thighs clenched involuntarily. Could I? she wondered. Would he…? The thought of Mark in a diaper—so obedient, so trusting, resting his head against her milk-filled breast while she rocked him—made her ache. It wasn’t just arousing. It was right. This was what she’d been building toward all along, wasn’t it? The nursing, the rituals, the structure. She had led him, slowly and lovingly, to a place where his submission felt natural. And now, she could go further. She could complete him. That night, as Mark knelt before her for his nightly nursing, she caressed his cheek and smiled warmly. “Sweetheart,” she said softly, “how would you feel if I took even more care of you?” He paused, mouth still latched to her nipple, then looked up at her, dazed and milk-drunk. “More?” “Mmhmm,” she cooed. “You’ve been so good for Mommy. So devoted. I’ve been reading about ways I can make you feel even more safe. Even more... taken care of.” His eyes searched hers. There was a hint of hesitation, but also a flicker of excitement. “Like what?” “Well,” she said, brushing his hair aside, “what if you didn’t have to worry about grown-up things at all in the evenings? What if I decided when you go to bed, what you wear, even whether or not you use the bathroom?” He blinked, stunned. She kept going, her tone soft, loving, but firm. “What if Mommy put you in diapers at night? What if that became part of our special time, too? Just like nursing. Just you and me. My sweet baby boy.” Mark flushed—deep red. “Diapers?” he whispered. “You… really want that?” Samantha’s gaze was steady. “I do. It’s not about embarrassment. It’s about trust. Intimacy. Letting me take control in the most tender way possible. You already let me feed you. Why not let me decide when and how you’re cared for in every way?” He looked overwhelmed, but not resistant. Not really. “You don’t have to say yes right now,” she murmured. “But think about it. Imagine lying in my lap, freshly diapered, drinking my milk, with nothing to worry about. No decisions. No pressure. Just love.” She stroked his cheek with her thumb. “Doesn’t that sound nice?” His answer came not in words, but in the way he suckled again—more urgently, more needfully. He melted into her, as if already imagining it. And she knew. He would agree. Sooner than later. Samantha ordered the supplies the next morning: soft cloth-backed diapers in his size, unscented wipes, soothing cream, and thick baby powder. She chose a plain white pacifier, too—just to see how it would look between his lips. The packages arrived at her office, as always. She unpacked them slowly, savoring the scent of the powder, the softness of the padding. She held one diaper up, imagining the sound it would make as she taped it snugly around Mark’s waist. She felt an almost maternal ache. Soon, she thought, tracing the edge of the diaper with her finger. Soon, my baby. This wasn’t just about domination. It was about transformation. Mark was becoming hers—not just her husband, not just her partner, but her dependent. Her darling. Her creation. And he was loving every step of it. So was she. And they were only just beginning.

Okay (yes, I am on a roll when it comes to stories; I even have the next chapters for INSIWAb... and Semper Fi ready for their usual postings on Saturday and Tuesday, respectively.), I know this is another medical story in a whole lot of them...but it's quite different than most. Welcome to Patient Zero, a medical age regression journey into young toddlerhood for some (and maybe younger for one). I know it doesn't sound very impressive, and I was somewhat basing this off of an idea I got from an age-regression story (I don't recall which one.) where...well, I won't spoil. But as for the content warnings, not every character gets a nice background. In fact, a lot of them are quite hard, if not going-through-the-absolute-wringer hard (I kinda based one of the characters off of Killer Croc's backstory, though this one isn't a fictional disease, but a very real one.), and the content warnings are there for a reason. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Thank you in advance! And let's not delay, for here it is: - Chapter One: 4:30 AM - 6:55 AM, May 22nd, 2024 - Dr. Berry Glass woke up at 4:30 AM as she always did, ready for her job as a researcher and group therapist for one of the most prevalent modern diseases known to women under the age of thirty: Sudden Adult Age Retrogression Syndrome or SAARS. The thirty-three-year-old yawned, stretching out her long legs and arms as her alarm blared, her short sandy-brown hair frazzled with sleep. She slipped out of bed, rubbing her hazel eyes, going to the bathroom to shower; she didn’t use makeup at work. Work, she thought as she turned the water on, shivering from the chill. Giving hope of a better life to those who had none. SAARS was a disease that regressed otherwise normal women under thirty to a set age, normally around twelve to eighteen months old. It was also permanent as far as researchers like her could tell; whatever enzymes that aged people - namely telomeres that broke down with cell division - were paused. But what was worse than that was that there was no mental regression; the women had their adult minds and memories during the whole process. It would be so much easier if their minds were also regressed, but to be forced into babyhood forever with an adult perspective was a horrifying prospect, especially adults who had their own dreams taken away from them. Some people regarded it as an act of God for sin and rejected the unfortunate women. Worse still, a lot of people, whether it was parents, husbands, or boyfriends didn’t want to take care of the now-infantilized women that were their daughters, their partners, their friends, possibly forever being babies. Such a thing was heartbreaking, yet common. Therefore, there was a therapy session Berry headed, knowing the most about the disease, how the process worked (although there was no common vector as of now, no original patient to discuss; it had infected thousands of young women simultaneously), and - as one of the rare woman doctors unable to be infected - what to do in the process. Her job aside from research was helping the few women and partners who were struggling and genuinely asked for advice instead of being buried within walls of secretive shame. They came to her for advice, even if she didn’t have a clue about how to stop it, let alone reverse it. One thing for sure was this: it was manmade. Someone was playing God with the lives of innocent women, and as a doctor who took pride in following the Hippocratic Oath to the letter, Berry was furious that someone was doing this to these poor women on purpose. But she couldn’t focus on her rage, she mused, as she turned off the shower, her body cleansed. The women patients of various ages and their desperate partners - boyfriends, husbands, and the odd parent - were her priority today. Then came a long day of research as the only woman allowed in the laboratory while the cultures were done, even if she had to deal with…Digby Fletcher. She wrapped the towel across her nude body, her firm breasts sensitive at the touch. Fucking Digby Fletcher - Doctor Digby Fletcher, a transplant from the United Kingdom with Scottish and Irish descent, judging by his mixed accent - the arrogant, pretty-boy cocksucker (hey, it was true! His definite flamboyant sexuality was no secret.) with his against-the-rules-long ginger hair in a bushy ponytail that fell to his back and bangs that mostly hid his eyes. He was an asshole to everyone, to put it as kindly as she could, and always acted like he knew better than everyone in the room. Well, he was extremely intelligent like she was, that couldn’t be denied; he graduated with a doctorate from a super young age (he was currently twenty-two years old and graduated at Oxford with honors at the precocious age of seventeen), much like she did at Stanford University at eighteen years old (2005, good times), getting to college early and skipping a lot of grades, valedictorian, highest marks in the country in her graduate year. Maybe super smart people butted heads, but Fletcher’s caustic sarcasm and swelled head was almost unbearable and most definitely insufferable, especially when he had gone to the subject of parents and how hers must’ve been annoyed that she was a mere “pediatrician”. Mine died, she thought bitterly as she got into her therapy clothes - a lab coat and smart black pantsuit, and got her purse, the time on her phone reading 5:00 AM. To a drunken driver when they were on the way to celebrate her valedictorian honors. The drunk had died as well, leaving behind two devastated families. It was the only time she had ever seen Fletcher with any kind of remorse for what he said, with any kind of empathy - or any positive emotion that wasn’t snark, for that matter - in his dead icy-blue eyes, and to his rare credit, he never brought up the subject again. And Warwick had immediately stepped in and read him the riot act. Berry’s heart fluttered as she got her usual breakfast and lunch (both small meals for the slim 5’6” woman) packed in another bag and stepped out into the beautiful San Diego weather to get to her car, thinking of Dr. Warwick Cooks, his handsome tanned complexion and smile, his trimmed beach-blond beard and hair, his warm ocean blue eyes, so unlike the shards of glass that represented Fletcher’s eyes. Warwick was a fellow Stanford graduate who had taken her under his wing as a freshman, her best friend, her confidant, her occasional on-and-off lover when she turned eighteen, she recalled with a rare blush to her face, as she got in her Hyundai Kona Electric car and pressed the button to start the engine. Hot damn, he was good in bed. Thankfully, rush hour in San Diego was not until much later, and she got to the hospital in record time at 6:15, ready to begin the group therapy session at 7:00 in the morning. She prepared the seats for the prospective people…and the toys, stuffed animals, and lots of diapers for the women who needed them. Even though there was no mental regression with SAARS, emotional regression to the age they became was almost certain, and toilet training was the very first thing to go with them. SAARS usually took off years quickly, one year regressed a day, so she assumed she’d see people of varying ages. The windows on the outside were the only ones showing with the rest shuttered. The walls were soundproofed, so that nothing came out of the room. Safety and privacy were of the utmost importance when it came to those suffering from SAARS; they didn’t need the hatred, anger, and judgment from the outside world. The first people arrived at 6:30: a skinny young Black man with thin cornrows, glasses, who wore a black hoodie and sweats, gently carrying a sleeping two-year-old Black girl while balancing a computer bag and empty diaper bag on his scrawny shoulders. Her hair was done expertly, braided with beads in them, and she was wearing a pink onesie and a thick diaper. She drooled on her stuffed zebra before the man replaced it with a pacifier, which she unconsciously started sucking on. Berry didn’t recognize either of them, and she hadn’t had a phone call with them, but she figured she’d know more about them during the session. The next people arrived ten minutes later: a fairly young, pale cleanshaven Caucasian man with dark brown hair who wore a San Jose Sharks ballcap, and a black T-shirt and camo shorts that showed his sinewy frame. He was carrying a two-year-old blonde girl who was fearfully tucking her head into his arms, her thick diaper peeking from her pink dress, clutching a stuffed gazelle as if her life depended on it. She knew them from a phone call: Detective Oleksiy Pomonarenko of the San Jose Police Department, and his ex-partner/now-child Natasha Orlova. Oleksiy had taken custody of Natasha immediately, knowing her parental figures were…not very nice, to put it lightly. Berry’s research on Natasha’s parents confirmed Oleksiy’s fears, but it was not the place for a private session. The last to come at 6:50 was a Black man wearing a Sacramento Kings beanie that covered the top of his bald head, an Oakland Raiders mask across his entire lower face (both of which hid all but his gray eyes from view), a San Diego Padres jersey and blue jeans, and a Caucasian girl toddler in a dress and diaper who looked two years old, her hair in red pigtails. She chewed on one of her pigtails before the man replaced it with a pacifier, which she gleefully started sucking on. She was holding a stuffed horse, a Clydesdale. Berry remembered both of them from a prior session: Amos Norwood and Hannah Norwood, a husband and wife in…less than ideal circumstances, poor Amos, especially. She wondered if Oleksiy would recognize Amos. Unfortunately for her, he did. “You,” Oleksiy said in a flat tone to Amos, who glared back. “I trust you’re on the straight and narrow when it comes to your new kid?” “It’s always been hard ta find honest work,” Amos retorted. “Especially now. Y’all ain’t let me find it.” “A cop?” the young Black man with glasses asked in an accent that sounded slightly Arabic, rolling his eyes. “If there aren't enough problems…Allah give me strength.” “We are not going to argue about our backgrounds in front of your partners. Everyone is welcome here.” Berry’s voice was firm, her eyes flashing a warning sign to all that there would be no arguments on that front. She turned to look at the young Muslim man. “Might I know your name?” He looked at her, his brown eyes calm behind his glasses. “Darquarius Zerrouki. I’m from Morocco, born in the United States with citizenship from my mother. My partner, her name is Chief Petty Officer Lynn Graham of the United States Navy.” “Can she confirm?” Oleksiy asked immediately. The man called Darquarius surprisingly didn’t argue, as he gently nudged the girl awake, as she whined, “Daddyyy!” “Lynnie, cupcake, you need to meet the nice people,” the man said, his voice filled with genuine love. The Black girl rubbed her eyes with a yawn and said with a tired smile, “Hi! I’m Chief Peppy Offsher Wynn Gwaham. Me wash…” She frowned as her two-year-old lisp prevented her from saying the words right, her squirming meaning that she likely was close to messing her diaper when she didn’t want to, and Berry’s heart broke for the SAARS-infected woman. “Me wash en-gay-jed to Daddy. Daddy, I gots to go now.” “That’s what your diaper’s for, Lynnie. I promise I’ll get you changed.” Darquarius looked at Berry, the look in his eyes desperate, as a giant brown and yellow spot ballooned in his former fiancée’s diaper. “Do you have Pampers Swaddlers? That’s what she said she prefers, and I’m running on fumes, trying to babyproof the house alone...” “I have them,” Berry said kindly. “Natasha prefers Huggies Little Snugglers,” Oleksiy said. “Good choice; that’s what Hannah likes as well,” Amos agreed. “I have them as well,” the doctor said, noticing that Natasha’s face was relaxing as she pooped her diaper, and Hannah was squirming in discomfort, about ready to go herself. “We can change them here, and hopefully more people will come to start the session.” Thank holy God I came prepared. She was not prepared for a blindside hit she never saw coming. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Hey everyone! For today, I'm posting a story that I actually had in progress for a little while. I got inspiration from this story through some other stories on this forum. While it's not any of the Diaper Dimension stories, it does draw inspiration from one of the authors that I follow. This story is set in Potomac, Maryland and my attempt at writing a story where the main characters have to deal with a strict mother who's very big on discipline. There is some element of mystery involved. Like always, I am welcome to any feedback that you may have on the story! Here's the summary. Enjoy the story! Sixteen-year-old Gabrielle Rivers has a mother that is an award-winning scientist. Having never met her father in her entire life, Gabrielle looks for answers when her mother attends an awards banquet one evening. Searching for the whereabouts of her father is the least of Gabrielle’s worries, as her nighttime bedwetting has started up once again. Gabrielle’s quest to find the truth is not made any easier when she has to deal with her almost three-year-old sister Abigail, who is still in diapers. Gabrielle can’t help but notice that there is something very strange about her sister. Her mother just says that Abigail has a strong sense of imagination, but after Gabrielle finds out everything, she is not quite sure that her mother is being truthful. And even worse, Gabrielle’s mother finds Gabrielle reading forbidden documents in her bedroom. She takes Gabrielle into the kitchen and prepares a glass of milk for her. Gabrielle drinks the milk, but after a few hours, she doesn’t feel very well, and her world changes forever. Now trapped and full of the truth, Gabrielle can neither walk nor crawl and is unable to speak. Will she ever escape? Is she trapped with her mother forever? Chapter 1: Just an Accident My mother can only be what I describe to be the worst excuse for a human being. It doesn’t matter that she graduated high school at the age of 12 and has four PhD’s. She’s a cold, cruel, heartless bitch. And if you have ever met her and have even the slightest idea of what she has done to me, you would totally agree with me. And that is just what I am about to tell you. This is my survival story of how I was ruthlessly abused by my mother and how by some miracle I was able to escape. I want you to know about this as no human being should ever receive the level of cruelty that my mother gave to me. The whole world needs to know about this. All of her scientific awards can burn for all I care. She has caused enough harm to me and my family. What is that cruelty? You will hear every detail in due time. To give my story any justice, I will start from the very beginning. My name is Gabrielle Rogers, but you can call me Gabby. Everyone else does. But during the time of this story, I was known as Gabrielle Rivers, since that was my mother’s last name. I lived in a 25,000 square foot mansion in Maryland, with my mother and younger sister Abigail (everyone calls her Abby). From my mother’s stories, she always bragged about how she got her father’s mansion. The Rivers family was very wealthy, but none of my great uncles had any children. My grandfather did, but he didn’t have any sons. All he had was my mother. So, my mother boasted, all of the estate went to her. The money, the mansion…everything. The mansion is so big that it is divided into two separate wings: the west wing and the east wing. Each wing has its own staircase, with a grand staircase in the middle, separating the two wings. The mansion sits on 20 acres of land and because of my mother’s insane inheritance, all of the grounds are maintained on a regular basis. The enormous yard is mowed. During the summer, both the pool and hot tub are regularly treated with chlorine. All of the shrubs get trimmed. And the mini apple orchard gets tended to on a regular basis. And in the backyard, a beautiful garden gets tended to on a regular basis. A team of maids clean the entire house once a week and another cleaning service washes the windows once a month. And I forgot to mention that there is a guest house sitting on either side of the mansion. One for the east wing and one for the west wing. Each one is around 2,000 square feet and neither of these houses count towards the 25,000 square feet of the main estate. A large fountain sits in the front around the winding driveway that leads out to the front gate: the only way to enter Rivers Estate as the entire property is surrounded by fencing and there is a security guard on duty 24 hours a day. So yeah. That’s my mother’s Barbie dream home that she inherited. One important thing worth noting is that the entire east wing of the estate is off limits. I learned this lesson the hard way when I was just five years old. I was about to touch the doorknob, which led to the east wing. When my mother saw this, she directed me to pull my pants down and expose my behind to her. “Gabby, that place is totally off limits! Bad girl!!! Bad!!” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Don’t you EVER let mommy catch you trying to enter the east wing again!” After a few hits from her paddle, I resolved to never try entering the east wing again. I really didn’t understand what the harm was in going there. What was my mother trying to hide? I sulked, and slowly paced away from the forbidden door that I could never touch. A knock on the door snapped me right out of my unintended nap. A copy of The Lord of the Rings sat fanned face down on my king-sized bed. “Gabby dear? Gabby!” “Wha…” I said, rubbing a little bit of sleep out of my eyes. The door opened, and my mother entered in her usual work attire: a white lab coat with a long black skirt. Her skin was smooth and her complexion was perfect. She walked over to my bed and gave me her usual smirk. This was the kind of thing that she did when she wanted me to do something that she didn’t want to do. “Gabrielle, my dear?” My mother said in her sweetest tone. “Could you be a dear and go change Abby’s diaper?” I turned my face and rolled my eyes. “Another one?” I could tell by the look of my mother’s face that the diaper that I was about to change was going to be a messy one. I let out a quiet sigh. “Okay. Where is the little stinker?” “She is watching TV in her bedroom. Now hurry, dear. You don’t want her to get a rash…” Don’t want her to get a rash…I mocked my mother in my head. I resumed my role as fulltime babysitter and left my bedroom to change my little sister’s diaper. It is now June and Abby (or Little Abby as I like to call her) is about to turn three in August. I would’ve thought that my mother would’ve wanted to potty train Abby a year ago, but she has made zero initiative to even begin. No pull-ups training pants. No plastic big girl potties in the house. No potty-training journals or reward stickers. No books or videos about learning how to use the potty like a big girl. Nothing. For goodness sake, mom. Abby will be turning four in another year. No preschool is going to take a four-year-old girl that is still wearing diapers. I have argued this with my mother before and I get the same response. “Oh. Abby’s a special little girl and she will grow at her own pace.” Well, Abby doesn’t look like she’s interested in the potty because you have never showed her one. Great job at being a wonderful example… I walked down the hallway and enter the doorway on my left. Abby was sucking on her pink pacifier and sitting in her bedroom on the white carpeted floor dressed in a white romper dress. The babyish kind with three snappable buttons at the crotch area which made it easy for diaper changes. The TV was a 42-inch Ultra High-Definition TV that hung on the wall in her spacious room. As I glanced at Abby’s loaded diaper, I let out a deep sigh. Sure enough, I could see the damage that had already been done. The poopy mess was spread out of her diaper and dripping out of the openings in her legs. It even got onto parts of her romper and her legs. Regardless of this, Abby stared at the screen blankly, as if she were mesmerized by the kids’ channel that she was watching. It was another episode of Bluey, and I just couldn’t stand it. But the program that was playing was the least of my worries. Abby’s diaper was my number one priority, regardless of how much I couldn’t stand the program. Seriously, mom. Why couldn’t you have changed her? I pinched my nose and dragged Abby away from the UHD TV. I lifted her by her waist being very careful not to get any of the poopy mess onto my fingertips. Even though Abby was almost three years old, she had the build of an 18-month-old, as my mother had to take Abby to the pediatrician last week to treat an ear infection. I had to come along, as I had diaper duty for my younger sister 24/7. The only exceptions are the diapers that my mother changes in the morning and right before she goes to bed. During the day, I change every one of Abby’s diapers. This yucky and stinky one is no better… I hoisted Little Abby up and rotated her, now supporting her by her neck and back in both hands. I then laid her down on the diaper changer in her room that sat next to her crib that was covered in pink pastels. As I laid her down and approached the mess, Abby turned her face and glanced in the distance. “Bah-tah empty!” she yelled. I nodded, as I tried to figure out what would be the best way that I could unsnap Abby’s romper without getting poop all over my hands. Knowing that this was pretty much impossible, I reached down toward the snappable crotch buttons. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! All three buttons were off, and I had a little bit of poop smeared on my fingers. I carefully lifted the flap of the poop-stained white romper which revealed the yellowed and brown stained diaper. I took a couple of baby wipes and wiped off my fingers before peeling back the tapes of her diaper… And…Oh. My. Gosh. The horrible stench was even worse with the diaper now opened up. It filled my nostrils and I almost gagged. There was so much poop in that diaper that I couldn’t believe it. But Abby looked like she was staring into space. She gave me a face that any child would give you after waking up from a bad dream. She glanced at the empty bottle. “Thaw-sty Gaw-bee! Thaw-sty!” I nodded, as I began wiping her with baby wipes, which only ended up smearing the poop on her after a couple wipes. “Yes Abby. I’ll get you something to drink after I change you.” After about ten wipes, I had Abby stand up while I carefully wiped her behind. After about half of the bag of baby wipes, I had all of Abby wiped clean. I took the soiled diaper that was filled with the used wipes, and I rolled up the diaper into a ball and secured it closed with the two tapes. I threw it in the diaper genie before I could even throw up on the floor in disgust. As I began to rub the Aquaphor cream on all the red areas that I saw on Abby, she turned her face toward the empty baby bottle again and once again gave me the worried look. “Mo Mak! No foamwah! No foamwah Gaw-bee!” I sighed, as this was a normal thing that Abby did whenever she wanted more milk to drink in her bottle. I gave her a puzzled look as I pulled out another diaper: A Size 3 Pampers Swaddlers Diaper. Abby never moved around too much so my mother always got these diapers for her. I opened up the diaper and I powdered the core. “Abby, the milk that we give you does not have any baby formula in it. What is this about formula?” I laid Abby in the center of the diaper, and I folded up the front waistband between her legs. I took the tapes from the back waistband, and I pulled them both snugly towards the landing zone in the center of the diaper. Abby’s bellybutton peaked out just above the waistband of the diaper. I heard the crinkled rustling as she sat up and pointed at the empty bottle again. “No foamwah!” she cried. “No foamwah! I smaw! No foamwah! I smaw!” I sighed, feeling very frustrated at Abby’s lack of speech development. Having just taken child development at my private school, I understand that the kind of speech that I am hearing from Abby should be from a baby half of Abby’s age. At her current age, Abby should know more than 300 words and should be able to form short sentences. I frowned again as I tried to calm the worried face on my sister. “Abby, there is no baby formula in the milk. How about I get you some and show you.” Before I could even snap the romper back up, I sighed when I saw the poop stain. “This needs to be washed.” I removed Abby’s soiled white romper dress and threw it into the dirty clothes hamper. I sat Abby on the floor and got out another matching purple romper dress from her closet. I put it on her. I then snapped the three crotch buttons to secure the romper over her diaper and was about to pick her up when I felt a very strong need to pee. I glanced at Abby and pointed back at the TV. “Can you watch some more TV, Abby? Big sis needs to use the bathroom.” Abby gave me a blank nod and walked back over to the TV. She slouched onto the floor and continued watching more Bluey. Meanwhile, I did the potty dance and I hurried into the bathroom adjacent to Abby’s bedroom. I closed the door, undid the button on my skinny jeans, and pulled them down with my panties. I sat down on the toilet and let out a sigh of relief as I peed for the next 30 seconds. My mother is making a big mistake in keeping my little sister in diapers. She hasn’t even made a single effort to potty train Abby, and it has almost been a year since her second birthday. She turns three in just two months. And considering just how messy that diaper was, I would really like to stop changing my little sister’s diapers already. I heard the buzz coming from my pants pocket. I knew that it either had to be Gina or Renee. They wanted to know what the summer plans were now that we were all done with our private school until it resumed in September for our junior year. I tapped away on my cellphone, providing a quick response for my two friends on the group text: “We will talk about it tonight when I go to bed.” I texted, providing a plain smiley face emoji. My timing couldn’t be any more perfect than when I heard a few firm taps on the door. “Gabby?” It was my mother. Knowing her, there was no keeping her waiting. I finished up, quickly wiping myself with toilet paper and pulling my panties and skinny jeans before flushing. I washed my hands for 20 seconds, quietly playing “If you’re happy and you know it” in my head before drying them. I scurried out of the bathroom, almost running directly into my mother. I staggered backwards, almost losing my balance. My mother looked at me sternly. She did not look pleased. “Gabby dear,” she addressed me in her smooth, velvety softspoken voice. “We do not run in this house. Tell me, dear. What is the hurry? You’re a big girl. You know the rules.” “No running…” I softly mumbled with my face to the floor. My mother gently pushed my chin up so that my eyes were locked with hers. “Speak up, Gabby. I cannot hear you. And stand up straight and look at me when you’re talking. Remember. Posture dear. Posture…” I nodded as my chin was still locked in my mother’s grip. I knew that she wouldn’t let me go until I reminded her of the proper manners that I already knew. “No…Run…Ning…” I clearly said, enunciating every syllable. My mother released my chin suddenly. I almost fell down, but I quickly regained my balance. “Now Gabby, I know that you are perfectly capable of behaving like a young lady. Please show me that you remember your manners. I have sent you to one of the best private boarding and day schools. Please lead by example and make me proud.” I nodded. I do have to admit that attending The Madeira School was pretty nice. With it being an all-girl school, there was nothing to distract me or my friends from our studies. Grades were certainly not an issue with me as I have been getting nothing but solid A’s. A-minuses were totally out of the question, as I have received a beating from my mother for getting one before on a test. My mother turned around and glanced at Abby. She sniffed the room, which pretty much mostly had the smell of baby powder at this point. There was still a hint of the poopy smell, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as earlier. “I see that you have changed Abby. Good girl.” Yes. My mother’s praise sounded like the kind of praise you would give to a dog, but at 15, I was used to it at this point. That reminded me of something very important. I turn 16 in another month…I looked at my mother and glanced at her face. For someone in her late forties, she looked almost 20 years younger than that. If nobody knew my mother, she would pass for someone almost turning 30. I have pressed my mother before on her youthful appearance and she always provided me with the same answer in just one word: “Genetics.” If genetics gives her that appearance, then I hope that I can look like her when I’m almost 50 someday. I glanced at my mother, who was still looking at me. I knew that she would not be around me unless she wanted something. My mother gave me an expectant look, as if I was expected to know what she was thinking. “Gabby, have you done all of your chores today?” I sighed. I knew that stretching the truth was not an option, so I came clean. “No mother. I only have a few m—” My mother cut me off midsentence. “Gabby, you need to finish every last chore. Your courses are done for the summer and all you have for the fall is just one summer project required for every Madeira student. I expect you to have every last chore done before dinner. Do I make myself clear, young lady?” I nodded, making sure that my posture was correct this time. Abby was now standing up, holding an empty baby bottle in her hands. She looked at my mother with pleading eyes. “Mo mak mah-mee!” she said, shaking the bottle. “Mo mak!” My mother shook her head in disapproval and snatched the baby bottle from my little sister. “No no…” she said in a sing-song voice. “What is the magic word, Abby?” “Pease…” Abby said, giving her a flat smile. I sighed and looked at my mother. “Mother, I just changed Abby. She’s going to need to be changed again when you give her more milk. Shouldn’t we be potty training her?” My mother shook her head to and fro and gave my sister a soft pat on the diaper. “Abby is not ready for toilet training yet. When she’s ready, she’ll let mommy know. Won’t you Abbycadabry?” I gave a groan of frustration in my mind. I hated it whenever my mom used a cute nickname to address my little sister. And that nickname had me cringing the most. My little sister gave a gentle nod and glanced up at the empty bottle that my mother was still holding. “You want some milkies, Abby?” My mother said in a soft coo. “Here. We’re going to get some milkies. In the meantime, how about I get you your pacie?” Abby again generated a weak smile. My mother grabbed her purple pacifier that was sitting on a felt beanbag chair. She slid it into Abby’s mouth and Abby began to mindlessly suck on it. She then hoisted Abby in one arm while holding her empty bottle in the other. “I’m going to refill Abby’s bottle and feed her.” My mother explained. “After that, I am putting her in the playpen and I’m going upstairs to run some more experiments, finish an article for a scientific journal, and finish publishing a textbook for one of Harvard Med School’s latest courses. I will want you to have all of your chores done when I return. Am I clear, Gabby?” I nodded, keeping careful eye contact with my mother. “Yes mother…” My mother exited the room with Abby, leaving me to my chores. I glanced at the chore list, making careful note of the chores that I have already done today. Fortunately, I have already done most of the chores before taking a break with my Lord of the Rings book. All that I needed to do to finish my chores included the following tasks: pick up my clothes and other odds and ends in my room, vacuum my bedroom, and clean the bathroom. That included every surface, all of the toilet, the bathtub, and the glass shower. (Yes. My bedroom has a pretty big bathroom with both a bathtub and separate shower, and I was responsible for cleaning every square inch.) I spent the next hour and a half completing my last three chores. I picked up all my clothes, making sure that they were all thrown into the dirty clothes hamper. I got the vacuum out of the utility closet down the hall and vacuumed every square inch. The floor of my room looked spotless as usual, as I was expected to vacuum my room every week. For the bathroom, I opened a closet inside it to get out all of the cleaning supplies. I scrubbed every square inch of the tile floor in the bathroom. I carefully wiped down the counter space. There was barely any toothpaste residue and soap residue as I also was expected to clean the bathroom weekly. The mirror by the sink also didn’t look too bad. Just a couple specks of food residue from flinging food particles off my teeth while I was flossing. As for the chores, this was something that I have never questioned my mother on as the maids get all the rest of the house clean, except for my room and bathroom. I took the glass cleaner and sprayed the mirror. I carefully wiped everything off with a paper towel. The mirror now looked spotless. I inserted a disinfectant tablet into the toilet wand and began scrubbing the weeks’ worth of dried waste off of the inside of the toilet. After getting the inside of the bowl spotless, I sprayed down the outside of the bowl and the rest of the toilet with a cleaning solution, rinsed it with some wet paper towels, and dried it off with a few more paper towels. Right after I flushed the clean toilet, my chores were all complete. No sooner did I finish than when my mother was entering my bathroom with Abby. She was still mindlessly sucking away on her pacifier. I still could not believe just how much my mother was babying Abby, but I dared not question it this time. For some strange reason, my mother believed that Abby could just tell her when she wanted to act like a big girl. My mother was supposed to be encouraging the big girl behavior, instead of discouraging it with a fresh bottle, her pacifier, and the diapers that she still wears both day and night. As a result, my sister was developmentally delayed. She spoke more like an 18-month-old than an almost 3-year-old. She didn’t even use a sippy cup. My poor little sister was just pampered and spoiled, and my mother never did anything about it. But why? Why keep my little sister from developing into a big girl? My mother grabbed the chore list from me and carefully glanced at every check mark. Now it wasn’t enough for her to just see the checks. She had to examine every area that corresponded to the completed task before I would be in the clear. After she checked all the chores and areas, she gave me a nod of approval. “You finished all of your chores, Gabby. Good girl…” I bit my lip. I’m pretty sure that if I were a dog, my mother would have given me a treat. My mother then looked at her smart watch and glanced at me again. “Now let’s have some dinner. I’ll meet you down there.” I took my cell phone out of my pocket and glanced at the time. 5:48 PM. I knew the next important rule of the Rivers Estate: Dinner was to be served at 6:00 PM. If I were late, even a minute late, I would not be having dinner that evening. Dinner was typically prepared by a private chef that my mother hired, and she would not hesitate to order the chef to take the covered plate of food away from me if I was late for dinner. This was both wasteful and unfair, but they were the official Rivers Estate rules that my mother made up. I promptly made my way downstairs and to the dining room, where three covered plates already sat. Two of the plates sat in the corner of a large dining room table fit for 20 people. The third smaller plate sat on a highchair next to the end seat, which belonged to my mother. I sat in the other seat perpendicular to her. I took my seat and waited for mom to arrive carrying Abby. She sat Abby in the highchair and lifted up the cover on the plate. The chef announced the dinner we would be having tonight, giving a detailed description of each entrée and the way that he prepared it. Abby’s dinner was three chicken nuggets, carefully cut into smaller pieces so that my mother could feed them to her. There was also a small portion of crinkle cut fries and a French apple tart. The tart was carefully cut into a very small piece just for Abby. But Abby wouldn’t be feeding herself. My mother would be feeding every last piece of the tart to Abby. For crying out loud, mom. I have not seen Abby feed herself once. Don’t you ever want to see Abby become a big girl? But again, I didn’t dare question my mother’s rather unusual parenting style. At this rate, Abby will still not be ready to attend school next year… Both mine and my mother’s dinner were the following entrées: A chicken Caesar salad. A deluxe Kobe Beef Cheeseburger served on freshly made onion buns. It had a delicious tangy ginger mayonnaise with greenhouse grown tomatoes, fresh romaine lettuce, and red onions. It also had freshly chopped portabella mushrooms and applewood smoked bacon drizzled with a sweet barbecue sauce and Dijon mustard. The same crinkle cut fries were there, only our portions were larger and were cooked in truffle oil and sprinkled with freshly grated parmesan cheese. The dipping sauce included tangy ginger mayonnaise. The dessert included a French apple tart, which was a full piece, instead of the tiny toddler-sized piece that Abby got. I ate my food and my mother ate hers after she finished feeding Abby. After we were both done, my mother finished feeding Abby her bottle, with still no sippy cup in sight. I drank my glass of milk, making sure that I finished every last drop. We didn’t need to clear the table, as that responsibility belonged to the chef. But I did have the responsibility to ask my mother to be excused. I knew how much trouble I would be in if I forgot to do this. So, I glanced up at my mother. “Mother,” I addressed, making careful eye contact with her. “May I please be excused from the table?” My mother glanced at my plate to ensure that every last morsel of food was consumed. She gave me a nod of approval. “You can be excused, Gabby. Please get ready for bed. After that, you are free to do evening activities. Bedtime is at 10:00.” I nodded and took this as my signal to get ready for bed so I could talk to my friends. I walked, not ran back up the stairs to my bedroom. I undressed myself and brushed my teeth, flossed, and used mouthwash. I then took a shower and dried off. I put on my bra with a pink nightgown and pulled the cell phone out of my pants pocket. I threw myself onto the king-sized bed, unfortunately landing right on top of my Lord of the Rings book. I sighed and picked up the still open book, carefully sitting it on the floor beneath my bed. I texted Gina and Renee in the group text. They both video called me and I merged the two calls, giving us a three-way conversation. “Hey.” I said as I laid on my bed, taking casual sips of water from my water bottle. “What’s up?” “The sky,” Gina said as a joke. “Are you finally free from your chores and sister duties?” I nodded. “For tonight I am. What do you all plan on doing?” “Can we go to the mall?” Renee offered as a suggestion. I sighed. “None of us can drive yet, so who would take us?” Renee smiled. “My mom could take both of us. And we could have a sleepover afterwards!” Gina sighed. “How about a pool party at my house? We got a very nice pool and I plan on inviting a lot of people…” “Will you invite any of the guys from Landon?” Renee teased Gina. “I know that you have a crush on one of them…” Gina’s face blushed. “Yes, that’s true. Us girls at Madeira don’t get a lot of opportunities to meet guys…” “That’s because Madeira wants us to study books, not boys,” I said with a smile. “That reminds me. Have any of you started on the summer project yet?” Both girls nodded. “Have you started, Gabby?” Gina asked me. “The project requires that you research your family tree and provide a 20-page essay describing your family members and what they mean to you. I’m almost finished with my project. My dad was very helpful in filling in all of the details.” Renee nodded. “My dad helped me too, but I don’t think I’ll be able to finish my project until July. Just before your birthday, Gabs…” Gina looked at me quizzically. “What about you, Gabby? Has your dad been helping you? Wait…Didn’t you tell us that you don’t have a dad?” I gave her a sad nod. “I have no idea where my dad is.” I told her. “I never met him in my life. When I was born, all I saw was my mother…” “Have you asked your mom about him?” Renee asked me. “I don’t mean to prod…” “It’s okay,” I told her. “I have asked my mother a number of times and she always tells me that she divorced him before I was even born. There’s no information that I can find on him anywhere…” I sighed. “My family tree will be missing my father…I’m going to fail the project…” “See if you can find something,” Gina said, trying to encourage me. I sighed. “I know that my mother does all of her research for Harvard. The problem is that I’m not allowed in her private laboratory or bedroom. Even if she kept any keepsake from my father, I wouldn’t be able to see it. Thanks for the encouragement though…” “Well, I’m getting tired.” Gina said, yawning. “I would like to do the pool party this Friday.” “And we can go to the mall on Saturday.” Renee added. “After that, we can have a sleepover at my house! We can discuss the details tomorrow. All I can say is get ready to stay up late…” I nodded. “It was nice catching up with you all. Good night!” “Good night!” both girls shouted. I glanced at my cell phone. The time was 7:38 PM. I didn’t want to go to bed right away, so I read a little more of my Lord of the Rings book. It was a little after 8:00, so I decided to play Super Mario Odyssey on the Nintendo Switch. I got a few more moons in the Metro Kingdom before I shut off my Switch and called it a night. The time was now 8:53 PM. It was just an hour before I had to go to bed. I charged my cell phone and turned off the lights. I got into my king-sized bed and pulled the covers over me, since the central air was on full blast, and I was freezing. I adjusted my pillow and laid on my side. Moments later, I fell asleep. That night, I had a horrible nightmare. It started with me discovering that my water bottle was empty. I left my room with it and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. I filled my water bottle with more ice and water. That’s when I was hit with a very strong urge to pee. I stood and squirmed as I began to do the potty dance. Fortunately, I was still able to maintain control of my bladder. I took my water bottle up the stairs and noticed the stairs becoming longer and longer with each step. My abdomen ached with the urge to pee again, and I ran up the infinite staircase. Eventually, I somehow reached the top. I then started to run down the hallway, trying to do everything to fight the urge to pee. The hallway started to become longer like the staircase. I made a sprint through the hallway, the endless hallway seeming to go on forever. I noticed the hallway doors to the left and right disappearing before my eyes, but I saw one door in front of me. I ran towards the door, but the hallway seemed to keep stretching forward with each step. Finally, the hallway stopped stretching and I reached for the knob of the door… But it was too late. I felt a wet patch of pee forming on my nightgown before it dripped down the legs to form a puddle. I didn’t make it to the bathroom. I pissed myself. And even worse, I pulled down my nightgown and glanced at my panties. Only it wasn’t my panties. Instead, it was one of my sister’s diapers. I glanced at the shade of yellow that filled the entire crotch area of the diaper. The diaper was entirely soaked and leaking. I then began to cry… I woke up feeling very wet. I got out of bed and lifted up the covers, feeling the pee-soaked night gown stick to my skin. I glanced at the fitted sheet and mattress to see a large wet patch of pee in the center of the bed. I could not believe my eyes. “No no no no no no!” I cried in disbelief. I was both embarrassed and mortified. This was the first time that I pissed myself since I was five years old. That’s when I heard a knock on the door. My heart sank. I am so dead…My heart raced as the knob turned and the door opened. My mother stood there and immediately began to take in her surroundings before a look of shock came over her face. She looked at me with her mouth wide open. “Gabby…” she said in a tone that indicated that I was clearly guilty and in a lot of trouble. “You wet the bed! You peed all over yourself and…” she did not finish her sentence. Instead, she angerly pointed in the direction of the bathroom. “Just go and get a shower. I’ll get someone to clean this up…” My mother got out her cellphone while I walked towards the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of my cell phone before I entered the bathroom to clean up. 9:14 AM. I hurriedly took off my pee-soaked nightgown, bra, and panties and took a shower. When I was finished, I wrapped myself in a towel and exited the bathroom. My mother was still standing in my room, waiting for one of our maids to go and take care of my soaked bedding. Trying to help the situation, I fully explained my dream to my mother. She gave me a stern look and gazed into my eyes. “So, you tried to use the bathroom in your dream?” She pointed to the soaked bedding. “That was just an accident, Gabby. Don’t let it happen again.” To make matters worse, my mother went and brought Abby into the room. She showed Abby the scene of my accident and pointed at me. “You see your sister there, Abby? Gabby had an accident. Now big girls aren’t supposed to have accidents. So, I will give her the benefit of the doubt for this one. But if it happens three more times, mommy is going to take away Gabby’s underwear, and she’s going to wear Pull Ups.” She then turned her face towards me and raised her voice. “Do I make myself clear, Gabby?” I nodded. But my mother wasn’t done. She looked at me and pointed in the direction of the bed. “Stand over there.” She then looked back at my baby sister. “You see Gabby there? Gabby is a naughty girl, and mommy’s going to teach her a lesson.” She walked over to me and firmly grabbed my neck, making me drop my bath towel. I was now standing completely naked in front of my mother and sister. She then pressed my face into the pee-soaked bedding. I closed my mouth so I wouldn’t get any piss in it. I started to lift my face up, but she pushed my face even harder into the soaked bedding. “Don’t move!” A few seconds later, I felt a sting of pain on my behind. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! My mother screamed at the top of her lungs, beating me hard with each syllable. “You! Will! Not! Wet! The! Bed! Any! More!” My eyes filled with tears, and they began to drip onto the soaked bedding that my face was pressed into. My mother then pulled me by the hair off of the bedding and then turned my face towards hers. “Gabby, you have three strikes,” she warned. “Three strikes and you lose your big girl privileges. Don’t you dare disappoint me.” She left the room with my sister, who looked just as numb as the other day. Seriously. I have never seen my sister truly happy before. What is wrong with her? I looked at the soaked bedding. What is wrong with me? I haven’t wet the bed since I was five and now a maid has to clean this up. I thought about the accident and how much of a fluke it was. My mother was right. It was just an accident. And the sharp pain that I felt from her beating reminded me of it. But I only had three strikes. Three strikes until I was in Pull Ups. I haven’t worn Pull Ups since I was three years old. That accident that I had at five was also a fluke, so there wasn’t any Pull Ups or diapers that she had me wear. Just three strikes. But with this bedwetting being only a fluke, I don’t expect to use any of them. I just hoped that I was right.

Well, I have a new story idea that I couldn't help but write a couple of starting chapters while attempting to focus on my other stories. If you're confused about the title, you'll see that I'm focusing on a separate fae universe in my stories (because the fae - fairy-like creatures of both benevolence and maliciousness - are very intriguing mythological creatures that I've wanted to delve into for a long while and finally got a solid idea for it that I've been writing out). As far as content warnings for this story (and why it's rated mature): body horror, mutilation (stated in this chapter), and modification, full physical, mental, and emotional age regression, scenes of serious violence, abuse, and implied torture, character death, human slavery, sexual extortion (and by all technical things, it could absolutely be classified as rape since consent isn't there), mental disassociation, memory-erasing/mind-wiping, bullying, political stuff (in the fae world, for the most part, but also for humanity as well; it won't be as prominent as Weres Wear Everywhere, but it's there), bigotry (humans towards fae and fae towards humans alike), and language. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. If you aren't scared away by all of the content warnings, feel free to read on: - Chapter One: Emergency Phone Call - Tansy Coombs was out for dinner in a fancy seafood restaurant in Tampa Bay with her boyfriend, absentmindedly tapping her fork on her uneaten grouper without eating when she got a call that changed her life forever. As a pro women’s tennis player and attractive with curly red hair, warm sea-green eyes, and a curvy, athletic frame, she had no shortage of suitors, no shortage of assholes who wanted to have a relationship with her…but somehow, Romilly Airington was different. She had dated him for four months, and he had been nothing short of courteous and kind toward her, not showing any red flags whatsoever. During the rare times when they met, he was even nice and friendly towards her long-time guy friends, her oldest and closest friends. Tansy smiled while in her own thoughts, Stuart Hooper and Cyrus Weaver, who were fellow pro tennis players with girlfriends of their own, and judging by their star-struck looks (which she found absolutely adorable) whenever they talked about them (as well as said girlfriends confessing to Tansy how madly in love they were with her friends), it wouldn’t be long before she had to replace the word “girlfriends” with “fiancées” and maybe even “wives” eventually. Of course, there was that one thing that she couldn’t tell anyone about, even Stuart and Cyrus. Mother… Tansy was estranged from her mother for many reasons. Yeah, she occasionally contacted her mom (even though cell phones weren’t what her mother used for…reasons) for the holidays and her birthday, but they always had nothing to talk about, and every time they did, it was a danger to both of their lives - for Tansy was half-fae, and her mother, Vulperia Cinnamoncloud, was the Queen of the fae’s Court, known to all of the fae as “An Cúirt”. Vulperia hated humans. She never trusted Stuart or Cyrus, let alone approved of Romilly in the slightest. And ever since her spouse - Tansy’s father - died, her hatred towards humans was only more pronounced, more embittered. Tansy had no room for hatred in her heart. She knew that she’d long outlive any human, even being only half-fae; her time with her friends was far too precious to waste on anger, especially since both boys had stayed best friends with her at her lowest moment. Besides, a lot of fae did horrible things to humans as well, playing completely malicious tricks on them at best, and brutally murdering them at worst. Her mother wouldn’t hurt humans, even for all of her bigotry, all of her bitterness. She may have hated humans, but she didn’t want to declare war like a fair number of fae; she just wanted humanity to leave them alone. Tansy supposed she couldn’t blame her mother for that…but that didn’t mean that her friends or boyfriend deserved the vitriol and cold hatred she showed against them. And now Cyrus and Stuart were both really sick with vomiting, fevers, stomach cramps, and diarrhea. Food poisoning, they said. They’d get over it in a week, they said. Well, it had been a week, they hadn’t gotten better, and she was concerned, putting them in her home in Tampa so that they’d be together and have help (neither of them were wanting to go to the hospital, given that their next match - the U.S. Open where both of them were playing for the title and keeps - was in two weeks). She even told them to call her phone number during her date if they really needed her help, she was that concerned for their health. “Tansy? Are you…okay?” Tansy looked up to see Romilly. The man looked unassuming, wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses that made his concerned hazel eyes, shifting from gold to green and brown depending on the light, seem much bigger than they were, his hair a military buzzcut of sandy-brown with a Van Dyke-like curled moustache and goatee showing the otherwise hidden color prominently. His height was exactly six feet, five inches taller than she was, and his body, the rare times she saw him shirtless (and she couldn’t help but notice the awful scarring all over his back…almost like he had been whipped with a cat-o-nine by a total sadist. She had not gained the courage to ask him where it was from; given what she was hiding, she thought it would’ve been horribly rude of her to ask.) was sinewy and packed with lean, toned muscle. Romilly Airington may not have been the most handsome man out there, and if women were looking for an attractive hunk of a man, he wouldn’t have been on the list. But Tansy only cared about one thing: if Romilly treated her, Cyrus, Stuart, and their lovers right - and the one time she saw him interact with them all at the party in Miami two months ago cemented that he really was a very kind, gentle, and genuine soul. There was not a hateful bone in the man’s body, that she could tell from long experience of many dates gone bad. “Yes, Mills?” she asked, using his pet name. “You haven’t touched your grouper. Is everything okay?” Tansy figured she could say the thing that was truly on her mind. “Stu and Cy got sick a week ago. Really bad food poisoning.” Romilly’s eyes widened. “Are they okay?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. “I know that the U.S. Open is soon. It’s okay, we can continue the date after they’re better, and-” Her phone rang, and her heart plummeted into her stomach when she saw the number: the number was her home phone. The fae-safe phone; iron was the weakness of every single person with fae blood, and no fae could even handle touching it but goblins and half-fae that denied their heritage. Like her. “Hello?” she asked cautiously, holding her phone to her ear. “Mommy!” a voice cried out. A very young girl’s voice. “Mommy, me and Stuey need help!” She sighed. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but-” “Mommy, it’s Cy-Cy! ‘Member me?” “Mommy!” Another little girl’s voice was bawling out the words. “Me and Cy-Cy had accidents! We’re sorry!” “Tell me what you remember,” Tansy said gently. “I’m not sure who you are.” “You had accidents, too!” the first girl whimpered. “All the way till big school! The really big school!” “We dressed as babies for Halloween in the academy to help you!” the second girl sobbed. “‘Member the trick-or-treat at the big school?” She froze. Yeah, it was common knowledge that she had been a late bloomer when it came to potty training…for the people who knew her up to middle school and her freshman year of high school. And nobody at the tennis academy she was at knew. But it was the Halloween trick-or-treat that cemented it, that made her immediately know that despite sounding like little girls, they were her lifelong friends. Tansy didn’t know who would play such a horrible trick on her or them, but if her mother had hurt those two in any way… “Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can,” she said in a soothing tone. “Hang tight.” She hung up, her eyes wide as moons. “Cyrus and Stuart?” Romilly deduced, his eyes gazing at her curiously behind his glasses. “Yes. I have to go.” “I’ll save the food and pay for our meal. Don’t worry about it. Go to them.” Tansy nodded her thanks to Romilly, getting her purse and smoothing out her black knee-length dress before leaving for her car, a gray 2016 Dodge Durango SUV, the afternoon sun beating down on it. She was breathing in a panic as she turned the key in the ignition, exiting the restaurant’s parking lot, barely remembering to turn on the AC so she wasn’t cooked by the August heat. Sweat poured down her face, and she wiped her head, obeying the traffic laws as laxly as she could afford to; if the fae were responsible in any way for what was going on, time was of the essence. After thirty arduous minutes - and more than one red light run; she’d pay for it later, but right now, she didn’t care - she had arrived at her two story Tampa house, killing the Durango in the driveway, fumbling with the keys to open the front door. “Cy? Stu?” she called out, as she entered the warm house. “Mommy!” the two simultaneous voices of young girls called out. Then Tansy saw the two, and she dropped her phone and keys from her nerveless fingers as her whole world went to hell. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Hey-lo, and welcome to yet another AR Hellaverse story by yours truly~ This time, the Hazbin Hotel cast are going to be prominently featured (along with an OC) since Charlie Morningstar and Vaggie are going to be the ones being regressed! Still, the Helluva Boss cast (because I just can't leave them behind) are going to be prominent as well...only in the lines of an alternate universe. Basically, the Immediate Murder Professionals (I.M.P.) are just starting out, some of the characters haven't met yet, and some of the backstories for a lot of the characters are going to be different, yet similar. It also features a fair bit of shipping (including one ship that isn't in the canon series), sooo, there's that. There's also one character (well, a few, if you count Lilith, Arackniss, Molly, and some other possibly future characters) who is supposed to be in the Hellaverse who hasn't been delved into at all, so expect this story to eventually be somewhat non-canon, once Season Two is out (and unfortunately, I can't access it. Stupid Amazon Prime and their forcing to pay for content...), and basically, expect things to be different. Also, as a WARNING: this is Hell. Sad backstories are going to be prevalent. Domestic abuse (if anyone has seen Valentino - who seriously needs Raid - you'll know what I mean), sexual assault and questionable sexual decisions, drug usage, poverty, homelessness, hedonism, death, and such are going to be there...and it will be done tactfully and with respect to the importance of the subjects in question. Also, there will be lots of language. Tread lightly. Now, without further ado, here's the first chapter: - Chapter One: And Today Will Be A Fucking (Un)Happy Day in Hell. - Charlie Morningstar was enjoying her time at the Happy Hotel, especially since her girlfriend, Vaggie, was there. Sure, there was a fair bit of conflict between the Hotel and the Vees (particularly Valentino, who always seemed to want Angel Dust back at his porn studio); sure, the residents weren’t exactly…friendly with each other (Cherri Bomb and Angel seemed close, but both constantly started arguments with everyone - mostly Sir Pentious and his eggs, but also with the recent newcomer. Angel was full of innuendos and inner anger, Husker was grumpy and prone to drinking, Pentious was neurotic and had dreams of grandeur, Cherri was spontaneous and a bit destructive, Niffty was a bit psychotic, the newcomer was antisocial and nameless, and Alastor…well, best not to think about Alastor.); sure, her father and mother were a bit…distant (she hadn’t called her father, Lucifer, on the phone in months, and she hadn’t heard from her mother, Lilith, for even longer.), but she had never felt happier, never felt like this was actually going to work more than she did today. Because Vaggie had been there the whole time, and she had actually kissed her. Yes, it was on the cheek, but Charlie didn’t care; she was over the moon. She didn’t know the Sinner’s full story, didn’t know why her left eye was gone…but she didn’t feel the need to ask. They trusted each other implicitly, ever since Charlie had helped Vaggie that one fateful Extermination, and that trust quickly grew to affection…and maybe even more, if that kiss was anything to go by. KeeKee, the pet cat/key to the Hotel and Fat Nuggets the young Hellhog, were racing around the room, obviously under the influence of the zoomies as they knocked over the sculptures, fruit bowls stands, and just about everything else while chasing each other, with Razzle and Dazzle desperately trying to keep the damage to a minimal amount. Then a female voice echoed from downstairs, reaching Charlie’s room as she quickly did her makeup. Vaggie’s voice. “I told you all to be here: we’re supposed to be doing our trust-building exercises! Now wait for Charlie-” “The only reason I’m down here is because some asshole got into my fucking weed brownie stash!” The newcomer, obviously in the lovely antisocial mood she was usually in. “Now, people can cough it up, or I will fuck them up!” “Nobody cares about your weed brownie stash, bitch!” Cherri’s Australian accent came through as Charlie quickly walked out of the room, trusting in Razzle and Dazzle to keep the chaos from both hers and Angel’s pets to the barest minimum. “You’re a bitch!” “You don’t get to call Cherri a bitch, you fucking pipsqueak!” Angel’s voice as Charlie walked downstairs, trying to prepare herself for the team-building exercises. “Then why can’t the bitch stick up for herself, manwhore?” “Oi, you don’t get to call Angel that, you cunt!” “Whatever, fuckface. I’m only here because I don’t have a place to stay at the moment, and I need room and board.” “Then why even come here in the firssst place?” Pentious hissed. “Yeah, I hate to agree with the literal spy, but he makes a good point.” Husker growled to Pentious’s sputtering defense. “Why are you even here if you’re not even-” “Oh, shut up and get me a fucking drink, bartender.” “I’m not on the clock right now.” “Do I have to suck your dick to get a fucking drink around here?” “We are not drinking, newbie!” Vaggie shouted, her tone filled with annoyance. “This is a team-building exercise, and-” “Fine! Goooo team!” the sarcastic response came from the newcomer as Charlie took a deep breath and entered the room. “Hellooo, everyone!” Charlie said cheerfully. “I hope you’ve had a good morning, because-” “Can I just go to the kitchen to make some more weed brownies after I hear what you have to say?” the newcomer asked in a bored tone. She was a tiny (probably a foot smaller than Niffty, since she was wearing no shoes on her feet, which looked more like paws) mammalian Sinner with a slim foxlike snout, a black-furred mask around her red eyes, thick, mottled light brown fur with darker brown fur on her arms, legs, throat, and the tip of her tail and a very long tail the same color that poked out of her black jeans and curled around her waist. She wore a simple black tank top that exposed her navel, and a black fedora to complete the ensemble. The only reason she didn’t look like a child Sinner were the large (for her size) breasts. The newcomer had explained that she was obviously a tanuki with an extra-long tail…whatever that was. She never even gave her name; she had just appeared one acid-rainy day, bedraggled, starving, and asked for help…and despite the trepidation of the others, Charlie knew that this angrily sarcastic persona was a mask that hid a hurting soul underneath. Besides, anyone could change for the better: Sir Pentious, who had gone in under orders from Vox before the latter cruelly discarded him, was living proof! So, why couldn’t this Sinner change as well? “Well, it would be safe in the kitchen, and it might help you for a short time, but interacting with others is part of these activities,” Charlie said with a smile on her face. “And I’m sure you want to make friends.” “I don’t care about anyone here.” “Then why even stay?” Angel clapped back. “Charlie, at least, wants to help everyone. You haven’t done shit to earn it! You haven’t even participated in the activities!” “And I’m not participating in this one either. Later, losers.” The mammal Sinner tried to leave…before Husk grabbed her by her long tail. She gave a horrible basilisk-like glare at the winged feline Sinner, and hissed in a similar tone, “Let. Me. Go. Do not. FUCKING. Touch me.” “Not until you’re a part of this,” the Hotel’s bartender said in that calm, smooth tone of his, sounding annoyed for once. “You want to act like a big bad bitch, but you ain’t shit. You’re on a leash, same as everyone here; you just hide it with sarcasm and hatred. Charlie could’ve kicked you out a long time ago, but she didn’t, Lucifer knows why. You are going to pay her back for her kindness, or you will answer to all of us.” Angel grabbed the newcomer by the scruff of her neck fur, as she tried to snap back with her fangs bared, Cherri and Pentious each grabbing her by one of her arms. Even Niffty and Pentious’s Egg Bois joined in: the Hotel maid had a grip on the newcomer’s tail along with Husk, and the sentient demonic eggs had her legs as they half-frogmarched/half-carried her back to the activity. “Fuckers! I’ll fucking fuck every motherfucking one of you fucking fuckers up!” the newcomer howled, as she kicked and bit and screamed to get loose. “You’re literally three feet tall,” Pentious said bluntly. “Omae o bukkorosu zo! Watashi wa inu no yō ni kusari de tsunaga rete wa inai!” “Dare ga chēn ni tsuite nani ka itta no?” Husk answered in perfect Japanese. “WHY DO YOU SPEAK MY - FUCK!” “You got somethin’ other than ‘fuck’ or any variation of the sort?” Cherri snickered. “AHHHH, FUCK YOOOUUU ALLLL!” “So classy. And yet, so…interesting as well,” a new distorted voice came. Alastor had entered the room without anyone noticing, the evil smile on his face and cruel amusement in his eyes showing his true emotions, as the diminutive Sinner tried desperately to get away again…only for Alastor to put a literal collar and leash on her with his shadows. Not an Overlord kind of collar and leash, but one that would fit a little Hellhound girl, complete with a garish pink and flowers on the collar, one that her neck fur was somewhat fighting against, but otherwise fit the Sinner perfectly. Alastor wasn’t done yet; he used his magic to change the Sinner’s clothes into a ruffled pink dress, pink flats, and a pink sunhat. She collapsed in a heap with a defeated, embarrassed expression, looking very close to crying, making Charlie increasingly uncomfortable. “Um, maybe we can-” “Charlie, I think it’s best that we try the activity some other time.” Vaggie had not spoken the entire time, but the tone of her voice was gentle towards Charlie...before she glared at the newcomer Sinner. “You. Go back to your room. Think about your actions and maybe participate in the next activity, or I’ll throw you out myself. Clear?” “Crystal…it’s…crystal…” The newcomer Sinner’s tail was tucked between her legs as she trudged upstairs, the leash dragging behind her. She disappeared from view before the sound of a door slamming shut with full force echoed through the Hotel, sending KeeKee and Fat Nuggets scrambling downstairs in terror with Razzle and Dazzle in full pursuit. Both of the hellish animals leapt into the arms of their owners - Charlie and Angel, respectively - as both tried to comfort the pets. Then the doorbell rang, and a masculine voice outside shouted, “Gift delivery!” Charlie looked confused as KeeKee leapt out of her arms and hissed. “Did anyone order a gift?” she asked. Everyone looked confused. “I guess the newcomer ordered it,” Vaggie said as she walked to the door. “I just hope it isn’t with our funding…” Charlie went to Vaggie’s side, opening the door. “It’s probably just-” The package, held by a tall male imp, was dropped in front of them, the package top opening, and a clear powder sprayed all over Charlie and Vaggie, as the startled imp shouted, “Holy fuck!”, jumping away from the powder. The two women coughed…and began to shrink. - Now for the Japanese language (at least, I think; I've tried Google and Google Translate, sooo...yeah. Apologies to any Japanese viewer in advance; I tried my genuine best.) : Omae o bukkorosu zo! Watashi wa imaimashī inu no yō ni kusari de tsunaga rete nanka inai! = I'll fucking kill you! I'm not chained up like some damned dog! Dare ga chēn ni tsuite nani ka itta no? = Who said anything about chains? Hope you enjoyed~

Okay, I know I'm coming up with all sorts of ideas lately, so I'm gonna go for this writing spree as I have it. Welcome to Curses!, a babyfur story where six prospective college-aged animals applying for a daycare job are physically and emotionally (but not mentally, per my usual) age-regressed~ Not exactly original, but I hope to put some new spins on it~ Of course, there's going to be a few mature themes that are dealt with in the content warning tags, so if you know you'll be affected in any way, you can stop reading at any point, and I will make sure to warn you guys when those things come up. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. And now, without further ado, the story: - Chapter One: Six Girls, One Job - Vanessa Cruickshank was bored and ready for the tour to begin for the daycare job she and her bestie, Shannon, applying for along with four other competitors. The giant anteater was dressed casually for the Bay Brooklet Development and Learning Daycare Center in Charlotte, North Carolina, wearing a black tank top with a skull in the middle, ripped blue jeans, and scuffed sneakers, her long bushy tail swishing with annoyance, as she waited outside in the chilly early October Saturday morning with the five other young women in her group. Needless to say, most of them didn’t get along with each other. “Watch where you’re swishing your tail!” the shortest among them, an Arctic hare, snapped. She was dressed to the nines: a white blouse, knee-length black skirt, black leggings, and five-inch heels (that somehow fit her large feet). “Hey, I don’t control where my tail goes!” Vanessa clapped back. “L-Leave her alone!” a mountain zebra spat at the anteater in a deeper voice that denoted her as trans. She wore a shin-length sky-blue dress (that didn’t work with her figure) and flats. “Funny, I thought she didn’t need a sidekick,” Shannon O’Brettle quipped harshly, the margay brushing her black miniskirt, her green sports tank top baring her midriff and combat boots somehow even more casual than Vanessa’s clothes. “At least I don’t dress like a slut to the job interview,” the hare sneered. “At least I rock my looks, Miss A Cup,” Shannon retorted, as the zebra looked down at her hooves shyly, the hare’s tiny paws patting the woman’s legs (as far as she could reach) gently as she glared at the margay. “And the job specifically insisted to wear your favorite clothes to the interview.” “C’mon, can’t we just have fun here?” a maned wolf asked in annoyance. She wore black jean shorts and crocs as well as a black T-shirt depicting a keyboard with the words “Don’t play me!” emblazoned on it. “There are three openings for pairs. We don’t have to argue.” “Just ignore them,” the final girl, an African wild dog, growled, trying to keep her ankle-length golden skirt and loose silver silk top from fluttering in the heavy gale, as she shuffled on her sandals. “Just because there’s six openings doesn’t mean they’ll get the job.” The job, Vanessa thought. Every one of them was desperate to get this job; it seemed like a dream for her, taking care of babies for six figures a month (she was not used to kids, only having an older brother and no younger siblings or cousins, but Shannon was, and she did everything with the margay), almost too good to be true. But she and Shannon were college seniors (and from the look of the others, they were as well), and they needed the money. Then the door opened, and a female northern flying squirrel wearing casual clothing (a red t-shirt without a logo, gray sweats, and tennis shoes) exited the daycare. She looked to be only a little older than they were. “Hi, I’m so glad you all could come!” she said in a perky tone. “I’m Connie Zanovelli, and I’m the head sitter of Bay Brooklet Development and Learning Daycare.” Vanessa was the first to shake paws, noting that Connie was even smaller than the Arctic hare. “Nice to meet you,” the anteater said politely. “Vanessa Cruickshank.” Shannon was next. “Shannon O’Brettle,” the margay said confidently. The hare followed. “Victoria Box,” she said in a cool tone. “Wait, Box?” Shannon asked. “As in the rich female couple?” The hare’s face flushed. “Yeah, what of it?” she muttered. “Why are you interviewing for this job, then?” the margay asked curiously, her tone surprisingly concerned. “Your moms cut you off or something?” “Because some of us want to take care of kids.” The maned wolf shook paws next. “Tempest Pitcairn. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Zanovelli.” The African wild dog continued with the paw-shaking. “Shiloh Nash. Good to meet you, ma’am.” The mountain zebra sighed shyly, shuffling her hooves, seeing as she was last. “I-I’m Hester Dampier. I-It’s good to m-meet you, Ms. Zanovelli, ma’am.” “It’s wonderful to meet you all as well, but please, call me ‘Connie’; ‘Ms. Zanovelli’ and ‘ma’am’ sound so stuffy.” Connie’s smile was friendly. “Technically, the Pilkvists wanted to hire extra help. I’m assuming there’s going to be a lot of kids, given the hires.” “How long have you been here?” Vanessa asked. “About a month. They just opened the daycare to the public, so…” Connie looked almost contemplative. “Well, I’m glad that you all are here for the job interview.” Vanessa looked at Shannon, the margay’s face matching her confusion. Only a month open? That was…a bit unusual. “My bosses wanted to hire extra help for whatever reason,” the flying squirrel said. “So…shall we go in? It’s a bit too cold to stand outside.” “Of course,” Victoria said, barging her way in with Hester, her apparent friend, following nervously. Shiloh and Tempest followed next, leaving Vanessa staring at Shannon. “You sure about this, Ness?” the tree cat asked. “It’s a little…” “Weird? Sketchy?” the giant anteater finished. “Yeah, but if it pays six figures a month for this alone, I’m willing.” “Thanks for coming with me, Ness. I know kids aren’t exactly your thing…” “Any time, Shanny. Let’s go in.” The two lifelong friends went into the daycare and looked around. The walls had a light pink hue and were decorated with infantile posters, the floor was covered entirely with soft fuzzy carpet, and the ceiling lights were warm yet not intrusive, but other than that, it was sadly empty of anything, like the items were going to be moved in at a later date. Even the other four applicants weren’t there, only Connie was outside of an office door that they hadn’t noticed before. “They want you going in separately,” the flying squirrel said to them. “Good luck with the interview!” “Where is the next one?” an older female voice asked in a raspy tone. “Who wants to go?” Connie asked. “You do it first; I know I’ll do well enough,” Vanessa said with a smirk. “Fine. I’ll see you as an employee,” Shannon said with a smirk of her own as the margay walked to the door, opened it, and entered the room. Vanessa waited and waited, tapping her foot, before she felt her phone buzzing to display a text message. The anteater was annoyed; she had purposely kept her phone on vibrate and told her folks not to call her during the interview. She looked at the message, no, a lot of messages, one after another. Threatening, wheedling, threatening again, demanding her to answer, threatening yet again, faux loving shit, and, to nobody’s surprise, threatening once more. In short? Another message from…him. Her stupid fucking ex, Ryan. She had blocked all of his phone numbers, but he always got a different phone to call her with. It was annoying and more than slightly scary. The anteater blocked this one as well; she had no time to deal with this shit. She noticed the time. Almost noon. What was taking so long? Connie was on the phone with someone as well, as she said, “Raffy, I know you wanted to pick me up for that fancy lunch, but I’ve got a slate of interviews at my job, and my bosses are very nitpicky about that.” A pause. “Sure, 1:30 PM works; they never stated anything otherwise…” Then the door opened, and Vanessa got nervous - because Shannon, nor any of the other four, for that matter, had not exited the room. “If we can see the final young lady?” a different raspy female voice asked. “Okay, looks like you’re up, Vanessa!” Connie said in a perky tone. “Good luck!” The anteater sighed, ready to go in and try to nail the interview in spite of her trepidation, not having a clue of what was to come. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

I know that I should be working on A Little Loony, along with my other fiction, but bipolar disorder demands that I focus my efforts elsewhere, for now...so we come to the second of my Helluva Boss age regression fanfictions, one based with Moxxie (who gets a fair bit of age regressor stuff on AO3) and Millie (whom, sadly, does not)! Naturally, the backstories of a few of the characters are pretty sad, so there's content warning based on that; I will warn you when we get to these parts. Also, this does not feature diapers like my other stories do. The imps who are regressed are five-year-olds who are potty-trained, and while there may be funny moments like needing to go while they're in the car, that's about it. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. In any case, here's the first chapter of Ki(mp)Court: - Chapter One: Early Extermination - Millie and Moxxie were going on a private date in Pride when things went to Hell - figuratively and literally. Millie was the one driving as Moxxie stared out of the window. Millie drove at a speed a little faster than most denizens of Hell. Not to the speed of their boss, Blitz (he was known as “Blitzo”, but the “o” was silent), but definitely a long way over the speed limit, and the streets of Pride were beginning to blend together as they drove close to the limits of Pentagram City for a lovely dinner at a fancy restaurant (The Rusty Hammer and Nail, supposed to have excellent Hell Hog burgers) before a night of…well, Moxxie could imagine the night they’d have in the bedroom. He looked at his wife lovingly. Millie was his everything; beautiful, brave, kind, strong, passionate, just an amazing woman he loved more than anything. He couldn’t imagine his life without her, and he knew she loved him just as much and felt the same way he did. He took a random look in the rearview mirror and let out a sound like a choking cat. Blitz’s van was right behind them with their boss driving like a maniac. And Loona, his hellhound adopted daughter, was clinging to the front seat, looking terrified at the tall imp’s driving. “HE’S STALKING US TO OUR DATE!” he shouted in annoyance. “AND I TOLD HIM NOT TO DO IT AFTER WE GOT KICKED OUT OF OZZIE’S, AND THAT RABID BITCH IS WITH HIM, TOO!” Millie chanced a look back and sighed. “Well, we could make concessions for them,” she said. “Moxx, that’s who Blitz is.” “That doesn’t make it right, Millie!” “He’s our boss…” “And it’s entirely inappropriate!” “Moxx, just…let’s just enjoy the night, whatever may happen.” The smaller imp grumbled, sinking into the seat, as they drove down the street…only to hear a siren. A very familiar siren. The Extermination Day’s siren. But it was too early, it wasn’t even three months since the last Extermination, it had to be a drill. “Moxx, were we scheduled to have a drill?” Millie asked, her eyes worried. “Mills, I’m sure it’s fine, it’s-” Then a blaring note on their phones echoed, and his heart stopped in fear. “Extermination Day has been moved up,” a metallic female voice echoed. “Take cover as soon as possible. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. Take cover as soon as possible.” “We’re not being targeted,” he said with a nervous laugh, holding on to his wife as he saw the hole open up, saw the angels pour out of the hole, weapons drawn. “We’re Hellborn, the Exterminators don’t target Hellbo-” A rocket was fired at their car from one of the angels, and Millie grabbed Moxxie and leapt out with him…just in the nick of time, as they saw their vehicle go up in smoke. They scrambled to the side of the road, near a row of burnt-out buildings, Millie having drawn out her knives, and Moxxie, his pistol, as they took cover in a charred building without a roof. He chanced a look up at the sky, hearing the screams of Sinners dying. Moxxie was panicking, breathing heavily before Millie kissed him on the lips. He broke off for a second. “Mills, is this rea-” “We don’t stand a chance against Exterminators,” she whispered to him. “You know that. I know that. If we die, I want to have this memory of you and me. I want our last moment to be our best.” Moxxie nodded, tears in his eyes - tears in both of their eyes - as he kissed Millie, a kiss that would last a lifetime, a kiss that was their lifeline. Then he heard Millie scream in pain that he wished his lovely ray of hellfire would never feel, felt something hit his chest, shooting horrific pain into his nervous system, blood vessels, and brain, and he screamed in agony before everything went black. - Blitz was listening to his daughter, Loona, grumble as she texted Beelzebub, Vortex, and a couple of the hounds she met at the party, saying she couldn’t go, as he dressed in a nice long coat, shirt, and pants, along with his signature skull choker. “Can’t believe I’m missing a great opportunity to go to a party in Gluttony for this,” Loona muttered, flicking her white hair to one side as she tapped on her phone. “I know I’m keeping my word to Bee after you went to Gluttony to get me the first time, but still…” “Aw, c’mon, Loony, it’ll be great!” Blitz said excitedly. “We could go to an awesome restaurant in Pentagram City - Hell, even Sinners need to eat, right? - hit up Stylish Occult at the end, and you can get what you’d like within reason! What’s not to love?” “Whatever…” Blitz felt a little bad at not telling Loona the truth. He was going to that restaurant because the M&M couple were going. They were his friends, and he realized that they didn’t want him in their private life…but he wanted that intimacy, craved that affection, feeling like he didn’t deserve it, but knowing he wanted it, wanted it more than anything. Especially after…the evening at Ozzie’s. With Stolas. Hell, that hurt so much…but it’s why he wanted to go with that couple. They had something he admired, and he wanted it, even if it was rejected again and again, even if it was as a third wheel. And now he was bringing Loony along…even if he didn’t know why. No, he knew why: he wanted that familial bond that they had…to include her as well, as more than just coworkers. Because he knew some of Loona’s past, knew she had gone through shit that was horrifying, even by Hell’s standards, and he wanted her, Moxxie, Millie, and himself to be one giant family. One giant fucked up family in Hell. Ah, fuck if he knew. Fuck if he knew anything that was wrong with him. What he did know was that he was going to that restaurant with them, see how everything would go. Impulsive? Yeah, but that’s who he was. He grabbed the keys as Loona continued texting, grumbling as she got in the front seat of the IMP van that doubled as their normal car. He got in the driver’s seat, turned the key as the van rumbled to life, listened to the Pride station blare out music (Loona had headphones in; her phone doubled as an hPhone, so she could listen to her own music if she wanted to.) as they drove off. He drove surprisingly carefully for him, only honking his horn twice and cutting off only several cars than all of them, his eyes craning for Moxxie and Millie’s car…and when he spotted it, he immediately gunned for the car like a maniac, startling Loona out of her music with a shocked yelp. “You set this whole fucking thing up with Moxxie and Millie AGAIN?!” Loona screamed, as she held onto the car’s seat with her claws, her eyes wide with terror at the sheer insanity of his driving. “And you roped ME into it?!” “Loony, I know it sounds bad, but-” “I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH THEM OUTSIDE OF WORK! THEY ARE MY COWORKERS, AND THAT’S IT!” “Let’s just go to the restaurant. I’ll even order what you want, but let’s-” Then the Extermination Day sirens blared out, and Loona whimpered. “It’ll be okay, Loony-Toony, I’m sure it’s only a dri-” “Extermination Day has been moved up,” the metallic voice echoed. “Take cover as soon as possible. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. Take cover as soon as possible.” “Shit, shit, shit, shit-” Loona swore multiple times, her tail tucked between her legs, eyes wide with fear. “Loony, they don’t target Hellborn, remember?” A rocket hit the van of Moxxie and Millie, as they barely got out in time, as he saw them scramble towards a burned out building. “I FUCKING HATE YOU, BLITZ!” Loona screamed. Blitz veered off the road, parking the van close by the building, as they saw an angel, its wings purely black without any lines, go into the building and shoot Moxxie and Millie with an angelic pistol as they were kissing, hitting them both in the chest. He went into the building, his flintlock pistol at the ready, along with a snarling Loona, ready to avenge the couple. The first angel went in for the kill, raising her gun, and that’s when things got crazy: another angel, with mostly gray wings and a black stripe across them stood in front of them, facing the first angel…and started to verbally ream the other angel up the ass. “YOU - FUCKING - MORON!” the second angel roared in a feminine ethereal tone. “What is Extermination 101? What is the very first rule you learn when you become an Exterminator? What is the ONE - FUCKING - THING we are NOT - under ANY circumstances, no matter WHAT those circumstances might be - allowed to do?!” The first angel lowered its head and mumbled in a feminine tone. “Target Hellborn or anyone other than Sinners.” “WHAT DO THEY FUCKING LOOK LIKE TO YOU?!” “...Hellborn imps.” “SO FUCKING HEAL THEM BEFORE WE START AN EXTRADIMENSIONAL INCIDENT!” Blitz aimed his flintlock at the second angel, who tried to pacify the situation after taking a deep breath. “Apologies for shouting, and apologies for my dullard apprentice. Do not worry, imp and hellhound; my colleague will heal them, and they’ll be right as rai-” The angel went over to Moxxie and Millie and spread a white light over them…and they began to shrink. “WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO, YOU STUPID BITCH?!” the second angel screeched in disbelief, and Blitz and Loona watched in horror as their coworkers shrunk into their clothes, getting smaller and smaller, even though the bullet holes were healing. “PLEASE, GOD ALMIGHTY, PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE NOT SUCH AN UTTERLY FUCKING INCOMPETENT AND USELESS IMBECILE THAT YOU COULD BOTCH A SIMPLE HEALING PRAYER WITH A FUCKING COMPLEX PERMA-YOUTHENING SPELL?!” “Um…” the first angel said sheepishly. “Sorry?” “SORRY?! SORRY?! I’LL ‘SORRY’ YOU, YOU STUPID FUCKING SILLY CUNT! YOU JUST TOOK AT LEAST TWENTY CENTURIES OFF OF MY AFTERLIFE WITH YOUR SHIT! LET ME HANDLE THIS, AND AFTER I’M DONE, I’LL MAKE YOU SORRY YOU EVER WENT TO HEAVEN, BY JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, MOSES OF FUCKING EGYPT, MUHAMMAD THE FUCKING PROPHET, AND GOD-FUCKING-ALMIGHTY THEMSELVES!” The second angel went over to the couple, who had stopped shrinking and now had the appearance of small child imps, trying to spread a light over them. “Not working, come on…” the Exterminator muttered, trying various glowing light magic without success before the siren stopped blaring…with them still as children. “...Are you shitting me?” the angelic superior said bluntly. “Fucking Extermination Day suddenly stopping out of nowhere…fucking idiot apprentice making this hard…fuck…what to do…hmm…” She thought a while and came to a resolution, pointing at Blitz and Loona. “You two, listen to me well. You are to take care of these two as if they are both your children, until I can get a proper healer to come down and fix this before the Lord smites everyone involved. They are about five of your Hellyears old now, and while they may remember they were adults, unfortunately, the memories of adulthood will be locked away. They will act like five-year-old children, will think like five-year-old children, and will need to be treated like five-year-old children. And since we can’t take care of them and give them help, it’ll be up to you two.” “But-” Loona protested, before the angel who was obviously in charge gave such a vicious death glare at the hellhound that she could do nothing but whimper in response. “If you two do not take care of them like they were both yours, I will personally annihilate you and every single thing you hold dear, Hellborn or not - and I have had centuries of killing under my wings. I have no tolerance for those who harm children, and I will do everything in my power to destroy you both if any harm comes to these two. Do you understand me?” Both Blitz and Loona nodded gravely, looking at the sleeping little imps who had once been a married couple. “Then we have an agreement. The next time I can get a Healer down here will take at least a year and a half; they are notoriously fickle. They will not grow up during that time, thanks to this IDIOT-” The lead angel jerked her thumb at the shamefaced apprentice, “making the spell so complicated, so I expect you two, what are your names?” “I’m Blitzo, the ‘o’ is silent, and this is my daughter, Loona,” the imp said. “Adopted,” Loona retorted. “Very well, Blitzo and Loona. I expect you two to be able to find help at times with other willing demons, but you must care for them the most. If they are harmed in any way, if they are not in your care when we return, I swear, as God as my witness, I will break you both in half. With that, we bid you farewell; we've overstayed our welcome.” The angel Exterminators disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the four alone with a whole Hell of a lot to deal with. - Hope you enjoyed~

Well, this is a story I have recently started writing and finished a chapter of (and I promise, my other story chapters are coming soon!). Welcome to Ride of the Valkyries! It's a take on Norse Mythology that I've wanted to do for a bit, and as the tags say, it's also a genderbending, age regression story. Just as a warning, it's going to be quite...dark. The pasts of the characters...well, all of them have died and this is their version of the afterlife (although not everyone gets in that afterlife, obviously). Given that, character death is not only likely, but a certainty. As another warning, the main character (and one character in the start with the "f" slur) has...biased preconceptions, given his past, so expect him to make a lot of changes for glorious character development! I cannot think of various other things, but I'm ready to get into it, and I hope y'all are as well! About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Thank you in advance! And without further ado, here is the story: - Chapter One: Couldn't Cut It as a Poor Man Stealing (How You Remind Me, Nickelback) - I was dead, and I fucking knew it. No, not figuratively either; no, this was a really real death as I stared at my own corpse from outside my body. The shoulder length dirty-blond hair I had was matted and stained with my red, which had oozed into my glassy sea-green eyes. My heavily tattooed body was riddled with bullet holes, but my lifeless hand still grasped my pistol in a death grip as my killers laughed - fucking laughed - while shooting my corpse with their assault rifles. I figured I was going to hell after what I did in life. Not that I even believed in an afterlife, but I wasn’t bound for heaven, that was for damned sure. Maybe I was going to be destined to wander the earth forever? I supposed that wouldn’t be too bad. There weren’t too many people that I’d want to see again (the less said about my folks, the better, and my coworkers - or rather former coworkers - were busy shooting my corpse to pieces, still laughing.), but if I knew that they were safe…well, maybe that would be all right. Maybe I could be their guardian angel? Nah, I discarded that thought instantly; I was no angel. Hell, I didn’t even know if I was a devil. I didn’t know what I was anymore. They continued to use my body for target practice until Big Anton Antipov, the Russian Mafiya man, the enormous (all 6’9” of him) and heavily tattooed leader of my former coworkers, came in, looking as furious as I had ever seen him. Even though I was dead, he scared me, for he was a man who never got furious, even when he was killing people - something he did rather often to those who fucked up. People like me, in other words. “The product got away!” he roared at the group in his heavily accented English. “All of it! We have to pack, NOW!” “I thought you had it!” another Russian Mafiya member shouted. “I did! And then a bomb went off! In my office! Where everything that is important is!” “It’s fucking Dally’s fault!” one of the rare American men, Barron - whom I had once considered…well, not a friend because he was honestly a racist, sexist, homophobic, and otherwise wholly awful piece of shit, but a guy I could whose native language and culture I could at least understand - complained, using the nickname I loathed. “If that faggot hadn’t grown a conscience-” “It doesn’t matter! Dallas is fucking dead, apparently! Why weren’t you chasing the product instead of wasting your time shooting his corpse?!” “He just started shooting us dead! Said he-” “That’s enough of that. We don’t need to see any more, and there isn’t much time for you.” The voice echoed in the air, and time stopped; I could see Barron’s mouth paused mid speech as if done by a television remote. I felt my breath, not that I needed to breathe at this point, catch in my throat, as I turned around to see…a woman. A woman riding a dark gray horse…a horse with eight goddamned legs. She was Asian and looked fairly young (if I had to guess, around my age, twenty-eight), her black hair in a bun with a golden hair clip, fierce dark brown eyes and a frightening scowl on her face. She wore a plain brown duster and a black t-shirt with her enormous breasts and cleavage protruding through the fabric, blue jeans, and scuffed cowboy boots, overall looking like an Asian cowgirl (an extremely attractive Asian cowgirl), if not for two things. The first was the twin scabbards across her jeans, holding what were obviously twin swords...swords that were alight with flame that somehow didn’t scorch her clothes. The second were snow white angel-like wings coming from her back, with swan-like feathers fluttering and so in tune with the wind that it slowed the descent of both her and her strange horse. The wings were enormous, and they were beautiful. I looked at her in awe, but the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “Your horse has eight legs,” before I clapped it shut with my hands, knowing how much of an idiot I sounded like. “Yes, sleipnirs tend to have eight legs,” the woman said in a patient tone, as if she was talking to a toddler. “Is there anything else you wish to point out before I task you with judgment, Dallas Gareth Brogdon, he of twenty-eight years, six months, and three days old, born in Cheyenne Regional Medical Center in Cheyenne, Wyoming?” I blinked, surprised that this woman knew all of that about me and my past. Of course, she was an angel, most likely, so if I had to guess, she had to know all of that. “Judgment? I don’t figure I’m going to Heaven…” “And by all rights, you haven’t earned Valhalla.” The woman’s voice was harsh, but fair, and I lowered my head, filled with inner guilt. “You’ve led a life of sin, even with your clear conscience and regrets. You never had the courage or moral fortitude to fight back or oppose the people you sinned with…until now. But you died bravely with a weapon in your hand in the defense of the lives of innocent others without any consideration of your own. The Vikingr Code is very clear on that. So, I’m giving you the opportunity for…a second chance.” “I don’t deserve one,” I said bluntly. “If you’re going to send me to hell, that’s that, and I know I deserve it. I’ve made my peace knowing that I’m not cut out for heaven.” “Valhalla,” the woman corrected, “and trust me, you don’t want Helheim. I could give it to you if you wish, but if I were you - and I’ve been mortal like you and in this very position at one point - I’d go for the second chance.” “Who are you?” I asked. “Are you an angel?” “Angels? You foolish mortal man with your foolish take on a deity. I am a valkyrie. Valkyrie Captain Sasithorn. My sleipnir’s name is Hreggský. The rank and my sleipnir’s name are all you need to know.” “Is your name, ‘Sa-si-tawn’, I mean, Asian or-” “Thai. Literally means ‘the Moon’, spelled ‘S-a-s-i-t-h-o-r-n’. I will not say it again, so make sure you do not make me. We don’t have much time anyway.” “What do you mean?” “I mean that if you don’t get on Hreggský immediately, you will either be sent to Helheim or come back as a draugr. You do not want either of those options as your fate.” “Draugr?” “Stupid infantile human, will you get on my sleipnir or not?!” The dark gray eight-legged horse whinnied and tossed its head as if even it was annoyed with me and agreeing with its rider. “Okay, fine!” I said, raising my hands. “I’m clearly outnumbered on this. Fine, if you two want me to face judgment sooo badly-” Sasithorn did not hesitate to pull me on the front of the horse as if she was much stronger than I was (and I was pretty big at 6’4”, 220 pounds; by all rights, the much smaller, slimmer woman wouldn’t be able to do that), and put me in the front of her, while strapping me to her body with a Velcro substance, as if putting a young child in a car seat. “I will hold on to you, since you obviously can’t do it yourself,” she chided, as her wings encircled me in a protective way, her arms holding the reins. Well, if she wanted to embarrass the absolute fuck out of me, she was doing a hell of a good job. “Now, á brott, Hreggský! We have a judgment awaiting!” - Okay, first of all, the Norse words: Sleipnir - the eight-legged horse born from Loki in the form of a mare, Odin's steed. (There's a plot reason why Sasithorn has a sleipnir. Yes, I said "a".). Hreggský - "Storm cloud" (hregg = storm; ský = cloud). Valhalla - the Hall of the Glorious Slain, basically, those who died fighting with a weapon in their hand. Helheim - the Hell of Norse mythology, basically, those who were either terrible people and/or cowards who died without a weapon on their being. Vikingr - to go "Viking" (yes, "Vikings" are not the right term for the warriors; Viking means "raiding", and those who were raiding were known as "Danes"). Valkyrie - a warrior spirit, namely a woman, who went on to the battlefield to collect the souls of the Glorious Slain for Valhalla. Draugr - a warrior revenant (intelligent zombie), oftentimes greedy and envious of the living, unable to ever have their souls rest. á brott - "Away" Hope y'all enjoyed~

Okay, I know I should be working on many other stories...but I love Helluva Boss, and after someone already did a Loona de-aging fanfic (that sadly had very few canon things there, but it was still a very good story despite that), I had to get on mine, since Loona's my favorite. For those paying attention to Helluva Boss, a fair warning: this story occurs a bit after Loona gets her Hellbies shot, so some of the other things that have happened aren't going to happen in this story. I've taken a few liberties with some of the Sins that haven't appeared and Loona's past as well (as we don't know exactly what happened), so take that into account as well. Anyway, as a warning, this is Hell, so there's going to be a lot of complicated content warnings for this story that I urge you to take heed of in the tags. I promise to warn you when they come, but I do want to warn you ahead of time. Anyway, on with the show! - Chapter One: Expectations. - Octavia was tired of hearing her parents fighting, especially when it involved her. Stolas and Stella - her father and mother - were screeching at each other like homicidal demonic barn owls (don’t ask her how she knew that; some things weren’t meant for living human minds), barely paying attention to her, and yet…custody. Fucking custody. Over her. Just…why? It wasn’t fair. Yes, Loona had said that families were complicated, but this right after she had run away the last time… The owl-like Goetia heiress froze. Loona. The hellhound was definitely a bit rough around the edges, definitely sarcastic and rude, but she could talk to her, maybe? The last time, when she was lost on Earth, looking for a meteor shower she had waited years to see, it had been Loona who found her…and unlocked a side of her she thought was missing. Octavia felt like - in Loona - she had a sister, an elder sister she could confide in, someone braver than she was, someone whom she could…look up to, maybe? Her fucking emotions were getting the best of her, maybe, but hell with it. Lucifer, what if I’m being…no, time to be brave, Via, show Father and Mother what a mistake they’re making. She was going to go to I.M.P., maybe read from the Grimoire, maybe find a way to placate her parents, somehow, maybe talk to Loona, see what she thought. She had no idea Loona was already having a bad day. - Loona was pissed at Moxxie. Fucking fatass (he wasn’t really fat, she admitted to herself, but she needed another reason to hate the smug little prick.) imp was beyond late to work along with Millie, his wife. Bad enough she had five fucking years worth of her yearly Hellbies shot (She hated shots. Shots in the pound usually meant…euthanization for the hellhounds who aged out…like she had nearly been before Blitzo - known to all as “Blitz”; the “o” was silent - had adopted her. Blitz had lied to her twice, by the way: it was not “one little prick”, and her ass was still sore from it, so he lied about not feeling it as well. Thank Lucifer the cone was off, at least.) a week ago, but now he was pacing the halls, trying to figure out where they were. “Goddammit, if you could be any later, Moxxie, I’d need a fucking stopwatch to fucking time you…” Blitz muttered. If his voice didn’t clearly show his annoyance, the tic of him scratching the white and black, curved horns on his bald head certainly did. Loona knew that if the imp paced any more, he was going to wear out the floorboards - and they had survived a fire from hellectric eels (don’t ask), so she personally knew how tough they were to destroy and/or wear out. She flicked her bluish-gray hair fur to one side, her red eyes firmly focused on her most prized possession: her H-Phone 666 LX, a gift to her from Blitz for her twenty-first birthday a year ago. Then Moxxie and Millie broke down the door - quite literally. “You know that’s coming out of your paycheck, fatass,” Loona said, not even looking up from her phone as it played VoxTube videos. No response. She raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like Moxxie to not defend himself from her taunts. “Okay, why are you two fucking hours late?” Blitz demanded. “We were supposed to be using the Grimoire for our target, and-“ “Sorry, Sir, but…” Moxxie twirled a strand of his white hair nervously (not that Loona was paying any attention or cared what Moxxie thought; it was clearly phone time). “We’re expecting!” Millie finished excitedly in her Wrathian drawl, her yellow eyes gleaming as Moxxie brushed her glistening black hair. “What, like a prize for being late?” Loona snarked, not even looking up from her phone. “No, silly: a baby!” Millie giggled. Blitz’s eyes went as wide as full moons, as he looked at them, doing a double-take at them. “Wha-WHAT?!” he stammered. “So, you were-“ “Well, I took the test, showed red, then went to the doctor who confirmed it!” the female imp gushed with excitement, as Moxxie wrapped his small, gentle arms protectively around his wife’s stomach. “Oh, that’s, uh, congrats!” the head of Immediate Murder Professionals (hence the name “I.M.P.”) said, his eyes gaining a semblance of…warmth? An unfamiliar emotion was growing in the pit of Loona’s stomach. She didn’t know what to call it, but she didn’t like it one bit. “So, Sir, we all have a lot of back pay from our jobs, so…” Moxxie began. “First kid’s always worth a break,” Blitz said with a jovial laugh. “Loony-Toony might have to join us later on while Millie handles the Grimoire, but-“ Loona barely heard the excited imp talking because she recognized a different, yet all-too familiar emotion bubbling up to the surface: anger. The hellhound had a nice job as the secretary of I.M.P. Yeah, going out in the human world for occasional work was fun and all, but her job was simple: open a portal to the human world, listen for when the three imps needed to get back, reopen a portal back. She had a routine. She had time to go on her phone, go to the latest Sinstagram pics and VoxTube videos, get a cup of coffee, and wait by herself, with no one’s problems but her own bugging her. And now this…this was threatening the entirety of that safe routine. And she was realizing the unfamiliar emotion was very familiar, after all: envy. A fucking imp baby with Millie replacing her job, and judging by Blitz’s expression, replace his affection for her. That’s all she was, when it came down to it: replaceable. Even after she told Blitz that she’d be there with him, she was still replaceable. The next words tumbled out of her mouth before she could take them back. “How do you know that they’re telling the truth? I mean, are you sure Moxxie can even have kids?” Loona immediately realized she had said something wrong with the immensely hurt look in Millie’s eyes, a pulsing vein throbbing dangerously in Moxxie’s temple as he drew his pistol, pointed it at her and shouted furiously, “YOU TAKE THAT BACK, YOU BITCH!” But the worst was Blitz looking…disappointed, as he said, “Now, Loony, you need to apologize to Moxxie and Millie.” “How about he apologizes for calling me the b-slur?” Loona snarled at Blitz without even thinking, her rising anger taking over. “LOONA, you will apologize to Moxxie and Millie.” Blitz’s voice was surprisingly stern, even a bit angry - a tone that, to her knowledge, he had almost never taken with her. “Oh, so you can replace me with the little brat, huh, Blitz, be a real dad as you stalk them in their private lives like you usually do? Well, guess what, Blitz: you aren’t a fucking real dad! You aren’t their kid’s dad, and you aren’t my fucking dad either!” She felt a vile concoction of satisfaction and guilt course through her as Blitz looked as if she had hit him. It almost would’ve felt better to her if he had hit her back, if he said anything at all. Even Moxxie was stunned into lowering his gun. “I-is this a bad time?” a new voice asked. Octavia Goetia had made her appearance, all four of them looking at her in simultaneous shock, the same look the demoness had on her face. Loona took the Grimoire from the safe, and Blitz didn’t even protest, the hurt look in his eyes saying all that needed to be said. “C’mon, Via, we’re crashing at my place,” Loona said darkly, as she held the Goetia heiress’s clawed hand to the demoness’s shock, leaving the job, the silent absence of a protest echoing in her heart. - Hope y'all enjoyed~ I don't know if I'll have a regular schedule for uploading; I never do, but I'll do my best every week, I think.

Well, here's my take on a Western babyfur story (one that @Horatio Husky did something similar with, except I'm doing mine differently): Desert Fountain! Now as a bit of content warning: there's a bit of body horror (in that some animals' body parts are used as trophies for a sadistic sheriff/judge and age regression to babyhood while still being aware), so yeah, that's a thing. But if you're curious enough to read a Western babyfur story as well as Horatio's wonderful work, welcome to this story! About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. But, anyway, the story: - Chapter One: Bloodblaze Town at Sunset - Locals to the region said that the westernmost town of Bloodblaze had the most beautiful sunsets in the whole of the West - and they would’ve been right, with crimson, scarlet, gold, harvest moon, burnt orange, and all of the prettiest colors on the warm color scheme dancing in the few clouds in that gorgeous sunset. Dakota, known to her friends as “Kota” and her enemies as “The Brazen Bitch of the West”, was gazing at that sunset, waiting for the time to strike at night…for the coyote was a notorious outlaw who had grown up around the region outside of that safe little town, made her living in the so-called “Outskirts”. The Outskirts. A fun little part of the part where the West ended in the midst of a complete desert, where literal monsters roamed, and no one other than outlaws, the Jiingo Tł’é’na’áí Gahe tribe (West Moon Dancers, for easy translation), and the most desperate or foolhardy animals made their living out there, considering how dangerous it was. Not that many of them (the West Moon Dancers, aside) survived more than one night at most without a shelter - and no, tents did not count. She whistled a small tune to herself to occupy her thoughts as she counted the minutes down on her brass pocket watch, all the way down to nightfall. No offense meant to the few townspeople (very few people actually stayed at Bloodblaze because there was nothing really…well, notable other than the sunsets, and Dakota felt that once you saw one sunset, you saw them all, and with the Outskirts as dangerous as they were to both people there and the town itself, you quickly wished for morning light after the sunset ended or you died. One of the two.), but she and her band needed food and water, and the damnable sheriff/judge was notoriously corrupt and not prone to sharing his food and water with anyone, least of all outlaws. He lived like a king with his own private army and left everyone else to suffer. The coyote would’ve gladly met with the town deputy, Washington, to make a deal. The cougar was a friendly enough sort, even to outlaws, so long as they behaved in the town and didn’t cause a ruckus, but the damned sheriff/judge’s laws, from what little she overheard whilst sneaking into the town on occasion (with a damned good disguise) were getting even more draconic, and everyone, Wash included, was too scared to complain. It wasn’t like any of those poor creatures had much of a choice; the sheriff/judge was known as a “hanging judge” for a reason. She curled her lip, her tail instinctively lashing from side to side while she thought about the poor bastards with their skulls, ribs, and hides decorating his office. She had been there once. Never again. Never, ever again. That koala was as monstrous as any of the monsters in the Outskirts, if not more, and she knew what was out there…even if she couldn’t put a proper name or face to any of those beings. That damned judge/sheriff/whatever was the reason she and her gang had been forced into the desperado lifestyle - and she refused to let the animals under her starve. Dakota’s loyal steed, a black Clydesdale colt named Bartolomeo, nickered a bit under her reins, and she stroked his neck. “Shh, it’s okay, boy,” she whispered from the bandana covering her mouth, her ears flicking from either side of her cowgirl hat, trying to calm her steed down. “Easy, Meo, easy.” The Clydesdale snorted a bit, maybe a bit of displeasure with the quickly dropping temperatures (which sent a chill racing down her fur that not even the patchcoat duster and thick clothes she always wore could prevent), but he quickly calmed under the coyote’s gentle strokes. She was alone for now, her turn to go on the twice-weekly supply run. She had to be alone; better for only one of the band to risk themselves on a supply run than more of the group getting caught, and one outlaw sneaking into town under the cover of night was more inconspicuous than the whole group of eleven. Night came, the sunset disappearing over the hills, plunging the entire town into sheer darkness that not even candlelight could penetrate. Dakota nudged Bartolomeo’s sides with her boots, and the Clydesdale trotted until he was in the town. Then she snuck in under the dark cover, trusting her Clydesdale colt to stay where he was. She could feel the sheer crushing pressure this town was under as she went to the warehouse. The door was locked, naturally, but her handy lockpick got her in with ease. The warehouse was bursting at the seams with supplies, as the coyote outlaw sifted through the food and water, having done this once every week (as she was the leader, she figured that she had to lead by example and do everything for her band of fellow outlaws and more) without fail. Dakota went outside to put the food and the water satchels on the packs of her steed. She should’ve noticed that there was a trap set for her. The private army of the sheriff/judge was quickly surrounding the coyote and her steed. She leapt on Bartolomeo, who was already moving, but someone pulled her off before she could get away with the horse, who was dashing off without her out of town, panicking out of instinct. She fought, bit, and scratched with all of her might, unable to get to her guns, her tail lashing from side to side, as she was pinned by the numerous army members, quickly trussed up with her front paws bound behind her, her legs and tail tied together, and a muzzle put on her mouth, so she couldn’t even scream out curses, still wriggling desperately to get out. Then the kangaroo head of the army - a sadist known as Nebraska, Neb for short - stepped on her neck, crushing any chance of her breathing, as he sneered in her ear, “Well, if it ain't the Brazen Bitch herself! I’ll get you to Kansas, and we’ll see what he wants to do with you, you fucking outlaw thief.” Dakota snarled, still trying to fight; dying quickly now - even if her skull, ribs, and hide ended up decorating the koala’s office - was better than whatever the bastard must’ve planned for her for being an outlaw stealing. “Stop squirming; you’re not gonna die,” Neb said cheerfully. “Not yet, at least. If it were me, I’d fucking blow your brains out here and now, but Kansas said he’s got plans for you stealing. Then he’s gonna kill your fucking merry gang of thieves.” Dakota whined behind the muzzle. She couldn’t have her band, her friends, die for her. She desperately tried to breathe; between the kangaroo putting his foot on her neck and the muzzle on her snout, it was getting hard to breathe. Then the head of the army lifted his foot off of her as he hefted her over his left shoulder as easily as one would heft a sack, carrying the coyote outlaw to the sheriff’s office. She hated that place; there were seemingly even more skulls, ribs, and hides than she remembered. The ribs had been made into windchimes that rattled in the breeze outside of the window, the hides decorated the floor, the skulls put on the wall as trophies. And in all of that, the koala slouched in his rocking chair, a friendly smile on his face. Dakota knew that that smile meant that someone was going to die painfully - namely her. He stood up on his short legs, waddling over to her to pinch her cheek until his claws drew blood. “Well, my dear outlaw, aren’t you a cutiepie?” he cooed as if he was talking to a baby. “I know you and your gang of outlaws have been stealing from me. I know how to draw them out; they consider you their friend, and I’ll use that to my advantage. But what am I going to do with you?” Dakota breathed through the muzzle in terror. Torture was almost certainly going to happen. Pain beyond imagining. Then she’d die, and all of her would just be another decoration in his office. “Well, don’t worry; your gang, I’ll make trophies out of, but you, my little outlaw…well, I have a surprise for you, personally. Neb!” The kangaroo saluted. “Take her to the underground fountain!” The coyote was confused. A fountain? What the hell was going on? “You sure about that, boss?” Neb asked tentatively. “Normally, you’re the only one who bathes there…” “And I will soon enough, but she’ll get the full dosage.” The koala was grinning widely, and somehow, it was a thousand times scarier than his smile. “Bring her there. I’ll dunk her in personally. Now put her to sleep.” “Yes, boss!” Nebraska set her on the hard floor of the office, stomped on her head, and she knew no more. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Hello, this is another idea I've had for a fair bit. It may be slightly influenced by French Whines (kudos to the author of it; probably one of my favorite stories I've read on this site), except...well, this is more supernatural than anything. And now, for WARNINGS: there will be political undercurrents in this story. If you're not a fan of Israel or Arab countries, well, I will say this story probably won't be for you (as I am ethnically Jewish from my mom and have the utmost respect for all religions - so long as they aren't hurting people - including Christianity and Islam, my feelings, as much as I want to be an impartial observer, may spill out. I apologize beforehand, but this story is something I feel I had to write from the bottom of my heart after all that's happened). But I PROMISE beforehand, there will be a good ending to this; I may be cynical about our irl chances if/when another huge war spills out, but that doesn't mean this story has to be. Of course, politics and the bigotry (portrayed in antagonists INCLUDING THIS CHAPTER, JUST SO YOU'RE WARNED) are there, but I promise to be respectful in that regard. Violence is there, given the subject matter. Language is a given with any of my stories. And of course, gender-swapping is a major thing, and I promise to be respectful in that regard as well. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Thank you in advance! Now, to start the story: - Chapter One: Death is Not the End. - Lieutenant Lavi Zingel’s calm brown eyes were constantly aware of their surroundings, for danger was close by. He was deep undercover in Sayeret Matkal’s operation in Egypt; if he was found out, Israel could deny any involvement. Operation Rebirth was risky, but he had been the first to volunteer for it. It was all he could do for his country, was it not? Ten top Israeli scientists had been captured by a shadowy Iranian-proxy organization, and it required a delicate touch; only one man could be sent to infiltrate, and he was perfect, as he was of Arabic and Jewish descent (from his father and mother, respectively), and looked the part with dark olive skin, and a full dark-brown beard. Mossad was worried that Alraabitat Almunahidat Lilsihyuniati (Anti-Zionist League, honestly, couldn’t they think of a more original name than that?) was forcing the scientists to build nuclear weapons in Egypt, which would then be shipped to Syria and Lebanon. Zingel was as skilled a combatant as had ever gone through Sayeret Matkal; everyone in the secretive unit knew it. He had aced every test, physical, medical, psychological, had been pushed to his limits and beyond, and he had come out of it stronger than ever before, a weapon who could kill a man hundreds of different ways. But the main thing that separated him from the others was his mind. He was an omniglot, fluent in over twenty languages and dialects. He had graduated top of his class in high school, a 750 on the Psychometric Entrance Test, summa cum laude in all classes, with a bagrut certificate. He was knowledgeable about how nuclear weapons worked, having had his Egyptian-Israeli father and Israeli mother working on them. It didn’t surprise him that he was the first choice for the mission. What did surprise him, as he looked at the weapons, was that they were far from nuclear armaments. Quite simply, as he looked at the manifests, saw the tired scientists working (not just Israeli, but Egyptian as well), it was far from nuclear. This was a weapon of which the likes had never been seen on this planet before, something he had as much a clue about as the workings of God: in other words, none. Then there was shouting, and he turned around to see a large Arabic man hit a short, heavyset Egyptian woman, who took the hit with stunned disbelief. “I don’t want excuses!” the man roared. “I wanted Project Rebirth to be up-and-running a week ago! I should kill you all, you worthless piles of shit!” “But…what you’re asking…” one of the Israeli scientists, a woman, spoke up timidly. “It’s impossible. This is God’s work, not-” “I DON’T GIVE A DAMN WHAT PIGS LIKE YOU SAY!” the man shouted, closing the distance and shoving a gun in the scientist’s face. “I wanted this to be done long ago! It should’ve been sent to Lebanon and Syria long ago! It should’ve detonated in Tel Aviv, the city of rats like you, long ago!” Zingel was torn. On the one hand, nothing could compromise his identity. Mossad specifically said that the weapons were the priority. But compassion had been instilled in him as well from his parents, and he wanted to rescue the hostages - for clearly the Egyptian scientists were just as much hostages as the Israelis. He took a chance. “Excuse me, sir,” Zingel said politely. “Yes, what is it?” the man snapped. “If we kill them, all hope for Project Rebirth is lost.” The operative was using all of his silver-tongued charm to both keep his cover and spare the lives of the hostages. “And the Zionists would attack us without recourse. Wouldn’t it be better to spare them just a day?” The man gave the operative a cold look. “Who the hell are you?” he snapped. “Dr. Mourad Slimani,” Zingel said in a perfect Algerian Arabic dialect. “I’ve been on this project since day one.” The man gave him a smile. “Well, Dr. Slimani, I suppose there’s no harm,” he said with a shrug. “It’s mostly finished anyway. All that’s left is to shoot them.” Zingel didn’t even blink, didn’t give anything away. “And once the weapon has been tested? What’s stopping the Zionists from attacking? You have to know that they’d send someone?” “I’d be surprised if they didn’t, my good doctor. But I suppose a heretic is as good as an infidel for this purpose.” He holstered his first pistol and grabbed the heavyset Egyptian woman - who had surprisingly dark skin for an Egyptian - by the hair with one hand, a second gun in the other, as she pleaded, “Please, please, I’m a mother, I have children!” “Shut up, you warped whore!” The man hit her in the face with the pistol. “I’ve killed many mothers and their children; don’t think you can negotiate that way with your life on the line!” A cruel smile played on his face. “But I’m not going to shoot you. He is.” He flipped the gun to offer to Zingel. “You can’t be serious! I’m a doctor, I swore not to take lives!” he protested. “You can shoot her…or I can. I can give you five seconds to decide, Dr. Slimani.” Zingel was trapped, and he knew it when he felt the weight of the semi-auto pistol. There was only one bullet in the chamber, which could only mean one thing: he was burnt. Who did it didn’t matter; he knew his cover had been blown. What he did next was impulsive as hell, but he didn’t feel like he had an option. He took the gun…and dropped it, proceeding to draw a hidden knife from his lab coat, grabbing the large man by the throat and backing them both against the wall, as armed guards went in the room, aiming their weapons at them. “You know you don’t have to shoot any of them,” the operative said calmly, as more guards had arrived and had drawn their weapons, shouting at him. The scientists were cowering on the floor…except for the heavyset Egyptian, who was looking at him…curiously? “You know damn well that these aren’t nuclear weapons.” “Of course not!” the man laughed. “Is that what your precious Zionist special agency said, ‘Dr. Slimani’ - or, should I say, Lieutenant Lavi Zingel? They’re not infallible.” “Then what are they?” “Something that will end the lives of all Zionists, purge the Western infidels, and-” “Shut up!” Zingel spat, drawing a tiny bit of blood from the man’s throat. “I asked what the weapons did, not the overarching goal.” “Why should I tell you anything?” “We’re both dead men either way. Feel free to state what you were planning on doing. I don’t have a wiretap, on my oath to God.” “The oath to your god?” “No. It can be yours if you wish. But I have no reason to lie. You’re the leader of this project. So spill.” The man laughed. “You should’ve been born a merchant, not an Israeli pig with that tongue of yours. Devil’s tongue. You think I’m the leader of this project? You think I’m in charge? No, this reaches far beyond your limited comprehension, into the heart of your supposed ‘allies’.” Zingel’s heart dropped. “The United States.” “Very perceptive of you. That is correct: there is an element in the United States who wants this weapon and would pay us by knifing the Zionist regime in the back. I don’t care what the hell they do with this weapon; they’ve paid us with nuclear armaments already. Israel will soon be no more!” “Not if I have anything to say about it!” The man stabbed the Israeli operative in the leg with an odd stone knife and shouted, “Praise be to God! Open fire!” Zingel felt the pain from the stone knife lance through his leg, felt shots nail him in his torso, passing through the man to get to his heart, as the knives from both slipped from their grasps. He slumped against the wall, tearing out the knife he had been stabbed with - it had hit his femoral artery, and he knew he was a dead man anyway, no matter what - breathing ragged gasps. The Arab man was dead, a sadistic grin permanently etched on his face. “That. Is. Enough.” The Israeli looked in shock as the Egyptian woman, now twice as tall as any man and bearing animalian features all over her body: the paws and limbs of a lioness, a crocodilian tail and back, the breasts of a human woman, and the face of a hippopotamus. A very angry hippo. The scared guards aimed at her, but she merely waved a paw, and the guns melted away, the armed guards in the room shriveling into mummies in an alarmingly-short time. The Israeli and Egyptian scientists had their eyes closed and were seemingly sleeping before they vanished into thin air. “Wha-” Zingel coughed up blood, as the creature turned to him. He cowered; he knew enough about Egyptian mythology from his father to know who this…goddess was. But he saw her eyes soften when they saw him. “Shh…it is okay, little one,” she cooed. “I am here.” “But…Ta-wa-ret…” His eyes were tinged red, darkness slowly slipping over them, as he hacked up blood from his ruined lungs. “Yes.” Tawaret’s black eyes were warm, and a sense of security washed over the dying man. “The scientists are safe, away from here, their memories of these horrors gone. But you…you have been hurt with the weapon, my own powers. I cannot heal you, but there is another way I can keep you alive. You, the bridge between worlds, the one who does what is right, must stay alive, must find the ability to stop the world from warring once again, for it will be the end of all. Do you understand, little one? Just nod if you agree.” Lavi Zingel nodded once, as the last breath left his body and darkness swallowed him whole. - I will explain what all of the Israeli things mean (I hope Google Translator did okay with the rare Arabic...): Sayeret Matkal = Israeli special forces, equivalent to British Special Air Service and United States Delta Force. Specializes in deep reconnaissance for intelligence gathering, but also does black operations, combat search-and-rescue, counterterrorism, hostage rescue, manhunts beyond Israel's borders, etc. Mossad = National intelligence agency for Israel, responsible for gathering information, counterterrorism, and covert operations. Much like United States' CIA. Psychometric Entrance Test = Israel's standardized test/entrance exam, based on quantitative reasoning, verbal reasoning, and English. Scores range from 200 to 800. Basically, that means that Lavi's a genius. Bagrut certificate = A certificate that says a student passed the matriculation exam for Israel. High scoring ones like what Lavi had are necessary to go into higher-leveled jobs.

Welcome to Mommy Anna's Diapered Storybook! Some of you may know me from my website, diaperhypnosis.com My experience earlier this year of having my store on Etsy closed because of their discrimination against our community (they are closing down all ABDL hypnosis audio there) has been one more reminder to me of how important it is for us to stay together as a community. I've decided to publish full-length diaper and regression stories, for free, as a special way of giving back to our community. I'm also recording these stories and posting them (full-length) on my YouTube channel, so you can hear me read them there. Mommy Emma from diaperhypnosis.com will also be recording some of these stories for YouTube. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these stories and keep being the wonderful you that you are! This story won't be quite as long as my last 2 stories, and will have more sexual content (in addition to lots of diapers!) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The warm afternoon sunlight poured gently through the front window of Dana’s house, filtered through white lace curtains that danced with the subtle breeze from an open window. Dust motes twinkled in the beams of golden light like tiny fireflies, catching on the floral patterns of the throw pillows and the embroidered stitching on the plush loveseat cushions. The living room was cozy—elegant but motherly. The wallpaper was soft peach with faded white roses, and the carpet was thick and pastel cream. The furniture, a matching set of high-backed chairs and a low loveseat, was upholstered in a faded floral pattern and edged with piping. Several knitted throws were draped across the arms, and there were hand-framed cross-stitches on the walls with sayings like “Home is where Mommy is” and “Snuggle first, questions later.” But all of this faded into the background next to what dominated the center of the room: a truly massive playpen. It was custom-built, nearly taking up the center third of the space. The sides were a full five feet high—clearly built not to contain a toddler, but someone much larger. Made from white-painted wood slats and soft mesh, it had rounded corners capped with pastel bumpers and vinyl padding adorned with little cartoon animals. The gate had a double-latch system, and a safety sign above it read: “Mommy’s Little One at Play — Do Not Disturb.” Inside, there was a thick, pink quilted floor mat dotted with letters of the alphabet and big smiling animals. Cushioned bolsters lined the edges. The space was filled with oversized infant toys: giant plush building blocks, a set of plastic stacking rings the size of dinner plates, a rubbery xylophone with a soft mallet, teething beads, rattles, and more stuffed animals than a toy store display. And sitting in the middle of this wonderland, utterly absorbed, was Dana’s husband. Or rather, her baby girl. She was dressed head to toe in an exaggerated, frilly baby girl outfit. A bright pink satin baby dress with puffed sleeves and delicate lace edging flared out above a pair of bulging, obviously soaked diapers. The skirt had layers of ruffles, and when she moved—even slightly—it revealed flashes of her thick, triple-padded bottom, sealed tightly in white plastic panties printed with pastel bows and hearts. White tights stretched tightly over her legs, their fabric bulging around the thick padding, and ended in satin booties with soft soles and ribbons that tied in bows around her ankles. A matching bonnet framed her smooth, freshly shaved face. Her cheeks were red and flushed with excitement, her lips locked around a huge pacifier that bobbed rhythmically as she babbled and clutched a purple elephant plush to her chest. “She’s been at it all morning,” Dana said with quiet affection, glancing at the playpen as she smoothed her skirt. “Hasn’t gotten bored once. Just play, giggle, drool, and repeat.” Patricia, who sat across from her old friend with a cup of tea in her hand, could hardly take her eyes off the sight. “My God, Dana” she murmured. “That’s that’s really him?” Dana chuckled. “Her, darling. She’s not your boring old neighbor anymore. She’s Mommy’s little Angel now. All baby. All the time.” “I mean wow,” Patricia breathed, watching the baby girl crawl clumsily across the playmat, her thick diaper forcing her legs apart, making every motion a waddle or a crawl. “You weren’t exaggerating. This is” She searched for the word. Dana supplied it. “Liberation,” she said simply. The baby squealed with glee, having successfully smacked her hand down onto a rubbery, musical pad that responded with a tinny rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” She bounced in place, drool leaking from the corner of her mouth around the pacifier bulb. “She wants this?” Patricia asked, brows knitting. “More than anything,” Dana said. “She asked for it first, remember? And the more we gave into it, the more she slipped into it. At first it was just evenings. Then weekends. I think we both realized she was meant for this. The more I took control, the more I cared for her like my baby, the more she flourished. Now? Full time. No words, no thinking, no stress. Just babble, diapers, toys, Mommy.” “And you’re okay with it?” Patricia asked, studying her friend. “I mean, this is it’s so far beyond what I imagined.” Dana smiled and adjusted the strap of her bra subtly beneath her blouse. “I’m more than okay. I’m fulfilled. I get to love and nurture someone who needs me completely. And she gets to feel safe. Totally helpless. Totally adored.” The baby flopped onto her tummy, arms splayed wide, rattle clutched in one mittened hand. She babbled contentedly, pacifier bobbing in rhythm. Patricia tilted her head. “She doesn’t talk? At all?” Dana shook her head. “Only baby sounds now. She lost her last words about three months ago. She might try to say ‘Mama’ sometimes, or ‘ba-ba’ when she’s hungry. But that’s it. We’ve got her completely regressed.” “Can she stand?” Patricia asked, unable to look away as the baby tried—and failed—to pull herself up on the side of the playpen, only to giggle and fall back onto a pile of plush animals. “She can stand if I help her,” Dana said proudly. “But she usually crawls or scoots. We’ve encouraged helplessness. Weak motor skills. It keeps her safe.” Patricia blinked. “And the diapers?” “Fully dependent,” Dana said with a gentle nod. “She doesn’t know when she goes anymore. She just does. Pee-pee, messy—whatever her little tummy needs. And she gets changed when Mommy checks.” There was a long pause as Patricia processed. “And she doesn’t mind?” “She loves it,” Dana said, placing a hand over her chest. “Sweetheart, she lives for it. The crinkling. The warm wetness. The thick waddle. Being totally, utterly unable to control anything. She doesn’t even try anymore.” “She’s really gone that far,” Patricia whispered, in awe. “I wouldn’t say ‘gone,’” Dana replied gently. “I’d say she’s home.” The baby girl was now chewing on a giant pink ring toy, her eyes wide and unfocused, giggling as she rotated it in her clumsy hands. She hummed softly, lost in her own world. Dana shifted again in her seat, subtly pressing her forearm into her chest. Patricia noticed. “You keep fidgeting. You okay?” Dana winced slightly and nodded. “I’m fine. Just a little full. I haven’t nursed her since breakfast, and my breasts are ready.” Patricia blinked. “You mean you feed her? Like—” Dana smiled gently. “Yes. I nurse her myself. Every day. Several times a day.” “Does she does she get milk?” “She does,” Dana said softly. “My supply came in months ago. It was a long journey, but we stuck to it. And now she’s getting all her nutrition from Mommy.” Patricia sat back, eyes wide. “And she just drinks from you? Every time?” “As often as she needs,” Dana replied. “It keeps her calm. She falls asleep nursing sometimes. It's one of the few moments she’s still.” Dana shifted again. “Actually, if you don’t mind would it be alright if I fed her now? I’m starting to feel it might leak if I wait much longer.” Patricia hesitated, then slowly nodded. “If you’re okay with doing it in here.” Dana stood up and smiled. “Of course. She’s used to feeding wherever Mommy is.” She walked to the playpen and knelt at the gate, undoing the double latches with soft clicks. “Come to Mommy, sweetheart. Time for your milkies.” The baby squealed with joy, her pacifier falling to the side as she crawled quickly—if clumsily—out of the playpen. Her diaper sagged visibly, clearly soaked, but she moved with happy enthusiasm, giggling as she followed her Mommy. Dana sat on the couch and patted her lap. “Come on up, baby. Let Mommy hold you.” The baby-girl crawled up, turned, and laid her head in Dana’s lap, her bonnet lopsided, her mittened hands grasping the front of Dana’s blouse. With gentle motions, Dana unbuttoned her top and revealed a cream-colored nursing bra. She pulled down the cup on one side, exposing a heavy, swollen breast, the nipple already beading slightly with milk. Patricia’s mouth went slightly dry as she stared. Dana looked up. “Still okay?” Patricia nodded. “Yes. I’m I’m curious, honestly.” Dana guided her baby’s mouth to her breast. “Here you go, my little one. Drink up.” The baby latched eagerly, letting out a soft moan of pleasure as she suckled hungrily. Dana cradled her with practiced arms, her expression softening as she let out a sigh of relief. “Ohhh there we go,” she whispered. “Mommy’s little feeder. You were so hungry, weren’t you?” Patricia stared, fascinated. “She really knows what to do.” “She’s been nursing for months,” Dana said, stroking the baby’s hair. “It’s instinctual now. And it soothes her. It soothes me, too. I feel her relax with every swallow.” The baby suckled noisily, tiny hands fidgeting with the lace on Dana’s blouse as her eyes fluttered half-closed in dreamy bliss. “I didn’t understand before,” Patricia said slowly. “But now I think I’m starting to.” Dana looked down at her baby and smiled, full of maternal pride. “She’s not playing baby,” she said. “She IS a baby. My baby. And Mommy is here to take care of her. Forever.”

A Long Quiet Longing: The Skyler Keeney Story - Part One https://archiveofourown.org/series/5736016 Skyler Keeney was a typically average four-year-old boy with bright blue eyes, fair hair, and a smile that could light up any room. He was a joy to be around, always running through the backyard, playing with his toys, or watching cartoons. His laughter was infectious, his energy boundless, and his imagination knew no limits. To the outside world, he was the picture of childhood health and progress, a testament to successful parenting and developmental milestones. But beneath the baseball caps and the denim jeans, there was a secret reality. A quiet, persistent longing that set him apart from his peers and shadowed his transition into 'big boy' life. While other kids his age were busy shedding their babyhood, Skyler was secretly mourning it, carrying around a hollow ache for a comfort he wasn't supposed to miss. Like most kids his age, Skyler was fully aware of his body's signals and mostly capable of controlling its functions. Still, he was what some would call a 'late potty trainer'. In fact, it had been two days since his fourth birthday, and he'd spent less than forty-eight hours of his life wearing underwear. While the rest of the world celebrated this milestone as a belated victory, Skyler felt a quiet sting of loss as he said goodbye to a cherished relic that had been a constant his entire life. The truth was, Skyler hadn't been difficult or stubborn about potty training. It wasn't that he was unable to hold his pee pees and poo poos and make them on the toilet like a big boy. It wasn't that he didn't understand that's what big kids are supposed to do. It was simply that he had zero interest in doing so. The idea of trading his thick, comforting padding for scratchy cotton had never appealed to him. Not in the slightest. It was a strong, conscious objection he had held ever since the day he first learned of the universal expectation placed on every child his age. His inevitable destiny. His mother, Robin, spent months waiting for the classic signs of readiness from him, such as informing her when he needed to be changed or showing interest in the toilet. But Skyler had been perfectly content to continue with his same-old routine. Even the pristine new potty she had brought home months earlier failed to capture his interest. Robin had made the purchase in the wake of a tense exchange with her mother regarding Skyler's continued use of diapers past the age of three, a conversation that remained sharp and vivid in his mind. It was the day the countdown had begun. Though Skyler feigned excitement at the initial sight of his new potty chair, cheering a loud "Yay!", a nervous twist he couldn't name stirred deep inside him. "Isn't it neat? I knew you would like it," Robin had said gently, noticing a hint of unease beneath his enthusiasm. "There's no pressure at all, okay, sweetheart? I want you to take your time and get used to it for now. It's okay to just sit on it with your diaper on if you want." "I will," Skyler had promised as he grabbed one of his toy figures, desperate to shift the focus away from the unwanted chair. Despite sensing his unease about this new phase, Robin wasn't discouraged in the slightest. She had come to realize that his diapers were a genuine source of comfort and contentment for him. Her main goal with bringing the potty home was to plant the seeds. She suspected that as more of his peers started making the switch to "big boy" underwear, it would soon become his own idea to leave the diapers behind and move forward. But that's not what happened. Even as his friends and preschool classmates graduated to cloth underpants and using the potty, Skyler remained steadfast in his familiar ways. He went out of his way to avoid even looking at the unwelcome fixture sitting in the living room, treating it instead like an intruder with nothing to offer. As the months ticked by toward Skyler's fourth birthday, his reluctance to the transition only grew stronger. Whenever the topic came up, he would offer a soft, non-committal nod, always eager to change the subject to something he actually enjoyed. It was then that Robin realized she would have to give him a loving nudge. Setting aside the pressure from her own mother, she knew that the expectations of the world posed a real risk of shame or embarrassment. Eventually, he would have to make this leap. Just days before the big birthday celebration, Skyler's parents sat him down for an important talk. They gathered him in the living room, snuggling together on the sofa, their faces warm but tentative. "Are you excited for your big day coming up?" asked his dad, ruffling Skyler's hair with a gentle smile. "Uh huh," Skyler replied, his blue eyes widening with excitement. "Will there be cake?" he asked. "Of course, sweetheart," Robin answered, her voice full of warmth. "Everyone gets cake on their birthday, silly." "Yummy!" Skyler laughed, his excitement bubbling over as he pictured the treats to come. Robin shifted slightly, clearing her throat as she prepared to speak. She hesitated for a moment, her smile faltering as she struggled to find the right words. "Me and Daddy want to talk to you about something pretty important. Okay?" Skyler nodded slowly, picking up on the shift in his mother's tone, his own laughter fading away. "Well, you're getting to be such a big boy now, and we are just so proud of you," Robin said, her voice gentle and caring. She paused, taking a breath before continuing. "As we have mentioned before, we are getting super close to the time when you will start wearing underwear," she continued softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze while offering him a warm encouraging smile. "And that means you'll also start making your poopy and pee pee on the potty, just like the big kid you are." The thought hung in the air. The words were far too heavy for Skyler to process all at once. His young heart simply wasn't equipped to handle such a massive shift in his world. He had spent so long avoiding the very thought of this looming expectation that having it laid out so plainly felt impossible to comprehend. The only parts of his mother's speech that truly registered were the words "poopy" and "pee pee." He knew the topic was serious and that his mom meant business, but he simply blocked out the rest, his mind instinctively defending itself against the threat. "And don't you worry about any accidents that might happen," Skyler's dad, Mitch, added, his voice steady and soothing. "We know it will take some getting used to." "That's true!" Robin chimed in, smiling softly. "We know that mistakes will happen. After all, you've been wearing dipees your whole life," she added, giving his puffy bottom a loving tap. "But Mommy will be right here to remind you and to get you all cleaned up if you have an accident." "Okay then," her eyes searching his after a soft pause, "Are you excited?" "I am," Skyler beamed, mirroring his mother's enthusiasm with an upbeat and approving tone. If his mom was happy, then he was happy. Deep down, he convinced himself that if he simply refused to think about the words she had just spoken, they wouldn't be real. "I'm so thrilled to hear that, sweetie," Robin said, sensing that he had accepted the news positively and was truly ready for the next step. "We'll start this Saturday, the day after your birthday." She smiled warmly at him, hoping to confirm that he had understood the implications. "Sound good?" Her words drifted in the air for a brief moment. "Sounds good, Mommy!" Skyler replied in a bright, confident tone. He was eager to put the uneasy conversation behind him. "Can I watch a show before bed?" he asked, intentionally changing the subject. "Sure thing," Robin said with a wink. "Let's just go change your wet dipee and get your jammies on first." Excited to experience the soft comforts of a diaper change, Skyler happily followed his mom down the hall, blissfully unaware that the conversation he had just agreed to would change everything. The next few days passed in a blur of excitement and milestones. On the evening of his fourth birthday, after enjoying a big slice of ice-cream cake, Skyler dove into his presents. He was left confused, however, after tearing open the very first one. Inside was a bundle of clothing he didn't quite recognize. That was when his mom gently reminded him of the promise they had made just days before. "Those are fresh pairs of big-boy underwear," his mom said, her voice a warm, loving tone. "For your big day tomorrow, like we talked about." "Yay! Thanks!" Skyler replied, his voice bright with genuine enthusiasm. He was grateful for the gift, even if his mind couldn't fully process what it meant. Not wanting to spoil his birthday with such heavy thoughts, he quickly moved on to the rest of his presents, choosing to focus on the thrill and excitement. Later that night, as the family settled in to watch a movie, Skyler retreated behind the sofa for a secret celebration all of his own. It was a deliberate choice, driven more by a desire for that comforting embrace than by a mere biological urge. In that moment, the birthday boy wasn't thinking about endings, milestones, or any of the heavy expectations placed upon him. His mind was clear. He acted with a single purpose. To cherish the tender sensations of his beloved endeavor. He savored every passing instant. The pressure. The push. The release. The aftermath. All exquisitely relished. This mindful indulgence solidified his passion, turning a simple pleasure into a conscious, treasured longing. It was no longer just something he did; it was now a piece of who he was. He went to bed that night with a nervous stir in his tummy, unsure of what the morning would bring. The big day had arrived, and the potty sat in the middle of the living room like a bright plastic boss. With the unfamiliar sensation of cotton hugging his bottom, Skyler greeted the day with excitement and a slight flutter of fear. After a few close calls, he soon got the hang of it and successfully made his first poopy on the potty. "I did it, Mommy!" Skyler exclaimed, his little face lighting up with joy. "Yes, you did, sweetheart," she beamed, her voice tilting upward with pride. "And tomorrow at Grandma's house," she continued, her tone turning a bit more serious. "You'll be wearing underwear just like today... and I just know you'll do great at keeping them clean and dry." Robin was absolutely thrilled, covering Skyler in kisses and cheers, but her relief was short-lived. The very next day brought a trip to her mother's house, where, in her view, an accident would have been a complete disaster. She dreaded confrontation, and Skyler’s potty training, or lack thereof, was a raw nerve in their relationship. Skyler basked in the spotlight of his mom's celebration, happy enough to forget the cozy luxury he’d just traded away. For a shining moment, the pride of being her "big boy" outweighed the squishy comfort of a diaper. But his special, hidden feelings were never too far away. The next day, though it was supposed to be a celebration, Robin couldn’t seem to relax. Laser‑focused on Skyler’s back side, she moved through what was a birthday party for everyone else but, for her, felt more like a stakeout. Skyler knew how much it meant to his Mommy to keep his pants pristine, and his heart was set on making her proud. But staying clean was turning out to be much harder than it looked. When a tell-tale rumble hit his belly, his muscle memory tried to take over, filling him with a strong urge to just let go. He fought off the sweet temptation, but without his trusted safety net, finding relief wasn't going to be easy. Terrified of falling into the giant porcelain monster in Grandma's bathroom, he made a silent promise to himself that he would hold it until he was safe back home... The air in the car on the ride back felt lighter, as if they had deflated a giant stress balloon. Robin let out a long breath, thrilled that her little man had survived the day without a single drop or smudge in his pants. Best of all, she had dodged any sharp comments from her mother. Skyler was just as proud, though his mind was on a different prize. He wiggled happily in his car seat, knowing that soon he would be back in his safe zone to finally let go of the pressure in his tummy. Despite Mitch's best efforts to carry the boys inside like a stealthy ninja, the shuffle of the door woke them both up. Once the bags were dropped, Robin did a quick check of Skyler's pants and guided him toward the potty before rushing off to soothe the baby. Doing exactly as he was told, Skyler planted himself on the plastic seat with a look of intense focus. He tried with all his might to make it happen, his little face scrunching up with effort, even though the tummy rumble from earlier had now faded into a stubborn silence. Watching his son try so hard made Mitch's heart swell with pride. He knew this was a massive transition for Skyler, especially since he was so reluctant to leave his old ways behind. Seeing him push through that resistance and nail it anyway felt like a huge win for the whole team. "Hey, buddy," Mitch said softly, kneeling down to Skyler's level. "You've done such a great job today. I've got one more surprise for you." Skyler's eyes lit up with curiosity. He wondered what could be left after such a big birthday weekend. Maybe a special bedtime snack or getting to stay up a little later than usual. His mind raced through the fun possibilities, completely unaware of the reward that was waiting for him. "What is it, Daddy?" he asked eagerly, looking up at his dad with big, bright eyes. Mitch smiled, his eyes crinkling with affection as he reached down and briefly tousled his son's fair hair. "You'll see, champ. Wait right there. I know it's something that'll make you really happy." Skyler remained perched on the miniature throne, still determined to do his duty for Mommy, but his thoughts were wandering. He was totally absorbed by the mystery of his final birthday surprise. His imagination ran wild as he heard his dad rummaging for something behind him. As his father walked back into view, Skyler's eyes instantly locked onto the object in his hands. It wasn't a snack or a toy, but something worlds better. His joy was instant and electric, his little feet wiggling with pure eagerness. The sight of that thick, folded padding was better than any birthday cake. He felt his dad's gentle signal to rise, helping him hop off the little seat. Together, they peeled away the pants and underwear that had bunched around his ankles, swiftly casting them aside. Then came the sound Skyler had been missing, the soft crinkle as his father unfolded the diaper. His eyes sparkled as he watched his dad prepare it, his heart beating faster with anticipation. With gentle hands, Mitch slid the cushioned shield into place and secured it snugly. The sensation was heavenly, a warm and cozy welcome home. Standing there in his living room, thickly padded and feeling brand new, Skyler could hardly believe his luck. It was as if his dad had peeked inside his brain and plucked out his most sacred wish. He was over the moon about the gift, but totally baffled as to how his dad had figured out his secret desire. Mitch stood next to Skyler, his voice gentle and encouraging. "Alright, buddy, you can go ahead now," he said, giving Skyler a reassuring smile. Looking up at his father, Skyler's eyes were wide with curiosity. "Are you sure, Daddy?" he asked, wanting to be absolutely certain. His smile never wavering, Mitch replied warmly. "Yes son, it's perfectly fine. It's not like we've never seen you in a poopy diaper before... Go for it, champ." Skyler let out a small breath. In that moment, he was at peace. Skyler Keeney was a bright‑eyed, energetic four‑year‑old with a spark that was impossible to miss, and a joy that seemed to follow him. In many ways, he was just like any other kid his age. He laughed easily, found joy in the simplest things, and adored his mother. In every ordinary sense, he fit right in. But when it came to what he considered the ultimate birthday present, that's where Skyler stood apart. Behind the safety of the sofa, Skyler beamed with pure joy. A million questions raced through his mind, but he didn't care about the answers. He was simply thrilled to have received this incredible gift from his dad. He crouched down low, feeling the moment arrive. He clenched his little fists and bore down, his face scrunching up with effort. He was ready. "Okay, I just got the baby back down," his mom said as she walked back into the room. "How's Skyler doing on the potty?" she asked, he words trailing off as she looked around. The question floated in the air. Mitch and Robin exchanged glances. Skyler froze. For the past two days, his mom had been so proud of him for being a big boy, wearing underwear, and using the potty. Now he worried she would be disappointed to find him back in a diaper. He turned his head, just poking up from behind the sofa, and saw her standing there. With his underwear and pants bundled on the floor near the potty, his diaper bag open, and him in his usual pooping spot, Skyler had been busted. "It's okay, sweetie. You can go ahead," his mom said softly, giving him a reassuring nod. That was all he needed to hear. Knowing his mother was on board with the special birthday treat meant everything. In that time, in his favorite spot, he had all that he needed. The love and understanding of his parents, the sturdy embrace of his trusty padded pants, and the deep desire to use them. His life was complete. Without another word, Skyler picked up right where he had left off. The pressure had returned, and he was more than eager to release it. The back of his diaper instantly drooped, heavy with his private indulgence. He felt a sudden rush in his cheeks, an uneasy flutter as the realization hit: He was filling a diaper like a baby after already proving he could be a big boy. As he let slip a warm stream of pee pee, feeling the soothing glow spread throughout his bottom, all other feelings washed away. Skyler was in heaven. His hand drifted around to his backside, ready to explore the rigid lump of his glorious creation, when a hushed voice broke the silence. "I think someone did you-know-what," he heard his mom murmur softly as she snuggled next to his dad on the recliner nearby. The scent of his handiwork had wafted through the room, tickling Robin's nose. "Oh yeah," Mitch whispered back, affirming her suspicion while matching the soft tone. Robin's gaze melted with tenderness as it met Skyler's. With a gentle smile, she opened her arms, offering a warm invitation to join their cozy embrace. Drawn by the love and acceptance radiating from his parents, Skyler responded instantly to his mother's reassuring gesture. He quickly waddled out from behind the sofa, the jostling contents of his diaper reaffirming the sheer joy he felt in every sensation. He nestled into the small space between his parents on the large recliner in the corner of the living room, sinking into their warmth with a happy, squishy sigh. As his weight settled, the thick mound spread into a comforting, gooey cushion, making him feel like the happiest boy in the world. Sitting down in his warm, mushy aftermath was a pleasure he had cherished for as long as he could remember. While most mothers might have recoiled at the thought of their little one sitting in a messy diaper, Robin never did. To her, a little extra cleanup was a small price to pay for the comfort and joy it obviously brought him. As long as Skyler was happy and safe, she didn't mind the mess in the slightest. It had been a bittersweet birthday weekend for Skyler, filled with sweet cake, exciting presents, and plenty of celebrations. Yet, amidst the fanfare, the weekend also marked a drastic shift that seemingly severed his final ties to his baby days. But thanks to this special, final gift, a brief regressive treat, the occasion would be padded in his memory for a long time to come. "Sweetheart," Robin said softly, breaking Skyler from his daydream. "I know it's hard to let go of something you've relied on for so long. But Daddy was right, you really did deserve this last hurrah for being such a big boy all weekend. From now on, though, I think you are totally ready to make your poopy and pee pees in the potty." Mitch smiled softly and nodded, a knowing look in his eyes that silently suggested this wasn't necessarily the last time Skyler would be allowed such a comfort. The weight of his mother's words finally settled on Skyler; he could no longer ignore the truth or pretend that this moment wasn't real. As the reality sank in, a wistful feeling washed over him. It was then that a deep longing began to stir, a desire to hold onto this fleeting sense of security just a little while longer. Over the next few days, Skyler slowly began to settle into his new routine. He did his absolute best to keep his pants clean and dry for his mom, though he wasn't always successful. He still had a stubborn tendency to wait until the very last second before heading to the potty, usually with messy results. However, he missed the safe confines of his diapers most in his moments of potty-training success. The contrast was jarring. He had traded the warm, plush security of his absorbent pants for the cold, impersonal grip of a plastic seat. He missed the immediate, reassuring pressure of his poop pressing back against him as he pushed it out. In its place, only the distant, hollow thud as it vanished into the bowl. It was the same with his pee pee. Gone was the gentle, enveloping warmth of his padding, replaced by the sharp, echoing patter of a stream hitting the pot below. Every victory on the potty felt like a small, sensory betrayal. Whenever his mom changed his little baby brother's diaper, Skyler watched with keen interest. He loved the smells, sounds, and textures of the entire process. These moments stirred up his fondest memories. He could easily picture himself as the one getting his bottom wiped and taped into a fresh, crinkly new garment. As the days turned into weeks, he continued to wistfully reflect on his 'glory days'. Each night, he silently wished his dad would surprise him with another special treat, like the one after the party at Grandma's house. But he never did. During their trips to the store or preschool, Skyler sat in the back strapped in his car seat next to Chris. He would reach into the tote on the floor and pull out one of the baby diapers, keeping it hidden on his lap. There, he would deeply inhale, savoring the sweet, powdery scent that defined his earlier life. He loved to unfold it and listen to the satisfying crinkle, staring at the soft inner lining as he imagined what it would look like after being used. Graduating to big kid underwear also meant graduating to the Pre-K room at preschool, where strong potty habits were a requirement. The change was both exciting and scary for Skyler. He missed the familiar safety of his old class, where everyone was happily protected by padding. While the new room meant new friends and toys, it also brought new rules and expectations. Whenever he spotted one of his former classmates in the lobby or on the playground, he felt a distinct pang of jealousy, yearning for the simpler, diapered days of the past. Trips to the grocery store were another trigger for his nostalgia. Whenever they went down the baby aisle, Skyler would breathe in deeply as his mom dropped packages of diapers into the cart for Chris. He loved the clean, powdery scent of the entire aisle. He also found himself peeking into other people's carts, noticing when parents of kids around his age were buying diapers. A wave of envy washed over him as he imagined what it would be like to still need them. Even the usual comfort of his favorite shows couldn’t keep the memories at bay. Daytime television featured a non-stop parade of diaper commercials, each one a tiny, thirty-second movie made just for him. The moment a jingle for one of the popular brands started, usually a happy, bouncy tune designed to get stuck in your head, his world would shrink to just the television screen. His eyes would go wide, captivated by the happy, diapered toddlers prancing around. He loved the visual promise of it all, the vibrant characters printed on the waistbands, the look of pure carefree joy on their faces, and the satisfying crinkle of the padding he could almost hear in his mind. It was a life he desperately wanted back, a reminder that somewhere, other kids were still living in the soft, padded paradise he missed so much. Of course, though he often found himself reminiscing about his recent past, diapers weren't the only thing on his mind. Skyler had plenty of other interests to keep him busy. He loved watching television, playing with his action figures, and he was just starting to develop a real love for sports. In fact, as the weeks went by, those big kid games and heroes began to take up more and more space in his thoughts. As he moved closer to the monumental milestone of starting kindergarten, Skyler became even less focused on his bygone, babyish interests and entirely captivated by the exciting, uncharted world ahead of him. Instead of dreaming about crinkly plastic, his head was now filled with the satisfying ping of a bat making contact and the glorious, dusty slide into home plate. He was suddenly fascinated by the secret symbols on the pages of his beginner books, feeling a surge of pride each time he managed to string them together into a word. Even the wind in his hair as he raced his new bicycle down the driveway became a fresh thrill. The reassuring wobble of its training wheels chased those old, pampered wishes further into the back of his mind. Though his life was changing in many new and exciting ways, his love for diapers was always there, just beneath the surface. He still looked back on all of his fond, formative memories with a warm smile. Until one day, during his second week of kindergarten, when a chilling incident changed everything. Skyler had felt the need to pee almost immediately upon arriving at school that day. Still not comfortable with using foreign toilets, he was determined to hold it until he was safely back home. At first, it wasn't too bad; he had even forgotten about it for a while. But later in the afternoon, when clean-up time came, the signal had returned. This time, it was way more urgent... He ignored the last call for bathroom visits, confident he could make it despite the growing need. He teetered like a penguin, his legs pressed tightly together as he walked to the shelves to put away his crayons and paste. Moving in tiny, shuffling increments, his sneakers barely leaving the floor. Listening to his teacher's final instructions of the day, he leaned forward in his chair, propping himself up with his elbows, trying to take the pressure off his lap. His eyes lost focus on the board, staring blankly at the wall as all his energy went inward. After grabbing his lunch box from the cubby, he lined up by the wall, ready for dismissal. Standing there, he bounced on the balls of his feet, a frantic rhythm of please-please-please hold it. Marching down the hall in a line with his classmates, Skyler could see the end in sight. If he could just make it to his seat on the bus, it was only a short ride home. But then... The line stopped. Paused right in the middle of the hall, Skyler had no idea what was happening. Usually, they went straight from the classroom to the bus. As the need intensified, he stood on his tiptoes, trying to look ahead to see what was causing the delay. The loud chatter of his schoolmates made it hard for him to concentrate on holding it. The line finally jerked forward again, a slow, agonizing crawl. Through the doors at the end of the hall, he could see the bright yellow of the school buses waiting. A fresh wave of hope washed over him. He was so close... He took a shuffling step, and then another. And then... it happened. A small, shocking warmth suddenly bloomed in his underwear. It was just a spurt, a warning shot from a body that had reached its limit. He froze, every muscle clenching in a final, desperate attempt to stop the flood he knew was coming. But it was no use... He couldn't hold it any longer. He simply let go. He wasn't thinking about the consequences, only the overwhelming relief. A familiar heat spread below his waist, a warm, unstoppable tide that soaked through his jeans and down his leg. There was no sound, just the helpless, silent swell as the world around him faded to a dull, distant roar. He held his race car lunch box over his crotch, hoping desperately that no one had noticed as the line stopped again. His eyes began to well with tears as the tension became too much to bear. He quickly wiped them away with the back of his wrist, trying to act normal. Up until this very moment, Skyler had loved being in kindergarten. He had made several new friends, he adored his teacher, and the slide on the playground was the best he'd ever seen. But standing in there in the bus loop, tears in his eyes and pee pee running down his leg, he wished he was invisible. As the line began to move again toward the waiting steps of the bus, he couldn't stop himself from looking down. The evidence was undeniable. A dark, wet sheen covered the entire side of his left leg, turning the light blue denim a deep, shameful navy. Standing on the curb, ready to take his first step onto the school bus, he looked over. His bus monitor was staring directly at him. His secret was out. He froze, waiting for her response. He knew for sure she was going to pull him out of line. Everyone would know. His heart raced as his foot reached for the step. "Have a nice weekend, Skyler," the monitor said, a warm, reassuring smile on her face. He kept moving, reaching the second step while pretending he heard nothing, just wanting to make it to his seat and be home free. The bus was packed. The only seats free were at the very back. He had to walk past all the kids, who were already sitting and looking forward. He felt like all eyes were on him. He clutched the handle of his lunch box tightly with both hands as he made his way. Step by step, amidst all the hooting and hollering, Skyler was laser-focused on reaching his seat. He saw an empty bench, second row from the end, and darted straight for it Sliding all the way up against the window, Skyler curled up with his lunch box on his lap, hoping no one would sit next to him. As the door to the bus shut and the wheels started rolling, Skyler deeply exhaled. He had made it. His mom would be waiting for him at the bus stop; everything was going to be alright. He pressed his race car lunchbox down harder onto his lap, trying to cover the evidence. His other hand went to the damp denim of his pant leg, his fingers tracing the edge of the stain as if trying to measure the size of his mistake. He felt small and helpless, like a baby again, but not in a good way. And then, a thought popped into his mind, cold and sharp. He actually used to like this. He used to wish for this. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the memory away. He was a big boy now. The accident was his final straw. Right then and there, he vowed to move on, once and for all. It was a drastic decision, a deliberate choice to cut ties with his juvenile inclinations and leave it all in the past. As the weeks passed by, Skyler had officially put his silly, infantile thoughts behind him. He was committed. He still retained his vivid memories of those past comforts, but now he viewed them as a measure of how much he had grown. He knew now that only babies wore diapers. He no longer paid attention when his mom changed his brother's diaper, preferring to lose himself in his many other interests. He now flipped the channel without a second thought whenever a diaper commercial came on, knowing with a certainty that they were not for him. Most days, he barely thought about it at all. Yet, the one constant thing that could still stir his old feelings was the diaper aisle at the grocery store. The distinctive, powdery fragrance would wash over him, and for a fleeting second, it all came back. But Skyler was now quick to dismiss it, turning his focus to the bright colors of the cereal boxes instead. By the end of the school year, Skyler felt like a whole new kid. He had completely cut ties with his babyish habits of the past and was excelling at life as a five-year-old. He was the best player on his t-ball team, the star of every game. His teacher adored him, often bragging about his kindness to the other students. He was also one of the best readers in his class, proud whenever he was chosen to answer a question. Life was good. The stakes grew even higher after Skyler turned six and prepared to enter first grade. He'd be taking a new bus, facing fuller school days, and meeting harder expectations. He faced the challenge head-on, all his prior childish fascinations left far behind him. Until, one day, right before school started, when he noticed something that would change everything. Out of the blue, he detected something in his little brother's eyes that wasn't there before. It was a subtle spark, an awareness he could recognize but didn't have a name for. It was a quick and sudden realization. His baby brother, was no longer a 'baby'. Chris was now a little boy, just like Skyler, only smaller. He could talk with him, share the same toys, and they even laughed at the same silly jokes. It was a stark difference from the tiny, warm bundle he had known since the day Chris was born, a little creature defined only by soft coos, milky scents, and the desperate need to be held. This spurt in awareness opened up a whole new world of fun possibilities as Skyler now had a live-in playmate. One late August afternoon, after returning home from 'Back-to-School' shopping, the two brothers were lying on the living room floor filling in the lines of a giant coloring book. Chris was scribbling vigorously with a large yellow crayon, doing his best to fill in a cartoon character's shirt on the page. Skyler, his skills much more refined, held a more narrow, brown crayon as he worked on the shoes. Despite Chris's limited vocabulary, a shared love for the character and an easy agreement on colors created a silent, happy bond between them. Together they were having a wonderful time, until, for no apparent reason, Chris suddenly froze. His crayon still pressed against the page, his little hand gripping it tightly, but his spirited movements had ceased. Skyler looked over, curious about the abrupt stillness that had left half of the illustrated bear's shirt untouched. Chris dropped his crayon, pushing himself off the floor, bracing his hands on the large paper page. Skyler watched as his younger brother toddled across the floor, toward the corner of the room, near the big, leafy plant. From his spot on the floor, he saw Chris's back arch and his legs lock, his little body going rigid as his hands tightened into small fists. Skyler's heart started racing, spellbound by his brother's movements. He inched forward, very slightly, as a tiny grunt floated through the air. He couldn't look away, his sibling's distinctive pose was like a magnet, pulling his eyes in. A strange, confusing warmth unfurled deep in Skyler's tummy, a forgotten feeling he somehow knew by heart. The air in the room seemed to hold its breath as he waited and watched. He knew it was coming. Any second. Any moment. And then, it happened... What Skyler was about to witness would change his life forever. It all came rushing back, awakened by a soft, but forceful eruption in the back of Chris's pants. Skyler toyed with his fingers as his gaze lingered, his dawning realization like a light switch turning on. A flicker of envy washed over him as he watched Chris remain frozen in his pronounced pose. He could almost feel it himself, that wonderful sensation of satisfaction, a job well done. Skyler continued to study his kid brother, imagining what he would do if he were the one with a loaded diaper taped around his bottom. "Are you pooping your Pamper?" Skyler called out, almost involuntarily, a way to instinctively interject himself into the moment. "PAMPER." Chris muttered in an affirming tone as he completed his deed and walked back to the coloring book. Skyler's thoughts had been completely taken over. He was no longer thinking about the new clothes he had gotten, or who his new teacher would be. He now had a singular focus. The warm, luxurious protection of a softly padded diaper. Over the next few days, the newness of the school year kept him busy, but his mind would frequently drift back, drawn to that beacon of comfort and safety from his past. Once again, he was enchanted by the sight of his brother's diaper changes, offering to help his mom whenever he noticed the need. He would linger nearby fixed on the familiar ritual of wipes, powder, and the soft crinkle of fresh padding being taped into place. Skyler found himself becoming more and more jealous of his 'baby' brother. If Chris could wear diapers, why couldn't he? They had a lot of other things in common now, he wished this could be one of them. He also had a renewed interest in diaper commercials, watching closely whenever one would interrupt his favorite shows. He even began rummaging through the stack of 'Women and Mothering' magazines by the sofa, his eyes scanning intently for the glossy ads he knew were hidden within. Often, when his mom was preoccupied, he would sneak into his brother's diaper bag and pull out one of the billowy, white prizes. He loved the smooth, crisp texture beneath his fingers, he delighted in the way it rustled as he unfurled the ends, his insides stirred as he imagined what it would feel like placed around him. It was during these times when a mischievous side of Skyler's psyche would occasionally emerge. Like a cat burglar scheming his next heist, he would hatch a cunning plan to snag the loot and escape to the bathroom. His mission, should he choose to accept it, would allow him only precious few minutes to shed his clothes, don the diaper, do his duty and clean it all up. Though he wanted nothing more than to once again feel that soft, cushy lining pressed against his skin as he released his natural urges, the risks of capture were too great. The thoughts of his mom's response had she caught him in the act of using a stolen diaper were too devastating. Each time he'd scrap the plan before it ever left the ground. As the weeks marched on, these desires didn't fade away like they did when he was younger. This time, they only grew stronger. Aware of societal expectations and what is considered normal, Skyler wouldn't dare mention his secret wish to anyone. He did his best to keep his feelings buried deep inside, but it wasn't always so easy. His ears would instantly perk up at any mention of the word "diaper," a physical betrayal of the private truth he struggled to hide. It was especially tricky to hide his special thoughts when he was out and about in the world. With reminders all around him, his forbidden feelings would sometimes bubble to the surface. On this particular Friday night in late October, Skyler and his family were at the Mall of Georgia, celebrating Chris's third birthday. They had just had a cheerful dinner and were roaming the corridors of the mall, entering whichever stores sparked their interest. The toy store was Skyler's favorite, and even though it was Chris's birthday, he was allowed to pick out a treasure of his own. He clutched his new action figure close to his chest, buzzing with excitement. The family headed to Build-A-Bear as their next stop. Chris's choice, not Skyler's. Standing in line, waiting for Chris's bear to be stuffed, Skyler began to grow impatient. Wanting nothing more than to be home, playing with his new toy figure, he tapped his toe vigorously against the floor as he watched the girl in front of them get her stuffed frog meticulously sewn up. The wait was endless. Skyler released a deep, exaggerated breath as Chris took his sweet time choosing the perfect outfit for his new bear, 'Christopher'. His attention was lost, staring at the back of his new action figure when, without warning, his ears instantly perked up. "PAMPER." The word from his little brother's mouth was a sudden spark, cutting through his impatience like a flash of lightning. Skyler lifted his head, his eyes fixed on Chris, the younger boy's small fingers rifling through the wide assortment of stuffed animal clothing. Ever since that day in the living room two months prior, 'Pamper' had become Chris's all-purpose word to signal the need for a diaper change. "PAMPER." Chris repeated, his tongue catching slightly on the 'P' as Robin checked his diaper, confirming it was clean and dry. Watching the situation closely, Skyler could tell from his brother's insistence that he meant something else this time. Seeing his parents confused by Chris's intent, he decided to speak up. "Mom, I think he wants the teddy bear to wear a Pamper," he said confidently, trying to bring clarity and speed the process along. Robin's face lit up as she finally understood the meaning behind her youngest son's cryptic communication. They searched the store, hunting for a diaper to complete the fluffy bear's outfit. With none in sight, she turned as a friendly store associate approached them. "Chris here wants his teddy bear to wear a Pamper. Do you sell those?" Robin asked the worker, a teenage girl with long auburn hair. An obviously outgoing and affectionate girl, she crouched down and scooped Chris up into her arms. In a sweet, high-pitched tone, she asked him. "Do you wear Pampers too, little precious boy?" Chris nodded so enthusiastically that it seemed he might strain a muscle in his neck. His emphatic response was confirmed by the soft crinkle of his diaper resting against her forearm. Still holding Chris, the girl helped them search the store. When their hunt came up empty, she offered a practical suggestion to Mitch and Robin: they could simply use one of Chris's own diapers, which would be much cheaper and fit just as well. "Okay, Chris, what do we say to the nice lady?" Robin prompted gently. Chris hesitated, his little face scrunching in thought before he finally remembered and exclaimed, "THANK YOU!" The teenage girl smiled, clearly charmed. Then, just to make sure Skyler wasn't left out, she turned to him with a playful question. "Do you wear Pampers, too?" A warmth bloomed in Skyler's cheeks. He gave a small, almost invisible shake of his head, a silent 'no' that betrayed the yearning 'yes' in his heart "I think we’re past that with him now," Robin added with a warm smile. Hearing this, Skyler ducked behind his dad’s leg, his presence a comforting shield in the awkward moment. The girl's surprising question had caught him off guard, but it was his mom's casual comment about his past diaper use that made his heart race, not with embarrassment, but with a secret thrill of excitement. As they completed their purchase and headed to the new sports memorabilia shop across the way, the action figure in Skyler's hand felt forgotten, his mind now consumed by his true, favorite passion. Enjoying the soft, reassuring warmth that enveloped him whenever his thoughts turned to diapers, Skyler floated through the store, closely following his parents. That's when he saw them. Right there on the corner display. Somehow, with no prior knowledge of them, he knew exactly what they were. "Look!!" He burst out, pointing at the packages. He dashed toward the rack of neatly stacked, colorful packages. The product was called "Super Fannies". They were disposable diapers, just like Pampers, but with a strange and wonderful twist. Each one was decorated on the back with the bold, colorful logo of a college team. The family stared for a moment, realizing these were real diapers. "How about we buy some for Christopher?" Robin asked Chris, holding up a package. Chris nodded eagerly. Since their dad was a devoted Tennessee Vols fan, Robin grabbed a pack of large-sized diapers with little UT prints and tucked it under her arm, figuring the remaining diapers could be used for Chris on game days until he was fully trained. Skyler couldn't resist. The charm of these special, team-themed diapers pushed him past wishing and into wanting. "Can I have some too?" Skyler asked hesitantly as he impulsively grabbed one of the packages from the shelf. His silent craving finally too much to hold, the words just spilled out. Had he thought about it first, he likely would have just stayed quiet. But as the question lingered, a flicker of hope ignited within him. His parents were in an exceptionally good mood, and in that moment, he was sure they couldn't deny his sweet request. He glanced at his dad, his eyes shining with wonder. The memory of that ultimate birthday wish, granted just two years prior, remained a vivid, secret dream he held close. Just as his father was about to speak, a warm laugh bubbled from his mom, her eyes warm and soft. Skyler's heart leaped at her gentle reaction. "You're too big for diapers, sweetie," his mom explained, her tone warm but edged with a finality that left no room for argument. A heavy weight settled in Skyler's stomach. The bright package suddenly felt clumsy in his hands. With a sigh that seemed to drain all the air from his lungs, he placed it back on the shelf, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "How about some UT boxer shorts instead?" Robin suggested, her smile a gentle attempt to mend the crack in his heart. He just nodded, the happy feeling from moments before completely gone, replaced by a sinking drop in his tummy. As his mom held a pair of the shorts up to his waist, trying to pinpoint his size, Skyler looked back at the coveted packages of Super Fannies. For a brief moment, he pictured himself wearing one of the UT-branded diapers during their weekly game days. Showing his team pride with a soft, cozy diaper felt truly thrilling, infinitely more comforting than the flimsy cotton shorts his mom was holding. Staring at the street lights as they blurred by out the window, Skyler replayed the moment over in his mind. His mom's gentle answer of "no" to his genuinely earnest request echoed over and over. Lulled into a hypnotic-like state by the car's steady hum, he regretted asking the question. He much preferred the hopeful possibility from before over the sharp sting of disappointment he felt now. He went to bed that night with a deep, wistful longing in his heart. The October sun spilled into his room the next morning, chasing away the last gloomy shadows from the car ride. Skyler bounced out of bed, a big smile already on his face. Saturdays were the best, but the ones in the fall were pure magic. It was game day, the day the whole family piled into the 'Boys Room' to cheer on the Tennessee Volunteers football team. The 'Boy's Room' wasn’t the kids’ bedroom, it was Mitch’s special den, meticulously designed for sports viewing. The sign on the door boldly declared "NO GIRLS ALLOWED," though there was one important exception: moms were welcome. Robin always had free rein to enter this male-only domain, a rule she cheerfully ignored. After lunch, the house buzzed with energy. Skyler and Chris thundered around the living room, their toys scattered across the floor like casualties in a great, imaginary battle. Meanwhile, Mitch and Robin were busy in the kitchen, putting together a game-day spread of snacks. Kickoff was near. For a moment, Skyler's attention shifted. He took a break from the action to change the armor on his new figure, but when he looked up, Chris was gone. A familiar thrill of suspicion shot through him. Not wanting to miss the moment, Skyler scurried around the house, checking all of Chris's favorite pooping spots. When he reached the threshold of their shared bedroom, his eyes landed directly on Chris, who was standing at the far side of the room, his back to the door. Skyler didn't make a peep, not wanting to interrupt his little brother. He knew what happens next. A soft crackling sound lofted through the room. The youngest Keeney boy was in a very particular pose, a large bulge jutting from his backside. Skyler didn't move a muscle. He watched every detail, imagining it was him standing there, feeling the sudden, satisfying weight settle in the padding and the blissful freedom of not having to worry. As quickly as it all began, Chris turned around and scurried out the door, passing Skyler like he wasn't even there. Skyler lingered, lost in his daydream. He had never felt more envious in his life. He would trade everything for the special privilege his brother had. The honor of being able to wear and use diapers, with no questions, no expectations, it was the pinnacle of permission as far as Skyler was concerned. He looked toward the corner of the room, his eyes fixing on the bright, colorful package of Super Fannies that sat on the shelves beside his three-year-old roommate's dresser. The seam on the edge of the packaging had been torn open, with one of the diapers having been removed, used to complete the outfit of Chris's new teddy bear Christopher. His attention snagged on the pristine stack peeking from the gap in the plastic wrapper, each one a folded, plush temptation. The sight of the inviting bundle sent him right back to the store, a reprise of his mother's 'no' playing in his mind. The hopeful bubble in his chest burst, leaving behind a dull, hollow ache. He already knew the answer to the question burning in his heart, a truth that made the sight of his wanting hurt even more. A quiet disappointment had just settled within his chest when suddenly, the thought of Chris's sacred deed bloomed again in his mind. A fresh wave of delight washed over him as he thought about what comes next. Watching the loving ritual of his brother's diaper change provided a chance for him to bask in the good fortune he couldn't have for himself. With a new sense of purpose, he bounded out of the room, ready to inform his mom of the inside story. By the time he had reached the kitchen, he could see that the news had already spread. His mom was down on one knee, right next to Chris, pressing her fingers against the innocent bump in the back of his pants. Robin led Chris by the hand, down the hallway, and back into their bedroom. Skyler followed eagerly behind, excited to help his mom with the special duty. The little boy promptly climbed onto his toddler bed while his mother picked up the large container of wipes from the supply shelf. With Chris on his back, Robin hooked her fingers into the waistband, whisking his pants away in one smooth motion, revealing the snug, puffy garment beneath. The front panel was heavy with moisture, swollen thick between his legs. Along the elastic leg bands, the clean white was marked with the faint, dark brown smudges of his accomplishment. Skyler stood nearby, watching intently, vibrating with a readiness to help. Robin worked the tapes free one by one, two soft rips followed by the gentle pull of the front flap as she lowered it down straight. She then gathered his ankles in one hand, lifting his legs straight up in the air, his bottom bearing the telltale signs of his latest production. The air blossomed with a sweet, familiar fragrance. A complex mix of the earthy, the clean, and the powdery, a scent that bypassed his thoughts and invoked Skyler's most precious memories. The sight and smell of a poopy diaper, things that sent other children running, held no repulsion for Skyler. On the contrary, he was completely captivated. He saw them not as messes, but as unique works of art, each one with its own special shape, size, and texture, a small, squishy mystery to be admired. He watched as his mother used a fresh wet wipe, its once-pristine white purity immediately surrendering to the deep brown mark of his brother's creation. "Skyler honey," his mom spoke, breaking his gaze. "Could you hand me one of the Super Fannies from the package?" His eyes flew open, he moved on pure instinct. His breath caught in his throat. He reached into the bright package, lifting one of the perfectly folded treasures, the object of his affection finally in his hand. Autumn sunlight streamed through the window, lighting him from behind as he stood there, a silent silhouette gazing at the golden promise in his grasp. He could almost feel its warm and comforting snug around his own waist, the fantasy so vivid it pulled him under. "Sweetie, I can really use that diaper now." Robin's voice, gentle but firm, pulled him back from the edge of his daydream. Shaken from his trance, Skyler passed the pristine, white gem to his mom. She accepted it with a gracious smile, her main attention fixed on Chris as she held his little legs aloft, his bottom now a perfect, polished ivory. Robin's hands moved with natural ease, fastening the UT-branded padding around her son's plump bottom before rolling the soiled garment into a neat bundle, trapping the brown-streaked wipes within. Freshly changed and as good as new, Chris was ready to cheer on the Vols. Robin handed him his new diapered buddy, and sent him toddling off to the 'Boy's Room' to find daddy. Skyler turned to follow his little brother, who had scampered out of the room, the UT emblem on his bottom a proud cheer with each wiggle. "Wait just a second, honey," his mom called out before he reached the door. His heart gave a sudden, nervous flutter against his ribs. He'd been caught. His mom had seen the reverence in his eyes, he was sure of it. He stood frozen, bracing himself for a gentle but firm reminder that he was too old for such things. Slowly, he turned to face his mother, his shoulders already slumping in anticipation of his fate. He looked up, fully expecting the worst. But her face wasn't stern or cross. It was simply... soft. And in a blink, his fear was gone. Though Skyler dreaded an angry reaction, it was an entirely irrational worry. He knew his mom never truly got upset, not over spills or messes or anything. She always handled things with a gentle voice and a helping hand. The real worry wasn't a scolding; it was the scary thought that if he ever pushed too far, he might finally break the unspoken rules of her kindness. Studying his mom's big brown eyes, it was now clear what came next. The tremble in his hands quieted, and he stood up a little straighter. He was preparing for the soft letdown, the tender explanation on why his obvious feelings were outright silly and babyish. And then, she said it. "Skyler, how about I put a diaper on you as well?" The question lofted between them, shimmering and impossible. For a second, his brain just stopped. The words didn't make sense, a jumble of sounds that had no business being in his mom's mouth. He blinked, sure he must have imagined it, a wish so powerful it had tricked his ears. As the magnitude of the request hit him, he knew he had to answer instantly, fearing she would change her mind if his silence lingered. His eyes blew open wide, like two giant blue saucers. A giggle, sharp and bubbly, tried to escape his throat before he spoke. "Really?! Okay!" he blurted out, not entirely sure if this was still real life. A wide, knowing smile bloomed across Robin's face, not in the least bit surprised by her son's enthusiastic reply. "Well, okay then," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Go ahead and grab another 'fanny' from the pack." A tremor of pure joy shot through him as he scrambled to the package. His fingers, clumsy with haste, fumbled for the edge of the plastic wrap. This time, the crinkle he was about to hear wasn't for his brother, or for a teddy bear. It was for him. In a flash, he was on the bed. The wiggles and fidgets that usually lived in his limbs vanished, replaced by a statue-like calm as he lay back, presenting himself for the ceremony. Though it had been two long years since his body last knew this feeling, the routine was etched into his soul. He lay there, breathing in the anticipation of the greatest feeling on earth, as he felt the gentle tug of his mom's hands at his waist. The soft shhhhlick of his jeans sliding down his legs was a familiar prelude. He looked back at her, his eyes wide, as her smooth, reassuring fingers hooked into the waistband of his plain white underpants. They, too, were peeled away in a single, fluid motion, leaving him bare from the waist down, a small boy in an oversized orange t-shirt, waiting for his dream to become real. The crisp crinkle of the diaper unfolding was the sweetest music he had ever heard, and a grin so wide it almost tickled his cheeks. He felt the unmistakable, gentle presence of his mom as she lifted his legs and bottom from the bed, holding him suspended in a moment of perfect trust. Then, the cool, fresh padding was glided into place beneath him. He was lowered down, sinking into the pillowy softness, a feeling he remembered from his dreams but never thought he'd feel again. With a final, subtle tug, Robin pulled the thick material snugly between his legs. The adhesive tabs found their marks in a series of silent, perfect presses, sealing his fate in the best possible way. He was still small enough that the diaper hugged him perfectly, a soft, secure embrace that felt like it was designed just for his body, just for this moment. He looked down, his bright eyes shimmering with awe. The thick, cushioned garment felt so wonderfully right, a soft, secure container for everything that made him a boy. He was diapered. It was a fact so simple, yet so monumental, he could hardly believe it. "How's that?" Robin asked, her voice a soft, warm melody. In response, Skyler launched himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his mom's neck. He buried his face in the familiar scent of her hair, pouring every ounce of his gratitude, his relief, and his overflowing joy into a hug that needed no translation. "Okay, let’s show Daddy that he now has two little diaper boys to watch football with," Robin said playfully, her voice full of warmth. She took his hand, her fingers lacing with his, and led him from the room. The thick, soft cushioning with every step was a constant, blissful reminder that this was real. The distant roar of the TV echoed down the hall from the 'Boy's Room'. Skyler could tell from the urgent tone of the announcers that kickoff was near. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard as they approached the doorway, his heart thudding at the thought of how his dad would react to seeing his six-year-old son diapered just like his toddler brother. The thick, fluffy cocoon hugged his bottom, a soft, secure shield against his doubt as his mom led him into the room. A hopeful, trembling smile was plastered on his face as he entered, his bright eyes fixed on his dad, waiting for the verdict. A loud, joyous giggle burst from Chris as soon as Skyler appeared. The sight of his big brother wearing a diaper just like him, sent him into a genuine fit of laughter, pointing a chubby finger with pure, uninhibited delight. Skyler ignored his baby brother's dramatic reaction, the opinions of a three-year-old having no impact on his resolve. Instead, he looked straight to his father, who was sitting comfortably on the sofa in front of the TV. His dad's expression was a locked door, his features settled into a familiar look of deep concentration, quieted by the calm contentment of the pre-game show. His gaze broke from the television's glow, drifting slowly across the room until it landed on Skyler, who was still lingering in the shadow of the doorway. A wide, slow smile spread across Mitch's face. "Well now," he said, his voice a low, warm rumble. "Look at my two little Vols! You boys look totally ready for the big game. Go team!" A huge, beaming grin lit up Skyler's face. He scrambled onto the couch, plopping down between his dad and brother with a soft, swishing sound. He wiggled his bottom, sinking into the plush cushions and the thick padding underneath, a perfect, happy sigh escaping his lips as he settled in to watch the game. The four of them gathered in snuggly, only breaking their focus during commercials to refill their snack plates. The game was a thrilling back-and-forth battle, all eyes glued to the screen. All except for Chris, who would dissolve into fits of giggles at any glimpse of his older brother's diaper. Two hours later, with the game deep in the third quarter, Skyler felt a tell-tale rumble in his tummy. A clear signal of what was to come. Skyler had been so lost in the joy of his plush, padded pants that the thought of actually using them had never even crossed his mind. Lost in his own perfect world, he'd barely said a word the entire game, content to just bask in the warm, fuzzy glow of a wish come true. While his eyes followed the action on the screen, his true focus was lower. Every few minutes, he would sneak a peek down at the white, puffy barrier encircling his bottom, a quiet smile touching his lips each time. Though the familiar urgency in his belly grew, Skyler hesitated to inform his mom. Certain that she would take him to the bathroom and remove his precious treasure, he didn't say a word. But as the pressure intensified, regardless of the consequences, he had to let her in on his predicament. He held his tongue for as long as he could, but the insistent, steady urge was a powerful force. Finally, he knew he couldn't keep it to himself anymore. "Umm, Mommy," he said, breaking his silence. "I have ta go potty." He remained perfectly still, holding his breath as he waited for her response. A soft, knowing smile touched Robin's lips. She leaned in close, her voice a hushed, gentle murmur that was just for him. "That’s OK, dear. Just go in your dipee if you’re about to," she said, her tone radiating a calm understanding. His mom's words were a warm wave of relief, but they didn't wash away all of his doubt. A small wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as he processed her permission, realizing he hadn't given her the full story. The thought of her reaction to the complete, messy truth made his tummy flutter, and he just had to be sure. Taking a tiny, shaky breath, he hesitated for a moment before being as clear as he possibly could. "It’s gonna be poopy." As Skyler's tiny confession hung in the air, the world between them went silent. He waited for a response, any response, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, a low chuckle from the end of the couch softly broke the tension. This time, it was his dad who chimed in. "It’s okay, son," Mitch said, his eyes crinkling with an easy smile, his tone lighthearted and encouraging. "It's not like we haven’t seen you in a poopy diaper before." With those words, a fizzy, tingling warmth erupted in Skyler's chest, a thousand tiny bubbles popping just beneath his skin. His heart gave a wild, joyous leap as he hopped up onto his feet, ready for action. In that moment, he was complete. Skyler Keeney was a typical boy with a unique passion. Though he was similar to other kids in many ways, one distinctive trait set him apart. Together with his family on a tranquil Saturday in late October, he was on top of the world. The six-year-old boy had been reunited with a loyal old companion, a trusted source of comfort from his earliest days. With a crisp disposable diaper securely fastened around his bottom and a pressing need in his belly, Skyler was on the verge of pure, unadulterated bliss. Though his spirit soared with elation, a slight flicker of shyness held him back. This was a private, special moment, not a performance. With a short, happy glance at his parents, he quietly slipped away behind the sofa, creating his own small, secret world. Tucked into his quiet nook, he stood perfectly still. The thrill in his heart merged with the presence in his belly, forging one powerful, undeniable desire. His palm drifted down, resting against the smooth, taut backing of his protective pants, the outer shell a cool, solid assurance under his hand. In the stillness, just moments before embarking on his grand endeavor, a flash swept through Skyler's mind. Every treasured moment and each whispered wish from the last three years flooded over him. Many blurred together, single images made from countless happy incidents. The vivid recollections of those carefree toddler days, when his prized, secure comfort was his everyday routine, were as clear as the instant they happened. The intense push, the soothing release, the squishy aftermath, all recalled with explicit detail, all at once. He bit his bottom lip, just slightly, enough to prove it wasn't all a dream. And with that, he was ready. Six-year-old Skyler was about to make poopy in a diaper, and he'd never been happier. The roar from the television faded into a distant hum as the game entered the fourth quarter. The secluded refuge behind the sofa became his entire reality, nothing else mattered. He bent his knees, sinking into a once forgotten position. He gave a small, tentative push, a gentle inquiry to test the waters. A soft, muted pop answered from his behind as the weight inside him began to shift. It was the first whisper of the main event. "You think he's doing you-know-what?" It was a hushed tone but Skyler heard it clear as day, coming from the sofa behind him. It was his mom asking his dad a playful question, using their own secret language. "Oh yeah." A cheeky smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, amused by his parents loving support of his unique desires. With his final permission slip in hand, Skyler bore down. The tell-tale pressure in his stomach, now a very distinct signal, demanded his full attention. His small hands tightened into fists as his face screwed into a mask of concentration. A deep internal heave signaled the start of his journey. The intensity of the game grew tighter as the Vols pushed down the field, the announcer's urgent voice spilling from the screen, a perfect match for the force gathering deep within Skyler's core. "The quarterback has it! He drops back, looking for an option... he finds his man!" Skyler heard nothing. His focus solely on one thing. He pushed again, a deep, deliberate effort. The movement gained momentum, a clear point of no return. "The receiver breaks free from the tackle! He's got open field!" the play-by-play echoed through the room, the words tumbling out in a rush. Skyler could feel the inevitable as it slowly progressed. He held his breath, just for a second, as a sudden, tingling, stretch bloomed within his backside. Every nerve ending was alive, immersed in this single, sacred act. "He's at The fifty! The forty! Thirty! One man to beat!" the voice on TV strained, building to a fever pitch. The encroaching mass was on it's way. There was no turning back, no stopping it. Its destination final. It didn't matter if this wasn't something big kids were supposed to do. It made no difference if people thought it was gross or inappropriate. None of that mattered at all, because it was about to happen, right now, whether anyone else liked it or not. A quiet, breathy gasp escaped his lips. Then he felt it. The final, satisfying release. A reunion with a dear, old friend. A long-held wish, finally made real. It felt like home. The poop piled up in the back of his diaper, a warm, solid weight settling gently against his skin. “TOUCHDOWN! TENNESSEE!” The roar of the crowd erupted from the television. He watched as his parents shot from their seats, a blur of high-fives and hugs, their faces alight with the thrill of the play. He could feel it pressing against him, the warm heft slowly pulling the diaper lower, the thick material sagging to its limit. Oblivious to the symphony of victory around him, he reveled in his own thrilling achievement, the profound weight in his pants his own private trophy. He had done it. A mischievous curiosity took over. His hand drifted around back, softly cupping the proud bump. He felt its firm shape between his fingers, a quiet joy fluttering in his chest at his wonderful, solid creation. A sudden stream of warm pee pee followed, flooding the swollen garment until a pleasant, encompassing heat hugged all of his most sensitive areas. Skyler was in heaven. "Hey, buddy," His spell instantly dissolved at the sound of his father's voice, pulling him back to earth. "How's it going back there? Come rejoin us if you're done." He hesitated, a sudden warmth washed over his face, a shy blush creeping slowly up his neck. Despite his parents explicit blessing, a small part of him felt like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Feeling strangely naughty, Skyler began his journey out of his sanctuary behind the couch. In an unconscious attempt to hide the heavy bulge in the back of his diaper, he walked with a slight, careful waddle. With each step, the tender bundle shifted against him, a thrilling, squishy reminder of his wonderful creation. Trying not to make eye contact, Skyler stood near the side of the sofa, pretending to follow the game. Would they snicker and make fun of him? Laugh at his babyish state. Or worse, would they silently judge him despite their approval? He felt a soft quiver in his lip, a jolt of uncertainty as he stood there waiting for acknowledgement. A gentle tug on his sleeve was all it took. His dad drew him close, a soft, sideways hug, pulling Skyler from the edge of uncertainty. All the tension and worry, instantly drifted away. His dads silent reassurance sent all of his fascination, all of his excitement and all of his wonder to come rushing back. His heart skipped a beat as his dad guided him to the empty spot on the couch. Enchanted by the thrill of it all, Skyler had almost forgot about his favorite part. As he settled onto the cushions, the solid mound in his seat began to flatten and shift, molding itself to his shape. A blissful warmth radiated through him, an intimate embrace that chased away any last bit of shyness. A deep, contented sigh escaped his lips as the familiar squeeze became a perfect essence against his skin. A rich, musky scent began to waft up, a private fragrance that added to his profound sense of comfort, the final, intoxicating piece of his secret paradise. Just as Skyler was settling into his blissful state, the quiet moment was suddenly broken by a small, pointing finger. Chris had spotted the source of his brother's contentment. "PAMPER!" The innocent observation was so perfectly timed that it shattered any remaining tension, sending the whole family into a warm, shared laughter. Mitch pulled them in for a big family hug, all tangled up snugly on the cushy sofa. He kissed Skyler on the forehead, a final assurance that he was perfect, regardless of the state of his pants. Skyler Keeney was a normal, everyday kid. A proud example of a regular child. Alike in many ways to other boys his age. But he also held a wonderful secret. A secret that most other people could never understand. On that perfect Saturday afternoon, the waning rays of golden sunlight filtering through the window, his secret didn't feel much like a secret at all. It just felt right. In that moment, with his family by his side, Skyler smiled. His warm, satisfying remnant cradled against him, enveloped by his soft, cozy padding, he chuckled. Life was perfect. The End. Read part 2 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79468876 A Kept Precious Secret: The Skyler Keeney Story - Part Two Some secrets are meant to be shared, and for six-year-old Skyler Keeney, his has woven his family closer than ever. But every paradise has its end, and when the outside world comes knocking, their private sanctuary is shattered. As his greatest comfort is suddenly taken away, Skyler must face a world without it... unless the magic of Christmas holds one last, impossible surprise.

Charlotte finds herself on her second lap of life, being reborn as Charlotte Marie Ashcroft. Having experienced decades of regression from her past life, Charlotte is weary of the magic that the running shoes possesses. When Charlotte receives the running shoes as a gift for her first birthday, all her doubts, fears, and concerns return to her when she confronts the shoes that nearly made her disappear. But old habits die hard, as Charlotte strangely finds herself drawn to the shoes once again. The shoes work their charm on her as they did in her past life, pushing Charlotte into another dilemma. Can Charlotte trust the strange magic from the running shoes? How do the shoes work? Has Charlotte sealed her fate once again? This story is a sequel to “The Running Shoes”, a story inspired from Olympiczero's "The Ballet Slippers". I strongly recommend that you check out his story as it is an amazing read, and the inspiration behind this entire story. His entire story can be found here in the link below: Having written “The Running Shoes”, I felt like there were some unanswered questions from the previous story. This “Second Lap” if you will, would address everything the last story didn’t cover, and it should tie up some loose ends on the mystery that is behind the mysterious running shoes. But be aware. Charlotte’s second lap is going to be a lot faster (shorter), so there will be a lot fewer chapters in this story. Consider this an abridged sequel with the pacing being a lot faster than the previous story. If you haven’t read “The Running Shoes”, I encourage you to read that story first. You can find that story here: But I recommend that you read the stories in the following order for the best experience and out of respect for the author who inspired me to write these two stories: - Olympic Zero’s “The Ballet Slippers” - The Running Shoes - The Running Shoes – Second Lap This story is the official second part to The Running Shoes and is to be treated as a tribute, and my own unique spin on the original classic. Fans of “The Ballet Slippers” should be familiar with the theme and how this story serves as a spiritual continuation of the original classic. Enjoy the story! So yes. I am finally working on the sequel. As for updates, they will will be done as I find time to do them. I am very busy so I'll try to keep this story updated when I can. Enjoy everyone! Prologue - Second Lap Charlotte Marie Ashcroft woke up in an incubator in the NICU at Kaiser Permanente Santa Rosa Medical Center in Santa Rosa, California. Despite it being only two days since Charlotte was born, the newborn Charlotte felt a strong feeling a Déjà vu inside of her. While everything felt very new to her, there was a lingering familiarity at the same time. It was like Charlotte had experienced life before. A past life that she had a full memory of. Much of this was weighed down by her drowsiness as a newborn. Her long naps afforded her very little moments of consciousness while the nurses tended to her around the clock. As sleepy as Charlotte was, there was a strangeness that she felt that she just couldn’t let go. Decades from a past life that she was just beginning to ponder. A strong and powerful thought entered Charlotte’s mind. A thought that she had no memory of despite having the same thought a couple of days ago. ‘They listened. They gave me another chance. Another chance at life. They…It was…it was…’ Charlotte’s tired mind tried to process the rest of her train of thought. ‘It…it was…it was…the shoes.’ The shoes. The very thought of them made the newborn Charlotte smile again. The running shoes. The very tools that Charlotte thought that were working against her were actually listening to her the whole time. Here Charlotte was, just two days old, being stabilized in the NICU due to her being born one month premature. The incubator and the other machines were doing a wonderful job in keeping Charlotte alive and healthy. As the days passed, Charlotte received regular feedings from the nurses, which was usually followed by changing her diapers. Charlotte’s temperature was continually measured and she still needed an incubator due to her low birth weight unable to regulate her body temperature. Due to one frightening episode of apnea and three different episodes of bradycardia, Charlotte still needed a ventilator for the first couple weeks of her life. Charlotte, as drowsy as she was, slowly pieced together all the scattered fragments of her past life. As strange as it was, Charlotte felt like this past life was her very own, making her current life a continuation of her original life. Charlotte could feel her fingers reflexively close around nurses that laid their fingers on her palms. As they did this, another fond thought entered Charlotte’s mind: her name. ‘I….Who am I? I am….my name is….Charlotte…Warren…’ But that wasn’t right. While Charlotte was very close, the fragmented memories from her mother’s wedding were still jumbled together in her mind. A few days later, Charlotte heard a noise which startled her. At the same time, this loosened something inside of Charlotte. ‘My name….I am…Charlotte Ashcroft. I have….a big sister….Lauren Ashcroft….My mother’s name….Darcy Ashcroft….My father’s name….Michael Ashcroft….’ All this was enough for Charlotte to immediately fall asleep. One thing that Charlotte immediately noticed was how strange and different her dreams were. Despite being only a newborn, Charlotte had numerous dreams where she was already an adult. Charlotte could only guess that these dreams were only various memories from her past life. Charlotte snapped awake to suddenly forget just how small she actually was. The Charlotte that she saw in her dreams was a Charlotte that had already ran the first lap. Being a newborn again, Charlotte reasoned that this was her second lap. Her return to consciousness was swiftly met with an overwhelming feeling of fatigue and a sensory overload that overwhelmed her to the point of tears. “WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” A NICU nurse immediately attended to Charlotte. She checked her breathing and temperature and made sure that Charlotte was adequately fed. After the nurse changed Charlotte’s diaper, she fed her. Another thing that Charlotte didn’t realize was that her mother visited her every day. Darcy often visited Charlotte, but it was usually during the long spans of time that Charlotte slept. Darcy often held Charlotte under the supervision of the NICU staff before giving her new baby girl back to them for her continued care. During one moment that Charlotte woke up, she was almost two weeks old, and she could feel herself swaddled by loving arms. A gentle hum filled her ears, which sounded like a lullaby. It sounded…familiar. Like she had heard this voice before. It was…Charlotte knew it was her. Mother. Mom. Mommy. Mama. Charlotte would’ve uttered ‘mama’, but realized that her vocal cords couldn’t process speech yet. So she cooed instead when she felt the warmth of her mother cradling her. She was cradled in her mother’s arms and she felt safe. Two weeks passed. Darcy was getting into a white limousine with Lauren. A look of eagerness came over Darcy’s face as she found her favorite spot in the back seat of the limo: the right most seat facing the window. Darcy sat in the tan leather seat and buckled herself in. Lauren, not caring what seat she took, buckled herself in the middle seat next to Darcy and smiled. “So are you finally taking Charlotte home, mommy?” Darcy shrugged her shoulders. At this point, she was used to her adult daughter calling her mommy, as it has been more than a year since the wedding. Lauren was indeed her daughter now. Legally, yes. But for Darcy it was much more than that. Darcy then thought of her daughter’s question. Is Charlotte coming home today? This, Darcy knew was a matter that she didn’t have any control over. It was all up to the doctors and nurses at the NICU to decide when Charlotte was ready to come home. And at this point in time, it has been 23 days since Charlotte was born now. “I don’t know,” Darcy finally said. “It’s up to the doctors. Charlotte needs to be healthy enough to breathe on her own. Don’t you remember her birth weight? It was only 2 pounds and 9 ounces!” Lauren gave her mother an understanding nod. Lauren knew that this was normal for a baby that was born one month premature. In nine more days, Charlotte would be coming up to her actual due date of December 10th. “I know, mommy. I just want to see my baby sister at home where she belongs. I mean, won’t it be great to put her in that new nursery?” Darcy smiled at the mention of the nursery. This was a fun project that both her and Lauren both worked on. It gave them both time to bond beautifully as new mother and new daughter. Even though it has been a year since Darcy married Michael, having Lauren as her daughter was still new, and working on Charlotte’s nursery together was the best idea ever. They both shared laughter, stories, and burdens as they both worked on the important room that Charlotte would be staying in. What Lauren liked the most was that she actually had the time to work on the nursery with her mother. Even since Charlotte was born, Lauren took a sabbatical from her modeling to help Darcy with taking care of Charlotte. All the details that they put into the nursery were all personal and done with love and care. Lauren smiled as she glanced at the sun glistening into the window of the limo as it coasted down the long driveway leading to the gate of the Ashcroft Estate. She glanced at her mother and smiled. “I can’t wait for Charlotte to come home.” “Me too.” Darcy told her. “I’m so happy that I was able to have a child. It really felt like God was giving me another chance at being a mother, considering the miscarriage that happened more than 31 years ago…” “He gave you two more chances,” Lauren said, pointing to herself. “You lost your husband and a baby, and I lost my mother to breast cancer. I am happy that you are my mother now. I am also happy about how understanding IMG Models was in letting me take a sabbatical.” Darcy nodded. “IMG Models was also generous with my maternity leave. When they found out that I had a preemie, they told me to take as much time as I need.” The minutes seemed to fly on by as the two continued to share their stories, their lives, and their tears with each other. Darcy now knew that Lauren was the daughter that she never had. A daughter that God just gave to her freely, along with Charlotte. It felt much less like a legally binding agreement and more like Lauren being like her own flesh and blood. Her daughter just as much as Charlotte was. A friendly honk of the horn snapped them both out of their reverie. Both women swiftly ended their discussion and glanced up at the driver. The rear glass divider separating the passengers from the driver rolled down and he pointed out the window. “We are here,” the limo driver announced in a pleasant tone. “The NICU at Kaiser Permanente Santa Rosa Medical Center.” Lauren smiled. “Thank you, Jenkins. I will call you on my cell phone when we are getting ready to leave.” “Very good,” Jenkins said with a jovial smile. “You two wonderful ladies have a great time in visiting your new member of the family.” Lauren kindly pointed to Jenkins. “And you have a fun time too, Jenkins! Don’t exclude yourself from the fun. The Ashcroft family includes you as well. No worker is excluded. So have fun!” Jenkins respectfully tipped his hat and nodded. “I will have fun, Miss and Mrs. Ashcroft!” The two entered the NICU and the staff permitted Lauren to enter without any hesitation. Darcy was already approaching the respirator that Charlotte was laying in when her mind began to catch up to the present. All she heard was that “Charlotte needed a little more time”. “Charlotte was breathing, but not long enough on her own”. She also heard that Charlotte’s sleep apnea was improving, and there were now zero cases of bradycardia. Darcy was about to pick up Charlotte when a voice stopped her. “May I, mommy?” Lauren said with a pleading face. Darcy gave Lauren a warm smile. “Only if it’s okay with the nurses.” The nurse, who called herself Breanna, nodded. “She can. At this point, we are just taking safety measures to ensure that Charlotte is ready to come home. With only one case of sleep apnea last week, Charlotte is getting very close to being able to breathe on her own. We monitored her yesterday and she was able to breathe for two whole hours on her own!” Lauren’s smile grew as she heard of the good report from Nurse Breanna. She grinned as she held her new baby sister in her arms. Charlotte was fast asleep, making small and gentle breaths. “My cute wittle baby daughter!” Lauren cooed. Then an explosion. FLUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!!!! Lauren sniffed the air and laughed. “Whoopsie! It looks like my baby sister needs a changie poo!” Darcy nodded and grabbed Charlotte. “Let me. I’ve been changing her diapers since they first admitted her here. Don’t worry, Laurie. You’ll have plenty more diapers to change when she’s at home.” Lauren nodded, secretly relieved that she didn’t have to change Charlotte’s messy diaper. She handed her baby sister to Darcy, who laid her right on a table that the NICU used for diaper changes. Darcy began changing Charlotte’s diaper, encouraging Lauren to watch everything that she was doing. “Pay attention,” Darcy said with a smirk. “You will be doing a few of these when she comes home.” Darcy unsnapped the buttons on Charlotte’s plain white onesie and peeled open the tapes of Charlotte’s diaper. She smiled as she heard her daughter gasp when she saw what was inside. A big wet gooey mess covered the inside of the diaper and Charlotte’s diaper area. “I can’t believe how small that diaper is!” Lauren said with a gasp. Darcy laughed. “Yeah. That’s a P1. Charlotte is just about ready for size N, which is newborn.” As Darcy wiped Charlotte clean, she could see Charlotte’s eyes begin to squint open. She saw her baby daughter’s mouth open up with a widening smile. “Yeah!” Darcy said with a smile. “Mommy’s changing your stinky diapy! And look! Your big sister is here too!” All Charlotte did was smile and coo at the sound of Darcy’s voice. Minutes later, Darcy had a diaper all powdered and began to delicately fold it between Charlotte’s tiny legs. Charlotte’s eyes flickered as she just stared at the two large women that were next to her. While Charlotte knew that the first one was her mother, she didn’t know who the other one was. Who is that? Who is that other lady? While Charlotte was supposed to know, her memories were too repressed to even know who she was. All she had was a blank slate. A new body with a new mind. A mind and brain that was just beginning to boot up. A mind that would take at least 2 to 3 years to begin to develop. Charlotte drifted off, sleeping what she felt like was a few minutes. But when Charlotte woke up, she was in her respirator again. Her mother and that strange woman that accompanied her were gone. In reality, Charlotte slept for a few hours. The NICU nurses continued caring for Charlotte, changing her diaper, feeding her, and putting her in her ventilator as needed. A couple of days later, Charlotte was showing remarkable improvement. After breathing for two hours without a ventilator, this turned into three. Three hours turned into four. And then five. Six hours. Seven hours. Eight hours of breathing without a ventilator. The NICU nurses then carefully watched Charlotte around the clock as she slept for the first full night without a ventilator. Darcy was impressed when she visited Charlotte that day. With Charlotte’s health improving, Darcy now wanted to get answers from the doctors. When can Charlotte finally go home? That same day, Darcy got her answer. One week. One week later, Charlotte squinted her eyes open. While everything inside of her felt brand new, there was at the same time a part of Charlotte that couldn’t help but notice that something felt familiar. It was like she had lived this life before. But how? How could I have lived this life? This awareness dissolved into the drowsy and perpetually sleeping newborn self that Charlotte was. A self that felt almost overwhelmed by the brand-new world that awaited her. Everything was new. Sounds. Sights. Smells. And Déjà vu. This feeling lay dormant inside of the newborn Charlotte like a sleeping volcano. A volcano waiting for the opportune time to erupt. But something else erupted instead. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” All the NICU nurses agreed. The doctors agreed. Even Darcy agreed. This was Charlotte’s day. After 32 days of hospitalization since her birth, it was finally time for Charlotte Marie Ashcroft to leave Kaiser Permanente Santa Rosa Medical Center. It was finally time to go home.

Hello! Coming in just at the wire on this, but I hope everyone enjoys it. This story has elements of erotic horror, and my entry for the The 4th Kasarberang NON-CONtest! The name here is inspired by an old story by Tainted Sins, but is in no way related to that one. This story is pure age regression. Without Teeth By Operational Systems Chapter 1 The office was located on the edge of a gated residential subdivision and was built in the fashion of modern design principles, it looked like a mix of a one-part coffee house and one part McMansion. Two stories tall, it was layered in red brick and an abundance of tall windows. In a deceptive twist the building did not give a hint of being a dental office from the outside. If one could ignore the kitsch of oversized plastic molars and colorful posters with inspiring motivations in the kiddy waiting area, the lobby of Szekely Family Dentistry and Periodontics went out of its way to hide any evidence of its true purpose. Gerald stretched his arms and repositioned on the gray, blue sofa, casually dropping his barely read copy of Harper’s Bazaar on the coffee table on a pile of W and Tatler’s. His mouth still hurt. For two hours his teeth and gums had been probed by all manner of medieval instrument, pricked, bled, and finally suctioned as the poor dental assistant tried to bring his mouth to something resembling clean. Gerald carefully pawed his right cheek, feeling dull pain in gums and tooth. No matter how hard he brushed the day before, the dentist always found a way to make him feel inadequate. The moment floss touched his delicate tissue, his mouth would turn red like a cherry drink. Dr. Szekely barely looked at his mouth. Normally she would berate him as he felt her clawing fingers maneuver along what was undeniably his most degrading and disgusting part of his body, but today she was silent, thanking her assistant for the excellent work, and sending Gerald to the lobby to wait while his wife had a similar cleaning. At least she did not mention cavities, or gingivitis, or anything. Not even a recommendation to avoid food or drink for thirty minutes. That had worried him. His wife’s insurance was paying too much money to the doctor to just shrug and do nothing. He glanced at the phone again, it was fifteen past five. His wife always had perfect pearls, she should have been in and out in thirty minutes. The office had already closed, and the sun lingered both blinding and angrily in the western facing windows. The receptionist had already turned off the lobby televisions and sorted the array of toys and magazines in the kiddy area. His wife had been gone for close to an hour. Just as he was about to get up and explore the lobby the dental assistant returned, peeking just her head into the room. “Gerald?” He turned to the long-haired woman, confused why she would ask for him in that questioning manner when he was the only one in the lobby. “Come with me please.” He practically hopped up, almost giddy. Not that he wanted his wife to suffer, but he was starting to put it together. Little Ms. Perfect had a cavity. It was the only explanation. That is what was taking so long, and she now needed him to come get her. Maybe she had even taken some Novocain or Nitrous Oxide and needed him to help get to the car. He was going to hold this over her head forever, but first he would have to be the bigger man. He casually rubbed his fingers, getting the excitement out, before calming down and standing straight, walking tall to save his wife. The assistant led him past rooms with empty dental chairs. Deep into the interior of the office, farther than he had ever gone before, the two came to a closed door. She knocked, and then opened it, letting Gerald through before slinking off without a word. The interior had no signs of dental equipment. No reclining chairs, overhanging lights, sinks, or instruments of torture. On the far side of the room was a shaded window, which had framed degrees on both sides. Closer was a set of two heavy chairs with thin padded back and bottom, one was empty and the other had his wife. Across from her was Doctor Szekely behind a stripped down clean wooden desk. Outside of a small form factor microcomputer and monitor on the edge, the desk was empty of distraction. Melody’s golden hair and bright smile invited her husband to her adjacent seat, patting it as he entered. Gerald hypnotically walked to the chair, and slowly sat down, strong tension building in his arms as he waited. The two women eyed him like a snake on a rabbit. This was not about a cavity; he was not here to rescue his wife. This was an intervention. Melody began the assault, “Gerald, honey, sorry for making you wait, Valorie and I were just talking about the old days.” He tilted his head at his wife, he remembered her mentioning that back in college they had been in a sorority together. He turned from his wife to the dark-haired short woman, her thick glasses hiding her thin face, her short hair was kept up in waves of curls. Gerald felt the need to fill in, “Right, so um, are you ready to go, or?” The women stared through him, and he shrunk two inches in the chair. Valorie started first, “Gerald, I’m going to be honest with you. Since I started practice in this neighborhood, you have the worst teeth of anyone I have ever met.” This neighborhood referred to ‘Arborville Manors by the Lake,’ a gated subdivision where plots started at a quarter million dollars, and most houses were in the seven to eight figure range. Thirty years ago, it would have been plagued by McMansions, but the taste and aesthetics of the new rich had been refined in the new century. Now the houses were designer homes, with bleached sandstone-colored exteriors kept to sensible stubby standards, and with gorgeous mono-white insides. At a minimum one could find two oven kitchens with temperature-controlled glass encased wine pantries, and every bedroom attached to a full bathroom. It was the kind of rich that only focused on what mattered, just having the best of the normal stuff, rather than the gaudy or flashy. Gerald’s wife had some money both from family and by working remotely as a production manager in software development at a firm that was now half owned by Microsoft, but Gerald was the one who bought the house. They had met fifteen years ago, when he was working as an IT employee at a local firm that sold its business to various banks and small businesses in the Tulsa area. Back then he spent ten hours a day driving around town and fixing printers. One day after reading a convincing enough blogpost, he bought a hundred bitcoin at ninety-one cents apiece. Four years later he was day-trading novel crypto coins, and by eight years he never needed to work again. He spent a few hours each day staying on top of things, reading twitter, and playing the markets, but it wasn’t a real job anymore. Gerald understood the implication of what Doctor Szekely was getting at. She serviced a community of some of the richest people in Oklahoma, and out of all of them, he alone had failed. Rich people don’t have bad teeth. Yet here he was, nuovo-rich, unearned in his status, and still having the habits of the below middle-class childhood he had grown up with. Out of all the other rich people, he was the one who had gotten here basically by lottery – being an idiot and investing in invisible sham coins at their low point. His neighbors were surgeons, real estate investors, and presidents of banks. They owned oil fields, restaurants, even golf courses, and their wine cabinets were filled with thousand-dollar bottles. Gerald had converted his wine room into a server rack. Gerald carefully ran his tongue across sore gums, “I um… I heard there was a new bacteria treatment. Maybe I could try that.” Valorie gave a high-pitched chortle, “Ha, homeopathic whim-wham,” Her face turned serious, “Besides you’re well past that point.” “Past?” Gerald was concerned, he eyed his wife, and clenched his teeth hard, in his mind they became brittle, and he consciously let up the crushing. Melody reached over and touched his arm gently. “Unfortunately, you’re at a point I think the best move is to take them out,” his dentist coldly offered. Gerald rejected her solution, “Dentures? No. That’s not going to happen.” Everyone looked at him, giving him the floor, he struggled, “I think that’s a bit far. Can’t I just do better? Brush more? Anything. I don’t need dentures. I’m only thirty-seven.” The doctor gave a soft response, “I understand this is coming as a shock, but your mouth is at stage four, and those teeth are going to be a problem over the next year. We can take them out safely and you’ll be good as new.” Gerald turned and pleaded, “Please, Melody, I get this is your friend, but this is too fast. I think we should get a second opinion.” Melody’s smile took away his doubts, “Look I understand you’re upset, but it’ll be OK. Besides, you don’t have to get dentures. We were just discussing this new treatment.” No dentures? Gerald fell back in his chair, that would be a relief, but what was the alternative to dentures? Doctor Szekely rolled on her chair slightly and grabbed with her short arms the monitor on the edge of her desk, rotating it around for the couple to see, she then fiddled with a hidden mouse. The monitor switched from empty shiny blackness to a bright blue. She began her presentation, “Gerald, I’m going to be as blunt as I can. When’s the last time you saw a fat person in our neighborhood?” The man rotated his head up and thought of it. Everyone had a tall fence, but every morning there were still joggers, bikers, and so forth that ran around the streets or walked pets. Many were old, but none were unfit. It was a strange question and one he hadn’t thought of, he shrugged. “And do you know why?” The doctor lingered on the last word, then without letting him respond, moved to the answer, “Because there’s a shot that costs ten thousand dollars that half the people here are taking” With a click of her mouse, the screen on the desk changed to a power point picture, with an open mouth. “What if I were to tell you, there’s an Ozempic but for teeth.” Gerald looked past her thick glasses into her eyes, “I would say I don’t know what that means.” She clicked again, the screen shifted to a shot going into mouth, and pressing into a gumline, “With my new Dentvive Regrowth Therapy, it is possible to convince your mouth to grow new teeth and replace the old ones.” The scene on the monitor shifted, showing teeth beginning to grow and pop out of the gums. Gerald leaned forward, “This is impossible.” The doctor waived him off, “You did it a couple times before, you just don’t remember the first time. The equipment is still in there, the procedure just convinces your mouth it’s time to grow new teeth. This is also why we need to take your old teeth out, both to get access to the gumline, and to give the new teeth room to come in.” Melody leaned over to him, “Honey, if this works, it’s a billion-dollar idea. She just needs a bit of help in these early stages, just get some of the kinks out, and this is your chance to really fix yourself up.” Gerald’s shoulders fell, Doctor Szekely wasn’t showing this because she believed in the treatment to cure him, she was showing this to him because she wanted him as an investor. He was the first person who was both rich enough to afford the treatment and would understand how life-changing and important it would be. He looked back to his wife, and she was eager to get his approval to help her friend. Four eyes stuck on him, desperately needing him to agree. Gerald resigned himself. This is what it meant to live in the future, not flying cars, but 100 gig internet and biohacking the body. This was just science. He put his trust in it. “OK, let’s do it. What’s the next step, what do you need me to do?” “Well, we can start the surgery as soon as Friday morning if you’re up for it, but I need to program the booster-cells with your genetic tissue. I can collect that sample now if you’re ready.” Gerald started to roll up a sleave on his arm, “What like blood?” The doctor gave another chuckle, “Ha, no I need gametes,” she leaned over and started fiddling with a desk drawer below her. Melody leaned forward and whispered, “That’s your sperm, honey.” Gerald nodded, clenching his swollen teeth again, “Do you want me to get a magazine and go in the bathroom, or…” Melody talked down, “Oh honey, don’t be gross.” The doctor flopped a large cylinder on her desk. It was open on one end and closed with black machinery and cords on the bottom. The doctor smiled while waving over the strange device “We have more practical methods of extraction.” Goosebumps went up Gerald’s arms and his member tightened. He took a long breath before smiling. His teeth rattled. Melody gripped his arm with one hand, “I know going to the dentist is scary, but what if, I just hold onto you for this.” Her other arm reached over towards his belt and jeans. He softly released a groan, “I don’t,” this was going too fast, but before he could complain his jeans were being pulled down. His instrument started to probe his dark cloth boxers in excitement. There were two ladies here, and they wanted him to perform. “I, uh” “You can do it baby, just relax, let us handle everything,” Melody spoke as Doctor Szekley’s short figure came around her desk. Her small breasts were barely contained by her green scrubs, in contrast to Melody’s copious melons. The doctor twirled her strange cylinder like a hypnotist’s watch as she slowly walked towards him, and finally she kneeled before him. Her glasses picked up a strong blur of light from the ceiling, leaving him only to imagine what delight or disgust the woman was showing at presenting herself in such a debasing way. His wife carefully pulled down his boxers around his engorging member. He tried to keep his eyes directly onto her face, rather than on the procedure that was happening below. Melody was calm yet happy, as if this were an everyday occurrence, like checking the mail or cooking dinner. The warm plastic of around the rim of the cylinder pushed into his skin, contrasting with the cold glass surface that bumped into his penis from shaking small hands. A flick of a switch was soon followed by a familiar whir of suction. The same sound he had heard for nearly two hours straight while they cleaned his teeth. Jets of air pulled at his hair, scrotum, and phallus. “Just relax baby, let it out,” Melody scootched closer, letting her hand come down around the base of the cylinder, touching sensitive skin at the base of his member and bottom of his testicles. He was uncomfortable close. He forced himself over the edge. Every muscle contracted and relaxed in order from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes. His hips pushed deep against the cylinder, causing markings where the cup pressed into his skin. “A little more,” the doctor said, white ooze coating what was once a clear container. It was starting to hurt, but it kept going, like he could not turn it off. His eyesight faded to blurs and blackness, while painful pulling continued. Whatever pleasure he had had was transitioning to terrible pain as it felt all the sperm in his balls were being sucked out. After an eternity or ten seconds, Doctor Szekley turned off the pump and lifted away the cylinder. Fishing out a cap from her pocket she closed the precious cargo off. The doctor held up the ugly coated tube before her patient, and with professional detachment spoke to them. “This should be good enough for now. If I need more, I’ll let you know.” Gerald kept quiet on the car ride home, dual pains of his mouth and groin came at every movement of his body. He eyed his wife suspiciously when she stopped the car, lingering at the exit to the dental office. “Now, since you’re getting brand new teeth, you know what that means right?” He mumbled something that sounded close to a response, he just wanted to get home and throw a blanket over his head. Her face tightened, serious and commanding, and the voice shifted lower, “Every day you’re going to be brushing and flossing. Every day and after every meal. We are not doing this procedure again, you hear me?” Chapter 2 There are some nightmares that are universal. Falling from a great height, giving a speech, and standing in front of class naked. Many of these are subject to ethnicity and cultural bias. But there is one that is universal, which all humans can have across time and space. It’s the dream where the teeth fall out. On the evening following his operation Gerald awoke to this nightmare. His tongue flicked across an empty void; his lips were propped up against nothing. His cheeks had plumped up after the operation and he could feel nothing in his face. It was a giant cotton ball. Drool accumulated on his chin. He tried to stand up, but he was locked in, his eyes wandered around an empty dark room. He was not in the master bedroom, he was in the guest room by the garage. “Melody.” He tried, only his mouth could not form sounds right, spewing out something closer to Memmoy. It was slurred too and came out more like a loud gurgle. There was no clock in the darkened room, but he suspected it was not too late. He tried again “Memmoy.” No sounds came from the house. Gerald rotated slightly against the pillows and immediately felt dizzy. He closed his eyes and shouted for Memmoy again, but all that came out was a groan. He could not get up or move without assistance. His heart rate started to rapidly increase and between his legs there was a small but growing concern. He took a large breath through his nose and tried one last time, “Melody!” He stopped and listened, feeling the pressure build. He crossed his legs, and slowly started shuffling them back and forth under the blanket. Today was already one of the worst of his life, but this would elevate it to the worst. “Memmoy! Memmoy!” Sweat built in his underpants. There was nothing to be done. He waited an eternity, but no one came. He tried again to slowly stand up, but his body shut down, dragging him back into the bed. Sweat formed on his forehead, and his eyes crushed shut. He was not going to do that. He felt it first as pleasure; hot release of his building tension, but his ears noticed the light sounds of liquid bouncing against cloth. Soon his member was soaked, he could feel the warm liquid falling along the insides of his thighs, creating an acidic warmth that would fade to stickiness. His nostrils picked up the rich odor of fresh urine as the last drops fell through his boxers into the mattress cover. His butt was covered in quickly cooling wetness. “Honey did you need something?” He tried, “I peed myself.” But what came out was more of an Uh Eeh Muh. Wetness was building over his overstuffed face. Within moments she was over him, her nose told her enough. “Oh baby, it’s OK, the doctor said this might happen. Here let me help you to the bath.” She pulled him up and the world was a blur of colors and shapes. His head was somewhere around his feet, but also hanging against her shoulder. “Up we go.” Gerald was unaware of anything other than quickly cooling clothing. His eyes were stuck shut and his head was full of cotton balls. He leaned hard against Melody, and she slowly held him up, bringing his legs to the floor and carefully carrying him on wobbling legs to the door. Gerald was barely aware of the shift in lights, but soon found himself in the guest bathroom. In a minute he was propped up against cool acrylic, as small hands were disrobing his limited clothing, including his soiled underpants. He focused his energies on staying propped against the wall. This was probably the first time this bath had ever been used since they moved into the house four years ago. Between the relaxing bubbles and vapors of warm almond and butter, Gerald found consciousness hard to maintain. He would linger on throbbing sensations along his cheeks and gums between smooth washing from his wife’s cloth. Either between the drugs or her delicate approach, he hardly felt as she moved soap along his sweaty and soiled skin. The motions of the water and her hands, or perhaps the gentle humming she was doing, was enough to cause him to lose consciousness. Not for long, he told himself, just a few seconds, or minutes. It was long enough for Melody to shave his adult hair below the face, and long enough for his hands to shrivel while the bath water turned cold. He awoke hearing the water start to glug into the drain but was unsure of what was happening. His wife’s hands gently guided him up, and upon command he stepped out of the shower. “OK time to get your new jammies on, and you can come join me to bed.” “Careful with my mouth.” He tried, mumbling more like aeul weh ma mouw. A gentle fluffing of a towel patted his shoulders, then stomach, and finally waist and legs, leaving him a shivering mess. He stared briefly at his thin exposed member but his eyes could not focus on the hairless monster. He kept them closed as his wife guided him to the toilet for a seat. Up came the soft front, and around his sides came tight plastic. Gerald heard the soft crinkle of tape on plastic and his balls tucked into new underwear that was fluffier than the toilet paper adjacent to his seat. The delightful garment was pulled tight along his waist and cupped over his equipment protectively. His hand came down just after Melody’s and felt the smooth plastic front. He glanced down to see the bright light green, the color of a shamrock shake. “What is this?” Melody did not know what he said, but answered him all the same, “Your medication is pretty strong baby, just a little bit of a safety net. No more accidents.” “I don’t need this.” Even he knew it was just a blur of unheard words. His eyes were getting heavy, he would have cried if it didn’t hurt his mouth too much. “Just for tonight OK, I promise.” She handed him a thin robe which draped over his shoulders. He did not bother to close or tie it, “I know it’s hard. I know this is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but just a few weeks and you’ll be better than new. You’ll be perfect. Now, tell me, what’s the first thing you’re going to eat when you get your new teeth?” “Eayg” “Eggs?” She answered confused. “Eaayg” She still did not know what he said, but she came prepared with her own suggestion, “OH, that sounds exciting, but how about an ice cream sandwich?” “Eye eeam” “Hmm, maybe if you’re good we can try some Eye Eam tomorrow.” She smiled, her baby would be eating lots of ice cream, and sauce, and soups, and purées. He had told her to pick up something like what those pilots ate in the spy planes, with the straws and tubes. She had instead stocked the cabinets with jars of something more down to Earth. As far as Gerald was concerned, his stomach did not exist. He knew he should have been hungry; he had not eaten since the middle of last night, but all he wanted was to close his eyes and end the day. He hinted at this to Melody by closing his eyes and nodding his head. She helped him up, letting him lean against her shoulder as she guided him across the house. It was slow getting to the master bedroom, but once there he was easily guided to the bed and laid down on his side. The last thing he remembered was that bright green undergarment, poking out and rustling against the blanket as he fell into a deeper sleep. Chapter 3 The bed was warm and comfortable, and Gerald had been propped up against four pillows, elevating his head and chest. When his bladder woke him throughout the night, he hardly needed to move. He would not remember the specifics in the morning, but the first time, was a tired release, a surrender. He was rewarded with a soft trinkle of warm urine reflecting against absorbent padding, swelling the midsection around his crotch and falling down towards the plastic rear. He would repeat this a second and third time through the night, waking late in the morning to find the spot where his wife slept empty, and a thick plastic spreading his legs apart. Gerald reached down confused looking at the yellow stained green diaper that he had been dressed in, hands reaching down to smooth plastic landing zone, deformed and heavy, but surprisingly light in dampness. He wiggled briefly on the soft padding, before stretching himself to the edge of the bed. Blood seemed to fall quickly from his head and Gerald paused on the edge. To him it felt like two hours he sat there with his eyes closed, but it was not long before Melody came into the room and touched his shoulder. “Hey, I got you setup down in the family room by the television, and I made you some breakfast. Are you ready to try to eat something?” His stomach growled an answer. Gerald reached out his hand and was guided to the kitchen, each step an awkward waddle as the thick expanded padding below distorted his already dazed movement. He crumbled into a kitchen seat, barely registering an odd strap coming around the edges and holding him up. Melody gave him a short smile, brushed his hair aside and another kiss on the forehead before going to the fridge. Gerald wobbled back in forth on his protected bottom, eager for the first meal in over two days. It was white, sloshing in a clear glass container. Melody had even topped it with a yellow-tan rubber nipple. “What’s this?” Gerald hated milk, and this may have been the first time he had seen it this close in years. Soft air bubbles collected sporadically along the edge, and he watched the liquid cautiously like it was a poisoned cauldron. His question was muffled, but Melody understood it. “You promised we would start things off right with your new teeth, and this is starting things off right. You need this, it has everything to grow strong beautiful teeth.” “And the nipple?” An e Nilalah? He needed to point at it to get her understanding. She came in close, “I thought it would help with your gums. Honey, you’re still drooling,” bringing a napkin up to his swollen face. “Tonight, if your stomach is good we can try some food, but just liquids for now.” He nodded and slowly reached out and grasped the bottle. It shook in his hand, and he reached a second to stabilize it, dragging it across the table to before him. His fingers lifted the chilled surface to his face. It was cold, he assumed with his pain meds he would feel nothing, but the chill was delightful. He locked gums on the end and began to suck and pull, letting the silky liquid land on his tongue. It was heavenly, sugary, with the hint of melon, but thinner than he expected. As it poured into his stomach famished singles reached his brain and he felt compelled to keep pouring it into his mouth. Greedily he sucked, drinking, and it assuaged her. She placed two large pills the size of his thumb and encouraged him to swallow the chalky white circles between gulps. He watched Melody wander out of the room and return, bringing first her laptop, and then a large carrying bag. He expected her to explain herself, but she never did. After placing her bag down, she again left him alone in the kitchen. So preoccupied with the drink and her strange actions, he did not notice it until it started. Without pants on the pouring of liquid into his diaper roared in his ears. Gerald froze, trying to stop the stream, which briefly worked before he lost concentration, and his grip let go. He set the bottle down and briefly touched the warm outside of the now ugly green-yellow diaper, the liquid slowly absorbing into the cloth. It felt naughty, and the pleasure of embracing that naughtiness matched the joy from the bottle. He quickly returned to the glass and sucked on it until it was empty. Melody returned, giving an odd sniff, and then scruffed his hair. It was still messy from sleeping on it while wet, and she played with the stray clumps that refused to stay down. “Gerald, honey, I think we should get you changed and then you can see what I setup for you.” She pulled at his hand, leading him out of the kitchen to a wide spot in the living room previously reserved for yoga. A large blanket had been placed on the floor, its light soft blue a contrast to the dark wooden floors. To the side was a set of clothing for him, and a bag of supplies. She pointed, gently pushing him down on the shoulders, “Sit.” He followed, and his now overly large garments rustled loudly as he came down to the floor, the blanket barely softening the hard cold surface below it. She fell to her knees to join him, bringing her hands to his tapes, each pull a sharp contrast to an otherwise quiet room. Soon cold air was washing over his crotch, and she pulled the diaper out and wadded it into a ball to her side. She reached into her bag, before bringing a single wet tissue up for him to see, giving it a slight tug, and then going down to his exposed member. Her hands moved over hairless testicles and penis, cleaning up to his stomach and below his tush. He felt like a king, washed, fed, pampered, and loved. He started reaching over to the shirt she had left, but her hand came up. “Honey, we need to put a second diaper on.” “I don’t need a diaper.” He tried – I on nee a iah er. Close enough she could see it. “You promised just last night.” “I know, I know, but this is just in case, OK? You don’t have to use them. I noticed you leaked a bit at breakfast, that can be a side effect of the pain medicine you’re on.” He nodded defeated. Gerald was soon pampered, a fresh green wrapper as the basis of his outfit for the day. Gym shorts came up next, and a simple white t-shirt on top. She helped him put it over his swollen face and lifted him up, slowly guiding him to the family room, which was located down a set of stairs in the cool basement. There a couch had been setup with a pillow and blanket. She gave him strict instructions, “So, here’s the plan for the day. Sleep and television. That’s it. No work.” His work was not hard, but he could take time off. She had insisted on having him move everything into stable coins just before the surgery – just in case something happened, and he could not get back to it for a long time. He fell onto the couch as he got closer. “Now, I know we had planned for me to be here, but I need to head into work for a few hours.” He blinked confused, “What?” “I know, I know, my boss is coming in and I need to meet him, and we’re interviewing candidates for a new position. It won’t be more than a few hours.” She handed him the remote from the table, “Will you be OK here? I promise to come back soon.” “Phone?” (Oohne) “I’ll drop your phone off before I leave. Now you get some sleep in, those pills are going to do a number on you.” He nodded and closed his eyes, falling into a light sleep. He would awaken an hour later. Gerald turned slightly, drool having built up on his pillow and shirt. On the coffee table was a large one-and-a-half-foot tall ape – a joke gift she had picked up for him at the height of the NFT craze – with chubby strong arms, and dark gray to black fur. It was sitting on his phone. He pushed aside the toy and pulled at the phone, checking the time, and tried to connect to the internet. The phone struggled, before he looked up at the top right. A small symbol <! next to 5G indicated he had no internet in the family room basement. He flicked over to network settings and tried to connect to the wifi. The phone whirled for a bit, before letting him know it was unable to connect, he had an invalid password. “Melody!” He shouted, to no avail. Memmy (Mommy) wasn’t home. He put it back on the table and reached for the TV remote instead. The large sixty-inch television flicked silently to life. He maneuvered around the menu. He clicked on Netflix. Like a guard at the gate the television questioned him, “Who is watching?” Gerald, Melody, and Damien. Melody had watched her sister’s seven-year-old son, Damien, a few times last summer. He would spend hours in the family room, just watching television he could not get at home. Gerald clicked his own name, only to find a password lock. He did not watch Netflix often, and nothing came to mind. He tried a few simple combinations but after three tries he gave up. He found a similar password lock on Melody. Finally, he clicked on Damien. Melody had setup parental controls on the television in an attempt to keep Damien from accessing inappropriate content. The only shows available where cartoons and educational programs. Disappointed, he flicked out of Netflix and tried Amazon, only to find a similar set of locks. Disney and Hulu were also set on kiddie mode. For the first time in ten years, he flicked to basic cable. The cartoon was flat, but clearly made with the help of a computer. A brown striped tiger sporting a red jacket hopped into a car along with his mother. “Open your mouth and do a quiet roar,” the television told him, taunting him at a simple task even he could no longer do. Gerald flipped the channel but was blocked by a channel lock out. He flipped the other way and got the weather. Disappointed, he reached over to his phone and sent a message to his wife. After a minute she responded to his text message. “Oh, sorry honey, the password is in my book at home. I must have locked the TV when Daniel was here and forgot to unlock it. Can you still find something to watch? 😊 😊” With nothing better, he returned to his tiger show, falling asleep within minutes. Hours later he awoke to a rumbling pressure in his stomach, the show had switched to a young girl with sharp white skin, bunny ears, and red overalls. Painfully Gerald brought himself to a straight posture against his pillow, his shorts had bulged slightly in the front, and pulled padded cloth tightly into his butt. The action pulled at his bowels, which had just awoken for the first time in close to three days. “I need to poop” Gerald talked to himself, “You can do this. Get up. Get up.” He leaned over the couch and placed his hands to his side to push himself up, his goal was to walk to the basement bathroom on the other side of the room. Instead, there was a plorp sound from his abdomen. “No!” He wanted to cry. It felt like when he had gone to fart, but a poop had escaped as well. It lingered in the crack of his butt, stuck between the pad and his skin, unable to fall. He shifted angrily, plucking a hand at his back, before falling over back to his pillow. The accident felt like a mountain, and it slowly fell down before getting squished by his posterior. His mind amplified the smell, and wetness came to his face. “Melody!” He tried. Nothing. No response. “Mommy!” He tried again. Again, nothing. He stayed there for an eternity, being judged by the rabbit on the television and his ape, the soul witnesses to how he had messed himself like a pathetic baby. He slapped the monkey off the table and hid himself behind his pillow, eventually falling back to sleep. Melody tried to comfort him later as she changed him. “It’s just the size of a pea. It’s hardly something to get upset about.” Melody understood what to say, to bring him back down. She cleaned and replaced his diaper without a fuss and brought him back to the kitchen for dinner. Her meal was a chopped salad, filled with field greens, zucchini, squash, and mushroom. The avocado and vinaigrette tantalized his senses. For him she presented a purée. “Is this the pilot food? The one I asked you to get?” “Oh sorry, this is something local, I think you’ll like it though,” she said, taking a thin small spoon and mixing the orange color. Carefully she brought the spoon up his mouth, “Mmm.. Mmm.. Smells good, what’s my baby boy going to have?” Gerald’s mouth hurt to stretch but he tried his best. It was unexpectedly grainy, but he picked up the flavor immediately –room temperature sweet potato. There was a hint of squash as well. He wanted to spit it out, but Melody tilted the spoon back and it slimed down his throat. “Good job,” she said, returning to her own salad, and leaving the spoon in the thin bowl in front of him. Hunger forced his hand, and he reached out with shaking hands towards the spoon. With careful movement he slowly brought it up to his mouth. Slime and plastic bounced off his cheeks as he missed. Shaking hands tried again, this time reaching his lips. He sucked slightly on his dinner, before his lips and jaw lost control and dropped the spoon in a drooling mess. Orange and brown liquid smacked the table and splattered across his white shirt. Melody was fast grabbing the spoon before it rolled off the table, “Whoopsie. That’s OK, but it looks like we’ll need a bib in the future. How about I take over spoon duties for you.” Her hands wiped the spoon with a napkin and then restocked it. She brought it up to his mouth. Gerald shook his head. The aftertaste of squash and potato lingered in his mouth. This was too much for even him and he would rather starve than eat anymore of the goop. Melody would not take no for an answer. “Choo choo. Come on honey you can do it. Please, this is important. You need to get something in you, you’ve been on medicine for two days and your stomach can’t handle it. No more pea sized loads.” She shook the spoon before his face “Choo.” Gerald reluctantly opened again and quickly had his mouth stuffed. “Milk?” Gerald asked, hoping for anything to wash out the disgusting taste. “After dinner. If you finish it all, I have a surprise for you.” Melody hinted. When dinner was finished, she took her husband back to the master bedroom, sitting him down on his side, before moving over to hers. She undressed her shirt and bra and propped up a set of pillows, letting her sit vertically against the bed board. She signaled for him to come over and he rolled closer, confused. “I’ve been taking some pills Valorie gave me, can you tell?” She waved over her thin body, but Gerald saw nothing out of the ordinary and said nothing. “They’re getting me all bothered and excited, and I want to try this. This might be the only time I get to try this. Lay yourself on my lap.” She commanded. Her hands gently brought him down, and he stared up at her, his back laying against her thighs. With both arms, she reached around him, and slowly dragged him up. “What are we doing?” He tried. A ah ee oin? She heard. “Just, be careful, and do what feels natural, open wide.” He stared at fleshy fatty orbs as she slowly guided his heavy head to the right one, her left. He was without practice, but eager, and after a couple tries his toothless mouth latched down around the nipple. She winced as the pressure pulled at her fatty orbs, but soon began to draw out the nectar in a fashion more comfortable than when she had used a pump this morning for his breakfast. Gerald could smell the fatty silk. It was different from the morning brew, being room temperature but also fresh, but similar in thin suaveness that had a hint of fruity familiarity. Shivers of joy began to flow through him, as he pressed into the fatty breasts of a woman. He brought one arm up to stabilize himself around her back, and she in turn released her own right arm to massage his diaper. Dull throbbing came through his plastic protection, bringing him to an edge, his penis forced into the partially damp interior. Soon a long shiver ran through his body, and into her nursing breasts. Exhausted by the experience, Gerald’s body fell into a soft slumber, and she cradled her baby for several minutes before setting him gently down on his own side of the bed. Chapter 4 Doctor Szekely held the tablet close to her and smiled as she filtered through his x-rays. The three had retreated to Valorie’s office to review the progress in secret. It had been a week since the surgery, and in that time Gerald’s control below seemed to only worsen. He was grateful the thick diapers his wife has bought were not visible even under his dark shorts; though they were definitely audible when he wiggled in his discomfort on the padded bottoms. “Your new teeth are coming in just fine, here take a look,” She rotated the tablet over for Melody and Gerald to see. Melody pointed to the small bones, “oh they look like little baby teeth. How adorable.” Gerald winced at word baby. He had not been feeling very adult the past few days. “Have you noticed any pain yet? There are some devices I can recommend to help normalize your natural bight.” Valorie threw out casually. Melody answered, “I bought some already. He likes to leave the therapeutic mouth rings in the freezer, gets them all cold and he’ll suck on them for hours.” Gerald shrunk his posture at her mentioning his teething rings. He could use one now. He did not even want to go to the dentist today, he was missing his cartoons. Still he had a question that needed answer. He interrupted their conversation, “What about my incontinence. Why can’t I hold it in anymore.” Valorie tilted her head, not having understood a single word he had said. Melody stepped in to help, “He’s been having potty issues. We thought it was just the medication but he’s been off the pills a couple days now and it’s getting worse.” Behind heavy glasses Valorie seemed to drill into Gerald like he was a cavity to be filled. Gerald shuttered under the pressure and looked down at his slightly bulging shorts. Melody had just changed him before they had left, and his member scratched at the dry padding. Valorie began with a jocular scolding, “You should have told me this was happening!” “Really? Is it bad?” Melody began. “No this is amazing, wonderful. Exactly a sign the treatment is working as intended.” The dentist shook her tablet and brought up a painting tool and started to draw a rudimentary picture. “You see, we put the new stem cells in Gerald’s mouth here. And over time some of them will go into the stomach and digestive tract. Your cells are doing their job, making new baby cells as they go.” Gerald’s mind suddenly flashed with a nightmare image of teeth growing in parts of the body they shouldn’t, a shock image from the early days of the internet. “Am I going to grow teeth in my stomach?” She waved her hand, “Oh no, don’t be ridiculous. The cells got to your bladder and colon and just basically cleaned everything up. You’re getting a brand-new bladder! Isn’t that exciting?” Melody brought up her hands, “Oh that’s wonderful! This is great news.” Gerald shook his head, confused. He did not want a new colon, just new teeth. “What if the cells get into my heart, or my brain?” Melody reached over and pat his thigh comforting. “Don’t worry honey, It’ll be OK, Doctor Szekely is the best.” Gerald nodded, but his concerns were not alleviated. Melody turned to the dentist, “Maybe there’s something you can give him. Like a S – H – O – T.” Gerald turned to his wife, unsure why she thought spelling the word made it unknown to him. Valorie nodded, “Sure, that’s a good idea.” Her voice picked up and directed towards the room’s lone man, “Gerald, I’m going to go get something that will help you feel better, it should keep the cells from doing anything we don’t want them to do. Sound good? You’ll be all better in a few days.” She exited the room and returned with a needle like the kind used for numbing the mouth before a procedure. Melody helped roll up Gerald’s sleeve and hold him, as Valorie poked and dumped the substance into him. There was a brief bit of pain, followed by euphoric numbness. Their meeting concluded; Melody helped Gerald up from his bliss inducing stupor. Below his diaper and shorts had built up some sag but were dwarfed under the length of his oversized shirt. Melody made a note He barely noticed as the two gals led him out that his wife had surpassed him in height by close to two inches. Gerald had to wait near the oversized toothbrush flipping through a Highlights magazine, as Melody scheduled a follow up appointment. A strange signal came to his head as he stared at the colorful images. His eyes lingered on two identical ones, and he struggled to find the differences between the two. His mouth started to throb from a dull pain and he pressed a thumb on the gums to relieve it. Gerald did not even notice as he bent his legs slightly, kneeling closer to the magazine. The man on the left picture had a hat, and the dog on the right picture was pointing the other way, that was only two differences, but the picture insisted there were ten. He carefully moved a finger along the first image, trying to spot more, barely registering as his buttocks expanded pressing outward into a large gaseous mess. The relief caused his eyes to linger upwards before he dragged his attention back to the magazine. She had to pull it out of his hands as they left, he had only found three differences, but he was so close! He started to cry, just like he had the day before when she helped him cash out his digital assets to their shared bank account. A slight whap at his tush was enough to get him back on track. In the car he clung to his monkey angrily, bringing its soft black fur to his lips. The tickling fur offered little comfort to the slight throbbing pain. He would return to the dentist several more times over the coming weeks, but today would be the last time he would sit in the front seat of the car. He had already shrunk half a foot in the first week, and with each follow up shot, more of his body shrunk. By the fourth booster, little Gerald was barely two feet in height. The house quickly changed over the next month, toys littered every room, and Gerald was relegated these days to sleeping in the guest room, now a nursery. She leaned over the heavy white railing of the crib, the wooden bars a straight cage for her baby. Melody easily picked up the sleeping ball laying on his flat mattress, one thumb loosely at his lips. Where a month ago, a grown man had worn green elite briefs, Gerald was now in white parasols, his underpants adorned now with stoic black outlines of bunnies, cats and dogs. He stirred awake and smiled, mouthing the outline of her name without a sound. Melody brought the man over to a rocking chair, carefully undoing her shirt, and pulling down her bra below her engorged breasts. By now Gerald was well practiced and sucked greedily at her tit. There was a knock on the nursery room door, which did not stop the boy, but brought the attention of his new mother. Valorie did not linger at the door, “How’s our little Jerry doing,” she threw out to her partner as she walked across the room. She paused just above the rocking chair, before coming closer to Melody’s face. Gerald paused slightly in the sucking, his wandering eyes pausing on the sight of the two ladies kissing, but this new show of affection was not enough to quell his stomach and he returned to sucking from Melody’s breast. “He’s just the perfect little baby. I think …” her eyes jumped, and she pulled Gerald off her breast in a hurry. “Owe!” She practically yelled. “Are you alright?” Melody turned Gerald’s head, and his gaping milk-soaked mouth yawned widely up at his other mommy. There right on the top of the gum was a brand new piece of pearly stone. “No, the baby bit me!”

Well, I have a new idea (that had to be changed a bit from its unused original idea, but the characters in the story are pretty much similar in name, if not personality and pasts): Juventas' Wings. If you guessed that this was based on the Roman goddess of youth, Juventas, you'd be correct! There's going to be a lot of Greco-Roman lore in this story, even if it isn't revealed immediately. As a WARNING, though, there's a lot of mature content in this story, and this particular segmented chapter has the following: implied domestic violence and abuse, cheating, mental illness struggles, stated sexual assault (not delving into specifics), poverty, drug usage and withdrawals, law stuff for said drug usage, post-traumatic stress disorder, war scenes, anti-trans/gay slurs, misgendering, and deadnaming by bigoted minor chapter-only characters, mentioned maid/petplay fetishes, and a LOT of broken and dysfunctional families. Further chapters involve age regression, both physical and emotional, a remorseless serial killer, implied sexual assault, kidnapping, parental abuse, emotional and sexual manipulation, character death, and description of religion. Just be warned and as always, VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. And now for the beginning of the story: - Chapter One: Seven Lives - Fida Salah (nee Jazuri) didn’t even expect any mail to come to her, let alone an offer from others for her alone. All the thirty-five-year-old London-born-and-raised woman did was cook, clean, and do household chores, her mother, father, and older sibling having long since passed. Her husband, Botros Salah, was the only family she had left, and she knew that he cheated on her a lot with other women, her inability to have kids a…contentious point around him, amongst other contentious points. She wore a full red niqab that covered most of her body, her weary dark-brown eyes, a bit of her coffee skin around her eyes, and her delicate hands the only visible body parts, as she cooked dinner (batata harra, a vegetable dish that her husband always asked for, never seemed to get tired of, and forced her to eat. She was tired of eating it, couldn’t remember the last time she had been allowed a halal meat, but what her husband wanted, she did.) in preparation for her husband returning. The doorbell rang, and she all but jumped out of shock; Botros would’ve simply entered the house. Noting that the batata harra was completely finished, she walked over to the door, looking through the window, expecting to see her husband’s stern face…but instead seeing a very young (probably nineteen or so), yet tall Arabic woman wearing a hijab, accompanied by a young, almost effeminate-looking man with similar features, likely a male relative, as was custom. Fida was a bit confused. Were they friends of her husband? She opened the door, and the Arabic woman smiled. “Hello, you are Fida Salah, are you not?” the woman asked. “My husband should be here soon if you need to talk to him,” Fida said politely. “We’re not here for your husband,” the woman said, still smiling. “We’re here for you.” Fida froze, thinking of the day-old bruises over days-old bruises that reminded her what her husband was capable of. Nothing good could come from this. “I’m sorry, but-” “I understand you wish for us to leave, but I doubt that your husband wants to do spa treatments with you.” “Spa treatments?” Fida was completely confused now. “I’m sorry, but I have to cook and clean. My husband-” “Surely, he wouldn’t begrudge you a bit of time for yourself, right? Only a day of spa treatments, free halal meals like kabsa with lamb, chicken, and beef, relaxation around other women, all to make you feel like a brand-new you.” The housewife’s lips pursed. It was tempting, this offer, but she wasn’t allowed to leave the house without a male relative with her, and she didn’t have any other than her husband. “He can come with us to the spa, if you’re concerned about leaving without permission. We already talked to him.” “At his work? Is it all right if I call him…?” “Of course, dear.” Fida walked to the house phone (she was not allowed a cell phone) and dialed her husband’s cellphone number. One ring, two rings, three rings. “Yes, Fida?” Botros asked with boredom in his Arabic tongue. “It’s about that stupid fucking spa, isn’t it?” “Yes,” she whispered, also in Arabic. “Speak up, or you’ll regret it.” “Yes, it is about the spa,” she said, a little louder. “Of course. I’ve been asked as well. I asked Aisha to come over to cover your household chores, while you spend your day there. Then I expect you to come back.” “Yes, my love.” “I learned something from Aisha as well. She’s expecting my child.” Fida froze, her heart breaking. “That’s…wonderful, my love,” she said in what she hoped was a happy tone. “It is. I could still use you for household chores, but I’m planning on marrying her and having many more children together.” “Of…of course.” “Well…I expect you back at the time of my choosing.” “Yes, my love. Ila al-lika'a ya habibi.” Her husband - for now, she assumed - didn’t even say goodbye before he hung up, and she forced herself not to cry. She was going to be reduced to a mere servant, all because he found a younger woman who could bear his children. The woman and her male friend were still outside, but looked sympathetic. Fida then decided to take a chance. Fuck her cheating, abusive husband; he didn’t need to know. “I’ll go to your spa, and he won’t be invited.” - Maela Wheaton’s thoughts were in chaos as she drove her Uber cab in Birmingham, U.K., looking for people to pick up for a fare in her company’s Nissan Leaf. She took her meds this morning, she knew it! Olanzapine, clozapine, paliperidone palmitate, valproate, lithium, all sorts of anti-depressants, she took as many as she dared, but nothing worked for very long, and buying extra meds, plus groceries and gas put her deep in the red. She had a small flat that she shared with loud arsehole housemates, but she was barely making rent work. Her dark-brown eyes were trained on the road, as she gripped the steering wheel like a vise. She ignored her long black hair falling in her eyes as the extreme high of the mania made her do stupid things like cut off other cars with a honk of her horn, her paranoia justifying it by their slights, fuck them, fuck them all, they had no idea how hard life could be… Maela shuddered. Being a Chinese-Scottish girl from Edinburgh, she had a miserable time in school, both primary and secondary, but she made it to college with good marks…until her schizoaffective disorder came into play. She ended up dropping out of college, her family disowning her, leaving her with nothing. But she worked her arse off to get this job, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to lose it. She drove to the city block where her clients, a Ms. Juve and a Mr. Mede (odd names, but they were legal) had asked for her car, and she saw them: a very young woman (probably four years younger than she was, and she was twenty-four) with Chinese features and a very effeminate young man who had similar features were waiting, seemingly unbothered by the hustle and bustle. Maela unlocked the door. “Where to?” she asked politely in her Scottish accent; they were her first customers of the day. “The ZLS London Zoo,” the woman said with cheer in her tone. “You’re Maela Wheaton, right?” Maela sighed. It would be a long drive, especially with her meds, but it would pay a decent amount as well. “Yeah, I’m your driver," she said as the couple closed the door. “Your fare will be €175-€215 for conversion, and you pay af'er the ride’s over.” “Is it all right if we talk to you on the way?” the woman, Juve, asked. “Erm…” “I’ll pay double if you allow us to talk to you, Maela,” Juve coaxed. “Fine." She drove away from the busy street, her eyes trained on the road. “What do you wanna talk 'bout?” “Well…we’re the owners of a nice little spa in London,” Mede said, his voice very stereotypically gay. “We’ve had all sorts of clientele, famous people, but we serve…others nowadays.” “That’s nice,” Maela said, her voice bored. “We were wondering if you could come to our spa when able,” Juve said. “Me?” Maela said with a laugh. “How much would it cost? I’m not exactly rich.” “The money you get from this drive should cover all of the costs and more,” the woman said with a kind smile. “It would be a full treatment, lots of pampering, massages, expert services, stuff like that.” Maela’s fragmented mind began to wander. Yeah, that did sound rather nice…but she was in the red, and she couldn’t exactly take a day off… “Just feel free to stop by whenever you’re free and willing. You seem like you could use it.” “Yeah, I…I 'ave schizoaffective disorder, so I could use somethin' t' 'elp, anythin'.” “I can’t imagine.” It was sympathy, which Maela hated…but unlike most who expressed such sentiments, it didn’t seem fake from Juve. Then a call echoed from her dashboard. “'Ang on, it’s my supervisor. I 'ave t' take this.” She opened a line. “'Ello?” “Hello,” an automated voice said. “Due to costs, we regret to inform you that after this ride, we will be forced to make cost-cutting layoffs. We wish you the best in your new endeavors.” Maela started to cry. She had been laid off? NOW?! This was a disaster. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Juve asked. “Just…I’m gonna 'ave to drop you two off; I’m no longer employed by the company. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but-” “Don’t worry about it, honey,” Juve said sympathetically. “Tell you what, here’s your payment.” She used a debit card and transferred…a very significant amount, to Maela’s utmost shock. €1,000? This is insane! I didn’t even do anything big! “Just consider the spa, honey,” Juve said, handing her a business card. “The money is yours to do as you wish with, but all I ask is that you consider using some of it for a day at the spa.” The two exited the car on a street, having not gone very far from Birmingham at all. Maela looked at the money, a decision to make. Tomorrow works. I’ll search for a job after I go there for a day. - Tawny Wheeler was working at a gentleman’s club in Manchester, U.K. Yeah, it was a stripper’s name to some, but the Black woman didn’t mind it as much; she loved the first name that her parents chose for her. Her flawless ebony skin gleamed in the lights, her lips filled, makeup expertly done. She had to look utterly stunning for her clients, both of whom were in a private room, as was custom. The woman’s hips swayed seductively, her heels clicking on the floor as she entered the room with the clients: a woman and an effeminate looking young man, both of them Black and beautiful to her, both of them with pretty long locks, looking a year or two younger than she was, in their early twenties. She danced on the pole in front of them. It was an opening act, the start to a lap dance, and maybe something more, if they so wanted and were willing to pay her on the side for it. Tawny was bi as hell, had no issues with men or women paying for sexual favors from her on the side, so long as they weren’t…her. The woman who raped me. Just because I was an exotic dancer, she brought me to her home, and… She had tried to report the woman to the police, but they weren’t very sympathetic to her plight, said it was her fault. Just because that woman was rich, powerful, and obsessed…she could - and did - stalk Tawny everywhere she went, hiring private investigators to see where she went, demanding to see her at her job, even stalking her to her house in Moss Side, one of, if not the, worst areas in Manchester, where she would do anything to get out of… Then again, would her family be proud of her and what she did? They had either passed a while ago or moved out of the U.K. to other countries. Would her father look down on her for being an exotic dancer? Would her mom call her a whore for what she did to survive another day? And her sisters had left for American jobs a while ago, both of them far smarter and gifted than she was. Tawny tried to drive the thoughts out of her mind, tried to keep tears from pricking at her brown eyes; she was performing, not focusing on herself, but the woman seemed to notice her turmoil. “Are you okay, dear?” the Black woman asked. Tawny flipped her bleached-blonde braided hair in annoyance. “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, her voice not inviting conversation. “Well…you seem like you could use a bit of a break. You know we own a nice spa, right?” Tawny seemed to perk up as she continued dancing. A spa? An actual honest-to-God spa? She could use some R&R, but her job…and the payment… “Don’t worry about it. The money we'll give you for this session will more than pay for a day at the spa. A treatment tailored to you, dear.” The woman’s eyes were quite warm and inviting, and Tawny was more than just a little tempted. “Sure,” she said. “What’s the earliest you can have me?” “Tomorrow, easily.” Tawny pondered it and made her decision. “I’m in. But first, that lap dance I promised you two…” - Former Petty Officer (honorably discharged from the Royal Navy) Sable Stokes was at the Royal British Legion in London, looking for help and not getting what she wanted. She wanted to take things to keep her up, to stop the nightmares of the Somalian pirates that invaded her small ship, seeing her mates all die to protect her, brutally killing the pirates, all of their faces - her friends and foes alike - in her nightmares every night. Why did everyone refuse that? Why did they want her to sleep? Why did they want her to feel all of that pain? “Look, Petty Officer Stokes, we’ll recommend you to our therapist, but we can’t prescribe you amphetamines; it’s illegal.” “I don’t wanna sleep,” Sable said desperately in her Irish brogue, the nails on her olive-skinned hands digging into the handles of the wooden chair she sat in, her brown hair falling over her face. She hated that she had even joined the Royal Navy eight years ago on a promise and a prayer. If she hadn’t, she would’ve had a normal life… “Petty Officer Stokes, you have to sleep some time.” The secretary was seemingly sympathetic, but she didn’t want sympathy; she wanted the nightmares to go away. “The doctor will discuss things shortly. Do you have a next of ki-” “I don’t!” Sable screamed, the tenuous string holding her temper snapping. “My family’s from Ireland, and they 'ate me! My 'usband is dead from brain cancer! My mates died on the HMS Ladon! I - 'ave - NOTHIN'!” “Security, please-” "There's no need for security; she's merely distraught," a new male voice said. A gentle hand on Sable's shoulder guided her away from the panicking secretary as she started sobbing. “There we go, get it all out, that’s a good girl,” the male doctor whispered in her ear as Sable relaxed in the soft, yet firm grip. “Who are…” “Doctor Alex Juves,” the male doctor said kindly. “Sable, if you could follow me to my office?” Sable reluctantly followed, feeling glad that the man hadn’t called her by her rank. She was not proud of being part of the Royal Navy, even with the friends she made. She had spent years on ships, not knowing her husband was secretly dying, wanting to be strong for her sake. Her mates on the Ladon, all dead. Every one of them in her head at night. No, she wanted nothing to do with Royal Navy services…but she didn’t have a choice, being unemployed and living disability check to check. The office was full of baby, toddler, and children’s pictures, an equal amount of boys and girls from the look of things. Sable tried not to sob; this is what she and her husband wanted: children of their own. Now he was lost to her for good; Sebastian Stokes was in Heaven without a doubt, while she was certainly headed down below. The male doctor looked oddly youthful, much younger than she was (she estimated him to be twenty-one years old, while she was seven years older), athletic, with trimmed brown hair and no facial hair, and calm green eyes. “Honey…” the doctor began, and Sable relaxed a bit at the paternal tone, “I think a spa trip would be for the best. It’s owned by a woman whom I trust with my life, and I think a day of relaxation would be for the best.” “A spa trip?” Sable snorted. “Wha' do ye take me for, a girly-girl?” “It’s not just for girly-girls. I’m just thinking of a day of relaxation, and that can be for anyone, even the biggest tomboy.” She sighed. “How much does it cost?” she asked. “For military discounts such as yours? Nothing at all.” “Nothin’s free-” “I know. All I’m saying is that the military discount is valid for this spa. A day of relaxation, freedom, and free of worry. Is that something you’d want?” “But the nightmares-” “And you have the choice of sleeping or not sleeping, Sable. Nothing will be done that you don’t want. I’m just recommending it for relaxation, and I’ve scheduled tomorrow as your day. Sound good?” Sable bit her lip. It seemed as though it had been decided for her…but hey, it was just a fucking spa! What was the worst that could happen? “Fine.” - Russet Royal had just been fired, arrested, and was awaiting her sentence for failing a drug test and getting caught with glass (crystal meth), lamenting her life choices as she sat in the London slammer cell. The skinny transwoman sulked, curled up in a corner, knowing that she had been placed with two men, one of whom was leering at her with ill intent. She merely glared at them with her icy-blue eyes, her red hair falling in wavy strands over her pale, freckled face, daring them to try something. “Hey, little bitch,” a man sneered. “You got a man? I can give you what your pussy wants…” “Dude, that thing’s a tranny,” another man said, rolling his eyes. “Unless you’re a poof?” “I’m not a fuckin’ poof! Fuck, how was I supposed to know? I’m not fuckin’ tranny arse!” Russet ignored the slurs, tried to ignore the depression, exhaustion, and aching all over her body and head: all signs of her amphetamine withdrawal. She was homeless and on the streets, the only job she was able to get was a barista job that she used to buy the next high. And now she was fired and looking at a serious prison sentence. Then a banging on the cell. “Paulson Pritchard?” Russet ignored her deadname, both first and last, her parents being so horribly bigoted that she long since discarded it when she had been kicked out. “Paulson Pritchard!” It had to be a withdrawal hallucination at this point; nothing would surprise her. “PAULSON PRITCHARD, GET YOUR FUCKING ARSE UP OR I’LL MAKE YOU!” “It’s Russet Royal, arsehole!” she snapped back in her Cockney accent. “Call me by me right name, an’ I won’t fuck ya up!” “Your barrister is here. Your choice if you want to go to him pepper sprayed or not.” Russet sighed in annoyance, getting up with her wrists long since handcuffed behind her back, as the guard roughly dragged her out of the cell, the pain from his grip causing her to grimace. He led her to a small room with a table and chairs, one of them holding a surprisingly young man in it (three years older than her age, she guessed, and she was eighteen), athletic, tall. The guard stood to the side until the young man, his brown hair long over his cleanshaven face, waved him off before saying, “I want her handcuffs off. Now.” Russet stared into space, a bit confused. Did the man say… “He’s a dangerous drug-addled prisoner. I won’t risk your safety.” “I want the handcuffs off of this young lady. She’s trans, if you somehow didn’t know. How dare you put her in a cell with two older men?” The tone wasn’t truly accusatory, but it caused the guard to fume before he unlocked Russet’s cuffs, as she tried to rub feeling into her wrists. “And now I want you out of the room whilst I discuss the magistrate’s judgement.” “You’re serious? This is a criminal-” “First time offender with no history of violent crimes and mitigating factors. Out.” The guard looked like he was going to explode with anger, but he left, thank God. Russet sighed in relief. “Fanks, Mr. Um…” “Call me Nick Juves.” The barrister’s bright blue eyes were kind. “I talked to the magistrate about a private sentence if you plead guilty: time served but with probation and house arrest at a place of our choosing.” Russet sighed again. “And if I don’t?” she asked in an irritable, yet dead tone. “Russet, you’re looking at seven years if you plead not guilty. Evidence is there and everything. You will be convicted, and I don’t want that for you. You have so much to give and deserve to receive help. I remember seeing you at your barista job in London. You were so kind to everyone, and asked everyone how they were doing, including me.” She stared at the barrister in shock. “I don’t-” “Remember it? No, I don’t suppose you would. But that’s why I took your case. The magistrate knows the place where you’d be at house arrest. Technically, it’s more of an upscale spa owned by a woman I dearly care about. Rest, relaxation, spending your free time there. All he asks is that you don’t leave.” Russet immediately brightened up. This actually sounded like it could be fun. “It’s…it’s a deal,” she said, her tone happy for once as she shook his hand. - Joan and Hazel MacTaggart were twins that had been separated for quite some time. Joan worked in Liverpool as a grocery store checkout operator by day and a waitress at night, Hazel worked as a morning waitress and a night shift petrol station attendant in Rotherham, both of them separated from birth in spite of Grandma Mac’s protests, not even being told of each other by their petty family members after the messy divorce. It was truly a messy situation, with each of their so-called “families” disowning them after they insisted on seeing each other, and for…reasons neither had admitted to each other…yet. Not that it mattered to them; they merely took the maiden name of their maternal grandmother - the only person who accepted both of them for the women they were - without hesitation, and even though she passed a year after they met at twenty, they always made sure to make their days together count, just like she always said. When they found each other after all that time, they were overjoyed, but they were unable to visit each other due to their full job schedule. Until today. They were in London, both of them dressed to the nines, both of them with their long light blonde hair in shag-style haircuts, both of them were heavily tattooed (and with both of them wearing spiked chokers, they were definitely punk-culture oriented), their green eyes each showing love for their twin as they had coffee and chatted at a small cafe that catered to fetish cultures (something both of them hadn’t yet admitted to each other, but wanted to, waiting for the other to make a move first). The only difference between them was their clothing, even though they both wore all black: Joan was wearing a blouse, a knee-length pleated skirt, and heels, while Hazel wore a long-sleeved shirt, a knee-length skirt, leggings, and flats. “God, it’s bigger than I thought it would be, Joan,” Hazel murmured. “I don’t know what to do.” “Me neither, Hazel,” Joan said, sipping on her coffee. “There’s just so much to see…” “Why not our spa?” a feminine voice said. Joan and Hazel turned their heads to the side, as they saw a woman who looked about a year younger than they were, also wearing a spiked collar with her brown hair in a tight bun, looking beautiful in a full latex suit, as well as an effeminate blond boy in a frilly maid costume wearing a dog collar with spikes, the woman holding his leash as he was lying on the ground. “Where did you two come from?” Hazel asked. “I didn’t see you earlier…” “OH, we just sat down,” the woman said cheerfully, pulling the lead. “I’m Juve, and this is my little pet maid, Mede.” “I’m Joan, and my younger twin is Hazel,” Joan said with a smirk. Ever since she found out she was the older twin from her grandmother, she always lorded it over her sister. “Dammit, Joan, it was ten minutes. Ten minutes.” Juve merely smiled. “I’m pretty sure that you both could have fun at our spa. We cater to fetishes of all types as well as doing relaxing procedures. Oh, and the food is amazing.” “Is it in London?” Joan asked. “Yep! Here’s my card, one for each of you.” Both twins took the card. “Juventas’ Winged Oasis, huh?” Hazel said. “You said it caters to fetishes?” “That it does,” Juve said with a smirk. “You have a poison?” Neither twin seemed eager to share, looking embarrassed all of a sudden. “Aww, it’s okay, we’re friendly here. I have my own fetish, Mede here is a maid and petplay addict, can’t get enough of it.” “Mistress,” Mede whined. “Heel, girl.” The order was a bit stern, and Mede lay at Juve’s feet in a shockingly docile manner. “Feel free to say as much or as little as you want.” “Do you cater to adult baby fetishes?” Joan asked, before blushing and covering her mouth. “Sis, you too?” Joan turned in shock to see Hazel blushing. “Wait, Hazel, you also-” “Well, that solves a lot of problems.” Juve looked genuinely happy, and not in a mean way. “We can easily do that at our spa. No need to bring anything other than stuffies and favorite dummies.” Both twins looked sad, and Juve seemed to look sad as well. “You don’t have any stuffies or dummies?” “No,” Joan said. “I have to survive. It’s hard enough to buy nappies.” “Yeah, adult nappies are the only thing I’ve allowed myself,” Hazel admitted. “Tell you what, we can find you a stuffie each and provide the dummies, the bottles, actual adult baby nappies, everything a happy baby girl needs.” “How much will it cost?” Hazel asked in trepidation. “Tell you what: first time’s on me. It’ll cost more for extra ‘sessions’.” The woman almost seemed to transform into a dominatrix in front of their eyes. “Sound good?” Joan and Hazel looked at each other incredulously, unbelieving of their luck, before saying simultaneously, “You bet!” - Apologies in advance for the long, fragmented chapter: it would've been too short to post each person's response, and I want to move into this story as quickly as I could. Anyway, here are the translations of some of the foreign words: Halal = Islamic limits to what one is religiously allowed to eat. Kabsa = an Arabic rice dish that has a meat (usually lamb or chicken, but can include beef, fish, goat, even camel) with vegetables and a mixture of spices. Batata harri = a Lebanese dish with potatoes, vegetables, and spices. "Ila al-lika'a ya habibi." = "Until we meet again, my love." (Directed towards a man.) Hope y'all enjoyed this very long chapter - and for you Brits out there, let me know how I did~ I swear to holy fate, I researched as much as I could, but if I made mistakes, please let me know.

Well, came up with a new story on the fly. Welcome to Method Acting, a brand-new AR story. Yes, there's a lot of tags, but I figure it needed them. It's sort-of based on the Me-Too movement, given the subject matter, particularly young female actresses going up against a rich and powerful man. Obviously, all characters here are not based on anyone in real life; just the situation. As for the content, the tags do not include what the MC actress thinks happened to her fellow actresses: sexual assault; while what he did to the MC is a sexual crime and while there are implied threats, he did not assault the others in terms of forcing himself onto others. This story will not include sex crimes against children or grooming; he's not in it for that. He's a disgusting excuse for a person, don't get me wrong, though; just not...that. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. But if you're still with me, feel free to read on: - Chapter One: Cynthia's Interview - Cynthia Nachtnebel was seriously pissed off, as she sat in the media room in the El Cid Theater, waiting for the exact time for security to open the door so that the media could come in, her long fingers steepled over the conference table, close to the microphone. Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old up-and-coming actress, and yes, she knew that such a profession entailed a certain lack of anonymity. Yes, she was used to creeps by now - directors, actors, media, fans, all types - and she knew how to deal with them without trashing her budding career. Yes, she knew of the salacious rumor mill about whom she was dating, where she was dating them, and why she hadn’t sealed the deal. She didn’t care about any of that as much; she almost expected it, being a fairly tall (last time she had gotten measured, she was 5’9”; never ask a lady her weight), athletic (to the point of doing her own stunts) and beautiful (long and curly platinum-blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and a body that most women would kill for) woman. Wasn’t her fault she hit the genetic lottery, after all, and people could get jealous of that. She knew that from middle school on. But there was absolutely no excuse for what this…motherfucking sleazeball did! What that fucker, A-Bomb or whatever his name was, did was despicable, degrading, and didn’t just cross the line; he leapt well over it. Cynthia had no issues raising hell against him, no matter how filthy rich and obscenely powerful he was - and he was absolutely loaded with both, especially for a paparazzi. Her fellow actresses and actors, the directors of her films, her agent, all of them had advised her against meeting him head on. But someone had to make a stand, right? If it wasn’t her, some other poor girl would have to do it - and Cynthia Nachtnebel was not the type to let someone else get hurt while she stood on the sidelines. The media were outside, waiting for her to start with bated breath: she had made it quite public on social media that she had a big announcement before she would take any questions. Some assumed she was pregnant. Cynthia was far from ace/aro (pan would be a more fitting description), but she was always careful with birth control and the like; she would wait for the kids until later on in her career. Her actress mother, Nikole, with Cynthia being an only child, wanted grandkids. Her mother would have to wait for that. Others thought it was to promote one of her movies. Cynthia never had regrets for any of the movies she played a role in, getting her start at seventeen in a horror film (which she played so well as a method actress - even though her character ended up dying at the end - that directors immediately lined up to get their piece), rising through the ranks and movies for eight (would’ve been nine, if not for…the incident) years, going from romance, to comedy, to action, and everything in between, never being afraid to dive deep into a character study. Even if the movies bombed, people still raved about her acting and how respectful she was to the character and the film. Still more thought it would be a minor thing that she thought was major news, making a mountain out of a molehill. Cynthia had no idea why some would think that of her, even after everything she did in her career, but she supposed there were skeptics for everything. She was always respectful to her fans, making sure to stay long hours for autographs, and respond to all of the social media posts and letters she received personally. She got along famously with the stuntmen and stuntwomen; her German-born father, Hans-Jurgen was one, and it’s what got her interested in doing her own stunts. She got along well with everyone involved in the film industry, from the cameramen, the costume designers, the makeup artists, and everyone, even to the most menial janitors, but the stuntpeople were whom she was closest to from childhood on. She always treated her peers with respect, even with other actresses, always trying to take the peaceful route, and ended up making a lot of lifelong friends with actors, actresses, agents, and many others…including two that she wanted to talk about today. Even the media, for the most part, she was cordial with, even when her anxiety caused her to have panic attacks around the scrums at first. The media was still a little scary for her, but most of them were accepting, she thought. None of those theories were close to the truth of the matter. Cynthia breathed. In, out. In, out. She was never comfortable with the attention; she just wanted to play roles, disappear into them, forget who she was for a moment in time. But she accepted that things were never going to go the way they did again. Not after what he did, and not after what she was going to do. The last nine months, from January on, were hell on earth. The disappearances of fellow actress and close friend Bethany Grassman and her agent, Nancy Leighton in the December before were bad enough…but then…it happened. The photos. The porn sites. The Photoshopping. The words of “slut”, “whore”, “cunt”, and many more uncreative variations wherever she saw her picture. The death and rape threats - including THE BIG ONE from HIM. The loss of respect and the shattering of her safety. The immense anxiety and numerous panic attacks. Checking voluntarily into a private psych facility from early February to late March (even though she never talked to a counselor about what had happened), and the stalking of her there by HIM. Disappearing out of Hollywood to the small town in Germany she was born in, becoming a recluse for four more months, and being forced to cancel her movies for the entirety of the year - something she had never foreseen herself ever doing - in tears, just so she could get away from it all. And worst of all, forcing herself off the computer for those nine months, just so that she didn’t start hysterically sobbing all over again from the horrible speculation, nasty comments, and all of the threats. Cynthia was going to show A-Bomb just a bit of that hell: by exposing his fucking ass for the world to see. And oh boy, did she have a fuckload of evidence to expose him. She’d go to court and everything if she had to. She’d get him locked away for the rest of his sad, miserable life. And even if her friends were… Tears poured from her eyes, and she wiped them away before a steely look came over her face. This was not the time to cry; she had done all the crying she had to do. This was the time where she had to be strong. Cynthia nodded to the security guards to open the door for the media storm, aware of the flashing cameras, aware of the shouts, but she was perfectly, shockingly calm. She knew that she had to do this. Nobody else needed to get hurt by A-Bomb. She tapped the microphone to make sure it was working, holding up her hand for silence before she began after taking a deep, long breath. “I’m aware that all of you have questions, that everyone has questions, and I promise that I will answer all of them in turn,” she began, making sure her slight German accent wasn’t breaking into her voice, “and I know it has been a very long time since I’ve publicly spoken. I’ve been asked not to speak out by directors, by the stuntpeople I know, by my agent, by fellow actors and actresses, by…well, everyone I’ve talked to. They’re afraid of what might happen to me if I do. But if not me, who? And what would it cost them, in turn? “I speak, of course, on the conduct of one man in particular: Adrian Naposki. You may know him as the famous paparazzi ‘A-Bomb’.” Cynthia’s fingers clenched the papers in her hands. “You have known me for a very long time. For the longest time, you have known that I have promoted myself as family oriented, even with my anxiety and panic attacks. I do not pose for nude pictures of my breasts while asleep in my bed. I do not pose for pictures spreadeagled so that my vagina is showing. And I don’t send said pictures to porn sites so that impotent whack jobs can jerk off on them and call me a slut or a whore. “For the longest time, you have seen that I do not partake in drinking or illicit substances; fellow actors, actresses, stuntpeople, directors, everyone who knows me knows that I do not partake in anything of the sort. I have never once tasted alcohol after what I saw it did to my grandfather and learning how he beat my dad when he was drunk. I have never been interested in marijuana, much less heroin and crack-cocaine. “Then where, you ask, did all of those pictures come from? Where did all of those drugs come from? Mr. Naposki, of course. I have video records of Mr. Naposki’s visits to marijuana parlors, liquor stores, even street corners where he made numerous purchases. I had to pull a lot of strings and spend most of my earnings to get the evidence necessary, but I got it. But more importantly, I have my house cameras…where he trespassed at night, took numerous pictures of me naked, and placed the illicit substances in my home.” She placed a large file of the papers on the desk. “You are free to read them at your leisure: because I’ve already sent it to every newspaper, every news website, even the tabloids - and the police. Especially the police. “I also have the digitally recorded kidnapping, rape, and death threat - and the implication that he did the same to Bethany Grassman and Nancy Leighton, two of my closest friends - of Mr. Naposki here.” Cynthia bit her trembling lip, brought out a tape recorder, and pressed play on the microphone, the New Jersey accented words of the paparazzi coming clearly out of the speaker. “Lissen, sweetheart, I’m gonna give yew a one-time offer: yew go public with what I say or do, I will screw with yew and what little remains of your pride. I will screw with yew so hard that your screaming and crying will echo in my house, like with Bethy and Nani. An’ if I ever get bored of yew, well, I might just make yew have an accident an’ have fun with that. Got it, sweetheart? I’ll be seein’ yew. Bye for now, cutiepie! Love your tits and pussy!” The room was so silent that one of the reporter’s phones dropped on the carpet with a thunderous crash…and nobody said anything of it, the horror in their eyes clear at what was a rich and famous media personality essentially admitting that he had raped and murdered two women - and was apparently more than willing to do it again. Cynthia’s eyes were dripping with tears as she paused the tape recorder. “That day, realizing that Bethany and Nancy were raped and murdered, was the worst day of my life,” she continued, trying to keep her voice from shaking, trying to breathe as she brushed her tears away. “I went to the police. For whatever fucking reason, they said they couldn’t help. My friends, two of the kindest women I knew, were murdered, and they couldn’t help me because this…monster was too rich and powerful for them to deal with. I was terrified of him, especially after I learned that he stalked me and took pictures of me when I was in psych. I left for Germany. I couldn’t handle the constant torment. “It took me too long…but I realized that Mr. Naposki would just hurt someone else if not me. So, I went higher than the police, pulled as many strings as I could. You can talk to CIA Agent Francis Fortier if you need more information; he’ll be more than willing to answer any questions you have. “I will not be cowed. I will not stay silent any longer. Mr. Naposki raped and murdered two of my friends and possibly many others that we don’t know of yet. He threatened to rape and murder me. And if this ends with me disappearing or dying, I’ll be glad to sacrifice my life so that he goes down for good. I will not leave it to another woman to suffer from him in order to for him to be put down like the rabid animal he is. “I have absolutely no problems with the media; you have embraced me even with all of my shortcomings, all of my flaws, all of my moments of weakness, and I love you for it. I have no hatred for the paparazzi as a whole; it is something that comes with being an actress, being well-known, and they have to make a living as well in this business, too. It is just this one monster, Mr. Naposki, that has gone way too far. “And to my fans who have been waiting for my name to be on a movie for almost a year, to the directors I’ve had to turn down offers from, including sequels to movies I’ve made, to my agent who has been in the dark with this, only knowing that I have a problem with Mr. Naposki, to the many people I’ve grown to know and love in the film industry, I am truly sorry that I have nothing to say except for what I’ve just said. This is something I had to get out, so that Mr. Adrian ‘A-Bomb’ Naposki cannot hide, cannot run, and most importantly, never harms anyone ever again. “With that, you may ask any questions you wish.” - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Warning As with my previous stories, this one contains several elements inherent to a break with social normities. These include, but are not limited to: Diapers and their usage for their intended purpose Non-consensual mental regression through various means (Including possible drugs, hypnosis, and/or surgery) References to surgery to achieve various nefarious goals Humiliation Punishments (often unfair, degrading, and/or humiliating) Coerced or manipulated actions through possible means of white lies, gas lighting, or incentives Mild language or use of expletives Depictions of death, illness, or handicaps Political themes associated with revolutions or desires of change or freedoms Literal age regression Depictions of younger children and babies (formerly adults) Graphic imagery associated with any of these warnings This story has not been labeled as mature, due to a lack of specific acts to anything overtly sexual; however, some fetishes maybe touched on in this story more than my previous ones. Still, as usual, this warning serves as a 'turn back' point for any readers who do not wish to read about the previous warnings. Lastly, this list here is subject to change during the course of writing this story. While most of the plot is ironed out, more warnings may be warranted later if needed (though may not be added). If I deem any chapters to be too ‘triggering,’ I will issue another separate warning beforehand. Hey everyone and welcome back! It's almost been a month since I lasted posted regularly with my previous story, and it's definitely been an interesting start to the year so far. Can't say I'm a fan of everything going on, but this story has been a nice place to find some refuge. Also... I swear that I really will get around to updating the DD Reference Guide. May is way too long. Now, as per your previous polling, this story won out over the other two. So far, it’s about 22 chapters total, but this might be subject to change. I need to see how a few things play out after I‘ve fully written and edited a few critical chapters that may need more room to breathe so to speak. As such, it very well could be more. Additionally, I don’t see my work backing down at all and I do have a few trips planned out coming up here, so I will try my best to commit again to at least three chapters a week. More could drop occasionally, especially with some of these chapters having already been written out, but I can’t commit to that fully at this point. Looking ahead, as usual, I will post another poll with three stories in the mix for my next story in chapter two. There are a few things going on this weekend that could delay this but I’m hoping to post chapter 2 by Monday night at the very latest. Last but not least and as usual, I hope everyone enjoys the first chapter of this next story of mine! Chapter 1: Breaking News! It was just like any other spring day in April. The flowers were beginning to pop out and a nice gentle breeze occasionally wafted through the already warming days. Pollen was on its way in large numbers, and I knew I would soon be able to put away even my lighter jacket from my list of things I carried with me outside of the house daily. Nearby, green stems of the plants ready to bloom soon were further signs that change and the truly warmer months were on their way. Being a Sunday, I was well on my way over to joining my parents, and my younger brother and sister for our weekly family dinner. None of us were truly the best communicators out there, so starting when I went away to college, we all at least attempted to attend a regular family meal to keep everyone in the loop on each other’s lives. Journeying from my apartment on the other side of the city, I usually took the freeway that curved around the south side of the main downtown area, but some kind of accident forced me onto the main city streets today instead. Listening to my classic rock station, as soon as I began to pass by some of the taller skyscrapers, my radio suddenly sputtered and crackled. “We pause your regular scheduled program today to bring you an emergency news report. Residents of major cities are advised to avoid downtown areas if all possible,” the almost electronic voice sounded out. I rolled my eyes, seeing the tall skyscrapers starting to grow in numbers and height all around me. Not the largest city in the country, but definitely a major one. “Great… now you tell me… where were you five minutes ago?” The classic rock station then resumed, but despite the heavy bass and solid drum beat echoing in my car once again, I simply couldn’t get my mind off what I had just heard. The last time an announcement like that had been made, the president was in town for some political rally, and the time before that was because of some high terror alert made from some terrorist group. Not hearing of the president or any other celebrity coming into the city today, my hands grew sweaty on the wheel as my mind reeled with the possibili… “Hey!” a voice shouted out in front of me. I immediately hit my breaks and popped out of my own thoughts long enough to see a police officer only about a foot away from the front of my car. Visibly angry, they marched right over to my window and gestured abruptly for me to roll it down, which I did promptly. “Didn’t you hear me before? Didn’t you see me waving at you for you to stop and go the other way?” “No…,” I admitted. “I’m sorry officer. I just heard on the radio about not coming downtown and I was thinking about what… it… could…” I stopped as my eyes drifted just beyond the officer and to the several other police swarming the main downtown area. The once pristine and normally peaceful park at this time on a Sunday just outside of city hall was now littered with dozens of military men and even more police… all setting up barricades or patrolling around… each seemingly ready to react to something. “Uh… the president wouldn’t happen to be coming here today, right?” While looking a little annoyed still, the officer saw where I was looking and then eased up a bit and sighed as she moved a stray hair of her back behind her ear. “No, sir. A fringe group posted a video on their website this morning threatening several major city centers with a demonstration of some kind. Government agencies have listed the threat as credible, so we’re rerouting all traffic coming through here over to West E Street. You know where that is from here?” I nodded. “Local and all, so yes. That’s just two turns away from this intersection up ahead or the one just behind me now.” “Very good, sir,” she said, her face now looking more apprehensive than angry or even annoyed now. “Please reroute over that way with the intersection behind you. There will be signs taking you all the way… just in case.” I nodded again. “Thank you, officer. I’ll get a move on right now…” Without rolling my window back up, I started turning my car wheel to the right to eventually make my U-turn and then get over to West E Street as instructed. Before I could make a full rotation though, the police officer came back to my window “Oh, and sir?” I stopped turning my wheel as the officer clearly forgot to mention something important. “I advise you go to your destination and stay there for a while this afternoon. Your own residence, a friend or a family member would be best… especially away from the city if possible… understand?” “Thank you, officer… just heading over to my family’s house now actually. Over in the Eastern Hills district,” I clarified. About 60% of the neighborhood had a good view of the city, even with all the trees now, but it was still considered outside the main boundary of the city. “Very good, sir,” she said, looking a little relieved. “On your way then.” Her smile put me at ease, but her underlying show of relief and all the other precautions I was now seeing to my rear back in the main part of downtown did not. Still, I drove off, and sure enough, a myriad of signs directed me right over to West E Street, which all then directed me to the beltway. Fortunately, the radio message seemed to do the trick and as I tracked over to my parents’ house, the roads started to become significantly emptier. Eventually pulling up to the house though, I could see my mom pacing back and forth on the front porch, clearly worried that I hadn’t arrived at my usual time. “And just where have you been?” she asked, flipping to me quickly, allowing her hair with her slightly graying roots to flap about in the air. It was always nice to see her and the rest of my family each Sunday, but unfortunately, her tone told me she was both nervous and frustrated with my tardiness. “Sorry… had to take a detour getting over here,” I noted. I guessed her real source of distress was hearing about the warning to stay away from the downtown area, but knowing her, I didn’t want her to worry needlessly about my safety in confirming that I had literally just come from there. She glared at me, but then just waved me inside. “Fine, fine. You should account for all that before you leave, but…” She then sighed and shook her head, seemingly letting my tardiness go. “Just… come inside, Pete. Dinner’s almost ready and the rest of your siblings are already here.” Locking my car door, I nodded and headed inside without further comment. Almost immediately, Amanda ran up to me and did her best to jump into my arms. My younger sister had been a bit of a whoops with my parents, now clocking in at 4 years old, compared to my younger brother Lucas’ 22 and my 28. “Petey!” she squealed. “Youwe here!” I smiled and nodded before nuzzling my nose into hers. “That’s right you little munchkin! All the traffic in the world couldn’t keep me away from my favorite sister!” She giggled in my arms, appreciating my affection and being known as ‘the favorite’ of anything. “She is your only though…” Amanda and I stopped and looked over at our sullen brother, Lucas. Freshly returned from his relatively nearby university for our dinner only and entering his master’s program this year for engineering, the burden of his work had made him surly and had rubbed off the more playful edge he had when he had first left for college. I missed the kid who used to beg me to play tag with him sometimes… “Well… looks like the party pooper is here and in usual form, right sis?” Amanda nodded, likely just to his label as a ‘party pooper,’ and pouted in his direction. Noticing, I couldn’t help but crack a small grin at her tiny fierceness against my brother. “Oops. Looks like you made her mad, bro. I think someone needs to say sorry, huh? What do you think, nugget?” Again, Amanda pouted, even crossing her arms this time, and nodded defiantly. Lucas rolled his eyes but ultimately relented and came over to give us both a hug. Being the older brother of the two, I felt it was my responsibility to keep them civil whenever I could… even if that meant putting my foot down occasionally. Mom and dad did a pretty good job themselves at keeping the order between us, but busy with dinner preparations tonight and at other times, I took over that role nearly seamlessly. “Kids! Dinner’s on!” a voice thundered from inside the house. Unmistakably our dads, his voice was pleasant but overall commanding. It meant get in the kitchen now and don’t dawdle or risk incurring your mom’s wrath over a potentially cold meal. So, scrambling apart, I set Amanda down, and the three of us darted into the kitchen without delay. Quickly serving their own plates, my mom helping Amanda out first before helping her into her booster chair and my brother piling the Bolognese high on his plate, my dad looked at me with a single raised graying eyebrow, his forehead wrinkling precipitously as he did so. “You avoided the car accident on 62 and went downtown, didn’t you? Your… detour, huh?” I sighed and nodded, knowing I could never keep a secret from the man in my life. He just had one of those uncanny knacks of being able to figure out the truth and know it before anyone else. Lucas and I still wondered if his old government job was really a cover for him being a secret agent or something and that’s where he had learned his skills at… but we had never dared to ask him. Still, regardless of how he got them, I didn’t want everyone to know about the little secret he had just pulled out about me and where I had really been today. “Don’t tell the others, please, Dad?” My dad smirked and then quickly shook his head. “I might be an adrenaline junky still, Pete, but I’m not crazy. If your mom knew… whew! She’d find some way to make sure you never drove over here again, or at the very least… find some way to make sure you checked in with her every five or ten minutes in coming over here for the future. So, no. I won’t tell her. I don’t think either of us want to see her like that, right?” I rolled my eyes, but I knew he wasn’t kidding about what she would do. “Right but… ugh! She’s just so…” My dad smirked and nodded his head. “Yeah, but give her some slack. She means well and all. Just wants you kids to be safe… her mother hen instinct is all. Can’t blame her for that…” I shook my head and that was that. Some might have considered that a lie of omission with my mom, but I still had made it here in one piece and dwelling on it anymore would have just been a waste. Serving my own meal, I quickly took a seat in between Amanda and Lucas, still sensing the tension and prickly demeanor between the two. Lucas was a man of science and numbers. Everything was a calculation to him, while Amanda was still at the age where magic was real, and everything could be solved with a good hug or a kiss. Unfortunately, Lucas was short on both lately. Still, the weekly family dinner proceeded as usual and seemed liked a pleasant exchange of the latest news from each of us. Lucas was having problems with one of his professors while Amanda had a sudden aversion to broccoli. Dad was settling into his new position as the head of a security company and mom was doing her best to close a deal on a particular lavish house in an up-and-coming neighborhood located just north of the city. Finally, though, the conversation turned to me, and I could almost predict the first question coming from my mom. “So, Pete… no Molly today?” she asked innocuously, but probingly. “Did you two…?” She didn’t finish her question, but the implication was clear about my current girlfriend. “No, mom. We didn’t break up. She’s just traveling right now for her job. Some photo shoot up in the mountains for the magazine.” My mom nodded and accepted the answer, but I could still see her hesitation about Molly… the same she had harbored when I first introduced her to my family a few months back now. I felt great about her and that our relationship was moving right along, but my mom thought she was too flaky or some nonsense like that. Annoying, but still, my mom had the decency to not interfere with our relationship or pick it apart… unlike two girlfriends ago that is. The conversation then moved on to discussing the future as usual, but about halfway through discussing our summer beach trip, my mom stopped and glared at my dad. “Honey… do you really need to keep the TV on in the other room? It’s very distracting right now. I don’t think we need to be listening to commercials about a deal for some half-priced pizza.” “Half priced?” Lucas perked up. My dad grumbled though, and Lucas resigned himself back in his seat, though I could still see his mind was racing on a deal like that. Turning his attention back to my mom next, our dad cleared his throat first. “Well… I think we need to keep it on. There’s problems out there, babe, and we need to be prepared.” He paused and momentarily gulped. “Uh, if it makes you feel better though, I can turn it down if you…” “No,” my mom quickly voiced. She was clearly annoyed with the TV, but she knew an unwinnable argument when she heard one. In this case it was her own comfort weighed against the safety of the family, and safety always seemed to win out in her book. “Keep it on. We need to hear if there’s an announcement…” The tension lingering in the air a little still though, my mom especially hating to back down from any argument, no one spoke for at least the next few minutes. Wanting to bring back the smiles however, I remembered a joke I had heard from one of my coworkers in the office just last week. “Hey… what kind of cheese do they eat on Sesame Street?” The mere mention of the show’s name made Amanda perk up and Lucas sigh while he rolled his eyes. He knew the set up of a ‘dad’ joke when he heard one. “I don’t know,” my dad responded, being at least a good sport about it. “What?” A cracked a tiny smile. “Cookie Muenster,” I said, even using the character’s voice for the punch line. Amanda laughed, but probably more from my silly voice than the actual joke itself. “Oh, god… really, Pete?” Lucas groaned. I only shrugged back. Corny, yes, but also effective. It was just enough to get a few other jokes going around the table, and gratefully, everyone out of their previous funk. “Okay… how about this one…” my mom finally piped up, joining in. “What bird leads the orchestra?” Lucas scratched his head, and I leaned forward to think about it. “I dunno… what, mommy?” Amanda questioned first though. “Well, I’ll tell you,” our mom said after a second, looking around the room yet likely seeing the rest of her family stumped. “The…” Before she could respond, a high-pitched beeping started to go off. Looking around the table at my stunned family for a moment, likely as a result of the stark realization over the noise, we all got up and quickly ran to the living room to confirm our fears. ‘Breaking News!’ The television screen flashed the message prominently, and the high-pitched beeping noise was replaced by a loud, long beep that then echoed throughout the family room. Amanda quickly put her hands over her ears and started screaming. My mom, seeing her distress and wincing a little over the alarm herself, quickly went over to pick her up and comfort her. “Does it have to be so loud?” Lucas then asked, his own hands going up to cover his ears. Instead of the pain that our mom and Amanda were showing, his was more of one of annoyance. Our dad nodded. “It’s important,” he said, his voice cresting just slightly over the incessant alarm sound. “It’s a one size fits all. When your mom and I were younger, they used a similar one to announce about a nuclear bomb. Tested them all the time and we all had to practice those drills in case one ever went off.” He smiled triumphantly, but none of the rest of us were smiling though. Realizing what he had just done, his face quickly turned to panic, and he tried to fix his glaring mistake… but it was too late. “Wait! Nuclear bomb? Is that what’s happening?” Lucas asked, now panicking more than ever, his usual calculating demeanor temporarily going right out the proverbial window. Not sure what was happening myself, I could feel my heartbeat begin to increase as well. “No, no!” our dad tried to retract, our mom slightly giving him the stink eye as well over his grievous error. “It’s just one thing of many that they use the alarm for… I’m sure that everything is alright and that we’ll be perfectly safe here in our…” Before I could step in to bail the poor guy out, the TV screen flashed a few times and switched to a large group of people huddled around a podium at the front of the room with the presidential seal clearly displayed on the front. A large balding man then stepped up to the microphone and began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, twenty minutes ago, the president announced he was declaring a national emergency. A domestic terrorist group, known simply as ’87, named for the year the constitution was written, stole and threatened the release of a potentially dangerous virus this morning. I regret to inform you that they have now acted and have begun releasing this virus across the nation in a series of unprovoked and unwarranted attacks. Shortly, the president will address the nation. For now, we encourage the public, especially in or near city centers, to stay inside.” I watched my family react to the unfolding events in various ways. My dad was as stoic as ever, having worked for the government for years, yet I could still see the ounce of fear behind his focused eyes that now replaced his previous one of panic. Conversely, Lucas was panicking even more now in his own unique way that he had picked up back in middle school. Small, twitchy finger movements and darting eyes made him appear to be calculating the net worth of everyone on the planet and every possible outcome ever conceived, but I knew he was just trying to rationalize inside his own head about what was going on. Our mom seemed frightened and shocked, and limply held her right hand over her mouth, as if about to muffle a scream. Having sat her down during the announcement, her left hand tightened around Amanda’s, which to her credit and without the alarm anymore, seemed the calmest of everyone. I suppose it’s true that ignorance is bliss… Looking back at the screen, it first noted that the president would soon be on to address the nation and secondly that ‘We ask the nation to remain calm, as your government tries to prevent or, in some cases, respond to these attacks. More information will be broadcasted to your local news stations as to what you should do now and if there are any further effects or attacks you need to be aware of.’ The screen beeped along for about another minute but then flashed again and switched to a local news channel where a nervous looking anchorman and woman were perched behind a desk. “That was just the Secretary of Health, joined by members of the FBI, CDC, and NIH. To reiterate, the president has now declared a national emergency and will address the nation within the next few hours. God help us all…” As opposed to my nervous family, I simply sat in my recliner chair and numbly thought about all the implications of what I was now seeing. I thought about Molly, all tucked away in her mountain retreat taking photos of birds or models or whatever else the magazine she worked for wanted. Not being outdoorsy in the least, I teased her that she would never last up there in the mountains, but now, she was seeming like the safer one of the two of us now. Looking back up from my thoughts, my family each stood in stunned silence. There had been some outbreaks and terrorist attacks in recent years, so some of the news felt familiar, but looking back to the TV, I knew that something about all this was just different this time. The news anchors around here had always seemed steadfast or sometimes even saddened, but never truly panicked. Despite such a human response, it was unsettling to see them fumbling through the papers in their hands, as they continued to break the story as it unfolded. One by one, more cities were now listed amongst those attacked. “Oh god… Houston now as well,” the anchorwoman said, reading the prompter and occasional pressing her fingers to the earpiece feeding her live updates. Having transferred from there last year, I could just make out the tears forming in her eyes… likely thinking of all her old coworkers now being affected by whatever was happening to these affected cities. “It will be okay, Sally,” the anchorman said, clearly trying to calm his coworker down. “Just focus on the news and…” It was now his turn to press the earpiece further to listen to the next update. “This just in… government authorities are now considering placing the entire country under Martial Law until this crisis is resolved and the perpetrators are taken into custody. There seems to be some kind of interference and loss of signal wherever these terrorist devices are going off… but we’ll bring you every update that we can. For now, we ask that you please do not provoke the authorities and remain in your homes…” Suddenly, a flash of orange burst outside, contrasting heavily against the pale blue sky. The TV still ran, but now panicking and likely fearing the worst, my dad went into survival mode. “Quickly! Get down and cover your heads!” Everyone ducked and took cover… well, everyone except me. Stupid, maybe… but I loved war movies. My dad introduced to them me when I was far too young, at least according to my mom, but nuclear bombs were commonplace in several of them. As such, I knew that they released an EMP… which meant no electricity, and no TV. Now seeing a positively ghostly figure of both anchors, their lights flickered briefly on the screen, but the program remained on. “Pete!” my mom screeched, temporarily looking up from her own cover to make sure that the rest of her family was safe. “Get down!” I shook my head. “It’s okay, mom. It’s not a nuclear bomb or anything. The TV would have gone off.” I then gestured to the screen, still brightly lit. “See?” My dad, getting up after placing his own body over my mom and Amanda, looked up as well. His instincts were more of fight or flight but looking around and seeing none of the disruptions I was insisting about, relief washed over his face. “He’s right, Karen. There would’ve been more if it was a bomb like that.” Helping both her and my sister up before Lucas, I could still sense his caution though. “Then what did we just see, Gregg?” she asked, her panic still hanging around her densely. “What was that flash? If it wasn’t a nuclear bomb going off then wha…?” She didn’t get to finish her question. Before she could, the house shook terribly, like it was being hit by some kind of vibrational wave. Harkening back to those war movies, it usually only meant one thing when accompanied by a flash. Maybe not nuclear, but there had been an explosion of some kind. “What was that?” my mom asked, her panic increasing even more now as she clung to my sister. For her part, Amanda was now clinging tightly back. Lucas just looked stunned and confused. “I don’t know,” my dad admitted. “Just stay inside and don’t panic or an…” Right then, loud machines began to echo from the outside and I couldn’t even hear more of what the anchors were saying anymore. Picture frames and vases began to tremble from whatever was happening outside. It was hard to miss and everyone, even my sister now, was looking to the front bay window looking out toward the street where we had initially seen the orange flash. With the recent growths in the trees though, the downtown area beyond and most of the sky could just be made out. Dust of some kind seemed to be swirling around the whole area, but I couldn’t make it out further. So, curiosity getting the better of me, I bolted to the front door. “Peter!” my mom shouted out to me, now using my full first name. Serious, but if I lived here still, I knew it meant I was only flirting with danger and a possible punishment. “Get back here this instant. They said not to go outside still!” I heard her, but it was too late for me to turn back now. I was too curious by then and the fluttering and rumbling all about the living room wasn’t helping either. My hand already at the doorknob, I simply twisted, pushed, and then exited the red-painted front door of my childhood home. What I saw, I guess I should have expected from the news, but I was still unprepared for it. I was immediately greeted by dozens of scurrying soldiers being offloaded by a parade of trucks and even a single Humvee driving up our street as well. Our house and neighborhood being perched on a large hill that overlooked much of the city and corresponding valley suburbs around it, I was finally able to get a good view of the whole situation. Normally, it was the perfect place for sunsets and to watch the storms roll in, but now, it gave only an ungodly view of the thundering group of helicopters and jets flying by and then surrounding several of the visible homes and nearby skyscrapers downtown. It appeared like every end scene of the world or wartime invasion film I had ever watched. Worse though, it reminded me too much of some of the conflicts that Molly had taken pictures of overseas and showed me afterward. But those places were at war… ‘Were we at war now as well?’ I wasn’t sure, but a few of the military leaders barking out orders to their men quickly took my mind off it. Knowing Molly would never forgive me if I didn’t capture at least a little of the action, I pulled out my smartphone and took a few pictures of everything unfolding around me. After snapping a few choice shots, I noticed the soldiers seemed distracted, and the loud humming and rumblings of the tanks and nearby helicopters drowned out any other sounds around me. My curiosity only intensifying, I stepped off the front porch and began walking towards the soldiers to ask what was going on. Each soldier was staring at downtown and toward one of local mountain ranges nearby. I hiked there several weekends during my time off and never could get enough of the views from one of the observation towers they had added up there in the 1930s. Now, I had to imagine the view was quite different. Right as I got up to them though, they all began to move out. Now invested and even more curious, I continued walking with the soldiers until I got to the end of the block. They seemed far too distracted to notice me, but as soon as the column stopped, another group of soldiers finally spotted me and began shouting. “Get him! Get him back inside now!” Realizing I had made a huge mistake of even coming out here, I raised my hands and tried to quickly walk backwards and back to my parents’ house. I started to move even faster when they started pointing their guns at me. I guess that wasn’t even fast enough, as soon, a sergeant broke off and pointed at me in annoyance. “You! Get back inside now. Don’t you know there’s a national emergency in effect right now? Or that Martial Law is going to be called into play any second now? Don’t you know what’s happened today?” Weighing my options, I decided to play dumb. Martial Law had never been put into effect during my lifetime around here, so it was at least somewhat plausible, even though I knew that it had meant to stay indoors as just one of its stipulations. “I heard that, but I’m not sure what it is or what I should even do. Do you know?” The sergeant groaned and then pointed his weapon back up the hill from where I had just come from. “It means get back inside now and not asking any more questions. Got it?” “Yes, sir!” From my dad’s experience and stories with them in his old job, I knew to not mess with any soldiers when they were on a mission or given direct orders. Giving them signs of respect or following their commands may have cut my investigation short and I could miss out on some extra photos of history in the making, but I wasn’t stupid. Seeing even their panic, I knew this was not the time to argue. “I’m going back home right…” “There’s another! There’s another!” a solider shouted. “Look!” Another flash of orange lit up the sky, but now being outside and away from some of the trees, I was seeing everything in real time now. A large, thunderous concussive explosion then went off and both the sergeant and I looked to the source of it. Due to my neighborhood’s perfect positioning up on the hill in the suburbs yet still being close enough to the city, it took only a few seconds for us to spot a second, but this time, much larger plume of orange smoke quickly covering the whole downtown area now. It swirled and puffed around the glass and steel giants and seemed to emanate from one of the taller buildings we could still see from here. By the second it seemed though, the whole of the city seemed to be swallowed up in this strange new mist. Looking back over, the sergeant looked panicked for a moment of sheer terror, but as the orange mist began to swirl and then cascade with the wind right toward us, he seemed to come to his senses. “Gas! Gas!” he yelled while simultaneously uncasing a gas mask from on his person around his belt. The nearby soldiers I had been following previously began furiously tearing out their own gas masks from hanging bags on their gear. It was tremendous commotion, but within a minute, each soldier had been masked and gowned to the point where not a single centimeter of their skin was showing. I stood there dumbstruck but realizing what I was witnessing, I managed to capture a few shots of them in the chaos, not wanting to miss this opportunity. But the sergeant, now gowned and masked as well, saw me still standing in the street and marched right over to me. “You! Get out of here. Now! Run as fast as you can into your home! Go while you still can!” I quickly deduced from his panic and the soldiers’ suits and masks that they knew more than the general public. Further, what they knew seemed to imply that whatever the orange mist was, was also likely deadly or hazardous in some way that I didn’t want to find out. Remembering back, the news did state that the ’87 group had stolen some kind of ‘dangerous virus,’ but only the depths of my late-night horror movie watching binges could comprehend or imagine what that meant precisely. Snapped out of my curiosity and reverting to sheer panic now, I began to turn to head home. Seconds and only a couple of steps later though, the spring breezes picked up and I smelled something almost sweet. Citrus maybe… I wasn’t sure, but I had to see where it was coming from. Turning around, to my horror, a large dust cloud of a reddish and orange hue lingered in the air only blocks away now. Seeing the giant cloud forming, the sergeant turned back to me. “Run! Run!” he called out to me again, this time the panic thick in his slightly muffled voice from the gas mask he now wore. Finally understanding the seriousness of it all, I panicked and tried to run as fast as I could, but luck was not on my side today it seemed. After only a few paces, I tripped on a piece of uneven sidewalk and fell face first onto the pavement. Before I had a moment to think, I was being pulled up by an unknown force. I could only hope that I wasn’t totally screwed now, but I soon began to see small whisps of the gas starting to creep around me like long tentacles from a monstrous kraken of some kind. It seemed to spell my doom, though I was pleasantly surprised that once it touched my skin, I felt no pain. No blisters or even a sting of any kind. It only seemed to almost be magnetized to my skin and even a tingle, but a shake from whoever pulled me up, knocked my fascination away. “You! You idiot!” the sergeant yelled, keeping my limp body aloft still. “This is why we said to stay indoors! The ’87 group planted multiple devices beforehand and another one just went off!” I knew he was right, but I was grateful that he at least still seemed to care for my well-being, despite my massive idiotic curiosity. His kindness, or at least decency showed further when he even handed me a mask. I immediately put it on, though I noticed the orange mist still followed and curled around my arms and a tiny trickle of blood now remained on my hands. I only saw both events for a moment, but it was still enough for me to panic. “Which one?” he asked gruffly as we finally reached the top of the hill. I pointed ahead to my parents’ home, where I then noticed two figures with cloths over their mouths were frantically running around and yelling. What’s more… they were yelling my name. The mist hadn’t touched them yet, but it was getting close and seemed to follow close behind us now, seemingly having difficulty making the climb up the hill. “Pete!” the woman yelled, who after running closer, I recognized as my mom. “Is he yours?” the sergeant asked, almost seeming disgusted as he gestured toward me. “Yes” my mom answered. “Thank you so much, sergeant.” My dad working for the government over the years had introduced my mom to several military men and women and she quickly made it a task for herself to memorize all the insignia and ranks in all the branches of service. “Just doing my job ma’am. But now… get inside. All of you!” My dad jogged up and joined us before pulling my mom and I back up to the porch. Looking back briefly, I wondered if the sergeant knew something more about this gas than he wasn’t letting on. Looking at my arm, it had touched me and yet I wasn’t blistered or even burned, but at the same time, every facet of the sergeant and his tone seemed to imply the inherent danger of the gas still. “Go inside, now! Take a shower immediately. Stay indoors and wait for further instructions. Hurry!” My mom and dad gripped my arms and guided me quickly inside. I momentarily felt faint, but the sensation passed once I was safely inside, and the door slammed shut. “Geez, Pete,” my dad said with annoyance once we were firmly indoors and with the door shut. Nearby, Lucas was huddled on the couch with Amanda wrapped tightly in his arms. “You just had to go outside and… let me guess. You just had to satisfy your curiosity… again, right?” Knowing he was probably thinking back to that one trip to the aquarium where I nearly fell into the tank of sharks when I was too curious then, like he always did, I once again just nodded sheepishly while I took off the mask the sergeant had given me. Despite the reason why I even had to wear a mask, it was nice to breathe in the air inside again, especially now that the mist had reached outside of our house. Curiously though, I noticed that the blood that had previously been on my face from my fall, had now vanished. “Hard to miss the event of the decade,” I replied casually. “I mean, you’re probably going to remember this day forever. Right, Lucas?” Lucas rolled his eyes and turned away from the TV briefly. “Sure, whatever, Pete. You put yourself and our parents at risk while I stayed here. Look, I can even still be informed inside and even know more than you do.” He then gestured toward the T.V., which was still blaring a ‘Breaking News!’ alert across the ribbon at the bottom of the screen. Further, new photographs and shaky camera footage was now being shown of the orange mist in several cities across the country. One by one, it seemed that somehow, most major population centers had been hit by the orange bombs and gas. “We’re not fully sure what this orange mist is,” the anchorman admitted, “but we are being informed by direct communication with the government that all citizens should avoid contact as much as possible. While not deadly, government officials have noted that the substance can be both ‘toxic’ and ‘hazardous.’” “That’s right,” the anchorwoman continued. “We have been informed that though the gas being released is not harmful to the skin, there are yet unidentified long-term effects which may occur soon after contact. If coming into contact at all, we recommend an immediate shower.” “I just hope these masks worked at least a little bit,” my dad said, removing his medical grade mask covering. He had bought it when his work took him to China last year and they were experiencing some type of mass outbreak of the flu. My mom had insisted, and my dad put up no resistance to her demands; none of us ever really did. “I hope so, Gregg,” my mom wished as she pulled her mask off as well. Sighing deeply, I saw Amanda quickly take notice of our mom’s distress. “You okay, mommy?” she asked, now pulling away from Lucas and gazing up at our mom in both fear and curiosity. Clearly worried and maybe even a little exhausted, our mom smiled down sweetly at her. “I’m fine, sweetie. Just had to go get your brother. Speaking of which…” my mom then almost snapped to now face me head on. “I’m pretty sure that sergeant outside and even the new anchor said to go shower once we were inside. So, you better hurry it up and go shower immediately, Peter Crichton… or else.” ‘Oops. I’m in trouble now…’ Not my full name quite yet, but full first and last name wasn’t a good sign either couple with the tiny threat of ‘or else’ as well. I was in her crosshairs now, so not wanting to add to her stress further today, I merely saluted and ran off to go shower as ordered. The hot water and intense scrubbing felt nice, but my mind still swirled around what the orange mist even was. Regardless, utilizing the clothes I kept here in my ‘just in case’ bag, I was quickly redressed and joined my now huddled family on the couch. With my dad now in the master bathroom showering, leaving Lucas in his usual spot and my freshly showered mom as well sitting on the couch with Amanda napping beside her. Soldiers still occasionally walked the streets outside clad in their biohazard suits and masks, despite the orange mist having largely dissipated by now. If anything, though, helicopters only seemed to have increased their presence. Sighing at the whole scene and the unfolding news of panic all around the country, I sat back in the other single chair in the room and looked over at my family. With Lucas’ pensive stare and my mom’s worried one, looking down, I couldn’t help but slightly envy my little sister. Despite her reliance on my parents and her lack of freedoms, I did wish I could enjoy just a small part of the same obliviousness that she obviously had. Without a doubt, the country had been attacked and streets that should have been filled with Sunday afternoon traffic, were now only littered with military force. For her though, sleep mattered more. Amanda, my dad, and I could sleep through anything, but I doubt I could simply fall asleep so soundly through all of what was going on like she was now. News footage was as grim as ever with residents of cities across the country panicking and getting blasted by the orange mists. A lot of them seemed kind of young, but I simply passed it off as unruly teenagers or people with curiosity like me ignoring the orders to stay indoors. ‘I really hope I don’t live to regret that decision…’ Suddenly, anchorman stopped the anchorwoman as he put his finger to his earpiece once more. “Yes… yes…” He removed his hand and first faced his co-anchor right as my dad walked back into the room, his hair still damp from his own shower. “Sorry, Sally… but I’ve just been informed that the president will now address the nation. We go to his office live now.” The TV switched to shot of the president of the country, sitting behind his desk in his office. The just graying figure looked at the camera with a grim but determined face. “My fellow countrymen… it is unknown what the long-term effects of this mist could be but rest assured that your government will offer the needed support and guidance in the coming days to overcome this historic but tragic day.” Practiced as ever, President Walker showed just enough emotion to show his humanity while coupled with just enough strength though to show that he wouldn’t take this attack lightly. “These are unprecedented times, and I have decided to declare Martial Law. So, for those not already, it is the policy of this nation now for all residents to remain in their homes for the remainder of the night. For those still in offices, stores, or other places than their homes, we encourage you to stay where you are. Military efforts are being utilized to move you safely to your destinations until the air has been deemed safe by CDC officials. I’m not sure what today will come to mean, but I as your president will be staying with you all throughout this ordeal. Thank you and I wish you all a sincere good night and good luck.” Sighing, and not knowing what the future would hold, I stood up and then walked over to the bay window. Peering out and viewing my watch, I saw that I would usually be going home in the next hour or so. Seeing the shrouded city bustling with helicopters still, however, I knew ‘usually’ wasn’t going to be a very common word for a while in any of our lives. Further, hearing the president declare Martial Law, I also knew I would be staying at my parents at least for tonight whether I wanted to or not. I hoped it wouldn’t be too long, but another soldier marching down the sidewalk made me think twice about that hope. “Hey mom?” Sighing, she looked back over at me. Not sure what else to do but hoping to end the day on at least one good note, I knew what I had to ask. “What kind of bird does the orchestra?” Smiling, she nodded right as Amanda stirred awake… almost like she was just as curious to hear the answer herself. “Well… it’s a conDUCKtor.” Normally, we might have all groaned, but tonight, each of us let out a tiny chuckle. For such a bleak afternoon, it was a tiny ray of light. Not sure what was next in all this mess, I knew those moments would become even more precious. I’m not sure why, but something told me that the orange mist released today, wouldn’t soon be gone out of our lives.

Hey everyone! While I haven't given up on my current stories, I had to return to work since my side gigs haven't been paying the bills. For this reason, I have been less productive on my stories. I will return to those stories in due time. But as for the good news, I have began writing a new passion project that I would like to add to the "shoes" genre of age regression stories. If any of you have read Olympiczero's The Ballet Slippers (I DEFINITELY recommend this one!), this story intends to use a different form of footwear with a different setting and different characters. I know that I wanted more after reading The Ballet Slippers so I decided to "run" with this concept and create a new tale in the "shoe" genre. I will be posting a new chapter every few days so I am welcome to all of your feedback! I know that I have a good setting but there are some other things that I want to fine tune with the story. I definitely know where I want to go with it later on, and you'll see when we get there. But without further ado, here's the story! NOTE TO THE READER: This story is inspired from Olympiczero's "The Ballet Slippers". This story is to be treated as a tribute, and my own unique spin on the original classic. Enjoy the story! Prologue Darcy glanced at her phone, carefully examining the map on the Maps app. The map displayed a wide grid of roads all intersecting each other. The blue dot indicated her current position on the map and that she successfully reached the destination. Sonya’s Shoe Shop. “Could this be the place?” Darcy wondered. Darcy got out of her red Toyota 4Runner and glanced around as she took in her surroundings. A large grouping of businesses were all around her on the narrow street where she parallel parked. This part of town seemed vacant and almost had an eerie feeling about it. Darcy could feel it in the warm California breeze. Sure, it was northern California, but she was away from the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles and on the very northern edge of San Francisco. Despite all this, she still felt something unsettling in her gut as she frantically glanced at the various businesses, trying to find this famed shoe store. From what the Maps app told her, Sonya’s Shoe Shop had over 3,000 reviews with an average 4.7 out of 5-star rating. It was one of the highest rated shoe stores in the Bay Area, and she could only settle on the best when it came to getting an extra special gift for her now adult daughter. But no matter where Darcy glanced around, she couldn’t find the shoe store. Could it have gone out of business recently? How could such a successful business exist and not have any prominent signage? Darcy was about to give up and enter the address again when she felt something inside of her. Some kind of strange energy was coming from one of the buildings, and she just couldn’t figure out which one. She just walked onto the sidewalk and walked forward, feeling the energy getting stronger. It was like a giant magnet, pulling Darcy forward. Then she saw it right ahead of her. A small humble sign that read SONYA’S SHOE SHOP. This was the place. The strange and surreal energy was coming right from this place. Darcy knew what she was looking for. She pulled a slip of paper out of her purse and entered the store. The bells jingled as she entered the store, Darcy making her entrance. A kind Hispanic woman who was just a little shorter than Darcy approached the counter. “Welcome to Sonya’s Shoe Shop.” The woman warmly spoke as she made her introduction. “I am Sonya Martinez, sole proprietor of this wonderful store. In my store, I have shoes for every size specifically tailored to running. How may I help you, young lady?” Darcy couldn’t help but smile to herself. Although she was in her late forties, a lot of people were convinced that she looked 15 years younger. Darcy attributed this to good exercise and good dieting. She didn’t even feel like she was approaching fifty. In fact, she still felt like she was in her prime. She knew that the woman was trying to be polite, but this Sonya really had no business in knowing her true age. All she was here for was to get a very special pair of shoes for her daughter, and that was just what she was going to get. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Hi!” Darcy said, feeling a little unsure of herself. It wasn’t that she lacked confidence in talking to the woman but that she was afraid that this wonderful shoe store that Sonya was boasting about would not have the specific pair of shoes that her daughter wanted to have. She got out her list and began to read it out loud, from top to bottom. “I came to your shoe store because the reviews said that you were the very best running shoe store in the Bay Area.” Sonya nodded and gave Darcy a look of humility. “I try my best. Really, it’s about trying to satisfy the needs of every customer. Shoemaking has been in my family for generations and I aim to please. What are you looking for? How can I help you today?” Darcy felt warm inside, as that last question really pierced her soul. “How can I be helped?” Darcy asked herself, feeling a sense of gratitude as the question continued to ring in her ear. She looked back at her list. “My daughter is an avid runner, and she has been running since she was a little girl. She’s ran in the Junior Trail Blazers and cross country from middle school to high school. She’s completed countless 5K’s, 10K’s, and completed five marathons. So I need a very special pair of running shoes for Charlotte. They need to have a few carbon plates, a moderate length of lugs, and a gaiter attachment. Oh, and the stack height needs to be ideal. And the rocker needs to be good to give her plenty of endurance. And make sure there’s a good sockliner to wick a lot of the sweat away. The toe box needs to be the perfect width with a well-designed toe cap and toe spring. And…Can I just give you the whole list? There’s a lot more details listed here. Every single one needs to be in the pair of shoes.” Sonya nodded and took the list from Darcy. She spent the next couple of minutes studying the various details that Darcy requested for her daughter’s running shoes, giving occasional nods as she studied the list. “I see. I know how important a good running shoe is. Miss…” She paused as she cast an awkward gaze on her new customer, hoping that she would offer her last name to her. “Warren.” Darcy answered quickly. “Darcy Warren.” “Miss Warren,” Sonya nodded, satisfied that she got the name of her new customer. “Getting to your point, I know the importance of good running shoes. I not only design shoes, but I’m an avid runner myself. I’ve completed 15 marathons and three triathlons, dear. I know that participating in these events require a very special shoe. Now, I don’t really have anything out here that would satisfy your requirements, but…” she gave Darcy a hopeful smile as she raised her index finger. “I think that I might have something in the back. I will be right back, Miss Warren.” Darcy felt like she had one more thing to add that was on the tip of her tongue. So, she went right out with it. “Sonya, Char has also completed one triathlon.” Sonya turned back and nodded. “Excellent. Your daughter needs a good shoe then. I will be right back.” Sonya walked through the aisles that had various shoes all sorted in different sections. There were tennis shoes, and every kind of running shoe imaginable. Shoes made for running through wooded trails and shoes made for running down the rough pavement of roads. The latter shoes were ideal for training for races and even the Olympics. In all of her years of having the shoe store open, she has even sold a few pairs to a few Olympians who were in Track and Field for the US Olympic Team. She finally got to the back door, which led down to the basement. The musty smell filled her nostrils as she walked down the creeky stairs, leading down to a storeroom. The rays from the sun danced from the window above, splashing down onto a chair that was by a workstation. Near the desk of the workstation were a few rows of shelves each stacked high with different bins and shoe boxes. Sonya lifted up a bin where she thought that she would be able to find the pair of shoes that Darcy was looking for. All she found in the bin was raw material to make new shoes. Sheets of polyester and nylon mesh all rolled into neat tubes and stacked within the bin. There were even two shoes that were tailor made for a customer who decided to cancel their order at the last minute. Both shoes were buried in the polyester and nylon like a permanent grave. Sonya glanced at a few order slips on her desk, each one from a customer that requested a custom order that could not be found in the store. She glanced at the list that Darcy gave her and read it. Carbon plates. Lugs that were not too short or too long. A gaiter attachment. An ideal stack height. A good rocker for plenty of endurance and a good sockliner to handle the moisture. A wide enough toe box. A well-designed toe cap and toe spring. She thought that she knew of a pair of shoes that would match the description that Darcy gave her. But she was wrong. She had no such shoe to produce for the woman. If this were a race, she would be just short of the finish line. It pained Sonya to not be able to provide a solution to what her customer needed. But being a runner, Sonya was not about to quit. She walked over to her workstation and tore off a new order slip. “I’ll design a new pair of running shoes that would match Miss Warren’s description,” she told herself as she began to write all the details on the form, including Miss Warren’s name and what she wanted. In the middle of Sonya filling out the form, she felt a strong energy in the room. Sonya did not know why she was doing this, but the energy made her stand up. The energy flowed into her and sent a shiver down her spine. As much as she wanted to keep filling out the form and returning to Miss Warren, she found her legs moving towards a set of shelves. She felt more and more out of control with each step she made towards the shelves. It was like someone else was controlling her every movement. When Sonya was finally between the two shelves, she wanted to move her legs forward, but she found herself unable to move. Her feet felt glued to the floor beneath her. The only thing she could do was kneel, lower and lower. She kneeled down until she reached the bottom shelf, where there was a white bin that was somehow unlabeled. This confused and frightened Sonya as she usually labels every one of her bins. She grabbed the bin and found herself moving back to the workstation like she was on autopilot. She glanced at the bin, looking perplexed. She couldn’t ever remember even having this bin anywhere in her store, which made the contents all the more mysterious. She opened the bin to find a blue sports tank top with black athletic shorts. Along with this ensemble was a shoe box. The shoe box had two letters boldly labeled in a designer font. The fancy letters read “B.V.” She lifted up the lid of the shoe box to find a pair of women’s running shoes. The shoes were white as snow, with thick pink curves marking the design around the quarter in wide arcs. The pink stitching encircled the boundary of the vamp and also marked the boundary of the quarter. Each of the eyelets of the shoe shared the same pink color, and the shoes were all laced with white laces, each shoe already neatly tied in a bow. She examined the shoes in the box for a closer look, noticing all the details were perfectly on point with Miss Warren’s written description of what she wanted. She saw the carbon plates running around the contours of the midsole of the shoe. The distribution of the lugs, she saw, were just right. They ran evenly beneath the outsole of the shoe. The gaiter attachment sat beneath the pull tab that rested on the heel. The stack height looked right. Both the outsole and midsole were perfectly curved, so the rocker was there. The sockliner curved all the way up from the tongue to the heel counter. The toe box looked wide enough, and the toe cap and toe spring were smooth to the touch. A perfect blend of polyester and nylon. Sonya was simply beyond words. These shoes were perfect. Exactly what Darcy was looking for. What were the odds of her finding something that matched her specific description perfectly? She marveled at the craftsmanship of the pair of shoes, knowing the amount of work and detail needed to make them. This, she knew, was a custom order. And shoes like this could not be mass produced. She folded the tongue of one of the shoes up with both her hands to inspect the size of the shoe. A small “7” was neatly printed on the white tongue tag of the shoe. Size 7. “These should be the right size,” Sonya thought. As Sonya picked up the shoes, a weird energy began to flow into her. She was now no longer in her shoe store but was running down a city street, like she was in a marathon. Thousands of onlookers cheered her on as she passed numerous marathon runners effortlessly. After that, she was running in another city. Boston. New York. Los Angeles. Chicago. Paris. London. It was like the shoes were showing her every leg of the past wearer’s journey. Then she saw junior track meets. Cross country running at middle school. At high school. Running on various trails. Organized running where she had a vision of running past a group of children. Sonya tried to find the shoe store where she was at, but she was lost in a dark void. All her eyes could perceive now was darkness, before the darkness vanished, reverting back into a blurry version of the storeroom where she was, until the blurriness went away in a couple of minutes. She was still holding the shoes and now had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Maybe I shouldn’t give her the shoes,” Sonya thought. “Yes. I’ll suggest to her an alternative. I will not let her buy these shoes.” Sonya put the shoe back in the box with its twin and placed the lid back on it. She wanted to place the box back in the bin and place the bin where it belonged, but her hands couldn’t move. She felt it as she held the box. A warmth filled her that she couldn’t explain. She couldn’t even walk back to where she found the bin. Her feet were both glued to the floor. Then, she strained, trying to move both feet with all of her might. Finally, her two feet began to move. But each foot that hit the floor felt like a deadweight. And to her horror, she was not moving towards where she found the shoes, but towards the stairs, holding the shoe box in her hands. Each additional step felt heavier and heavier. “What am I doing?” Sonya thought. She was confused, unable to explain the strange magic that was moving her forward. She was now moving faster, her gait increasing ever closer towards the stairs. But her movements were not her own. She felt like a marionette, with someone else pulling the strings. Meanwhile, Darcy was still waiting at the counter for Sonya to return. It must have been at least 20 minutes since she left to look for the shoes. Darcy glanced at the time display on her cellphone, a pitch-black screen with white numbers displaying the time. She was wrong. It has now been almost 30 minutes since Sonya left to complete her kind errand for her. And this errand, she knew, was important. Considering the amount of running that her daughter did, she needed the best shoes that she could find. Darcy nervously twirled her fingers through her jet-black hair. Considering that there were no customers in the store, she felt safe, happily indulging in her nervous stim. Her hands then shifted to her orange sundress, where she began to play with the hem of her dress, pinching her two fingers over the hem, rubbing the pinched fabric against her fingers in repeated motions, pinching her two fingers with the fabric up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Darcy was self-aware of these stims and fidgets and only partook of them privately to relieve her anxiety and stress. And the anxiety continued to well up inside of her as she ruminated over the root cause of it. It was…her daughter. The one thing that held her together and gave her both meaning and purpose. And that one thing that she cherished so much was now mostly absent in her life. Her dear sweet daughter Charlotte. Darcy knew that she had to let her go. Charlotte was an adult now and would be turning 30 in November. But the sadness and loneliness both ate away at her heart like a cancer. She let out a soft sigh, her heavy heart filled with the fond memories that she spent with her. Sure, Charlotte was coming home to visit for 17 days. But that brief amount of time would hardly quench Darcy’s lingering loneliness that she had for her dear daughter. A girl that she was totally proud of. Charlotte was able to amaze Darcy in so many ways. From the day that she showed a young Charlotte her modeling photos of her wearing beautiful dresses, Charlotte wanted her to “take pictures of her in pitty dwesses”. Darcy wasted no time in contacting a child modeling agency and young Charlotte was a natural at it. She appeared in toddler children’s clothing catalogs and even secured a deal to appear in a few diaper commercials. Charlotte potty trained late so Darcy was able to utilize this to her advantage. Her petite size and ideal age made her the perfect choice for these commercials. And most of the commercial shoots were done in one or two takes. The other things that amazed Darcy was what Charlotte did later on. Enrolling her in Langford became the obvious choice, as she wanted to utilize her daughter’s modeling talent to its full potential. And because Charlotte always ran, she was enrolled in all manner of running programs from toddlerhood to adulthood. Charlotte ran in 1K’s when she was very little. And as she got older, the 1K’s became 2K’s. Then 5K’s and 10K’s. Then half marathons. And finally, when Charlotte was an adult, she was now running marathons. And with the most recent marathon that Charlotte ran on St. Patrick’s Day in Los Angeles, she finished it in her best place yet. She came in 50th with a time of 2:43:29 out of more than 25,000 participants. The pace for her miles were around 6 minutes and 14 seconds. Darcy felt bad that she didn’t get her daughter a gift to celebrate her greatest accomplishment in long-distance running. With it being now almost five months since the race, this would be a wonderful gift for Charlotte and a great help to her as she trains for the Labor Day Marathon that would be taking place at the end of August in San Francisco. And besides the marathon, Darcy was impressed with how well her daughter can juggle her running with her highly demanding work schedule. In the more recent years, Charlotte has become very popular in the modeling industry, now starting to earn more than even the top models. This made Darcy very proud of Charlotte, as she was now able to finally buy her “Barbie Dream House”: a cozy mansion in Beverly Hills. Darcy has been to her daughter’s new house last year and was greatly impressed. It looked more like a palace than a house, with numerous bedrooms and countless bathrooms. A private movie theater, an indoor and outdoor pool, a private gym with a state-of-the-art treadmill, a 20-car garage, and even private living quarters for the maids and other staff. The house that she lived in near Langford paled in comparison to her daughter’s Barbie Mansion. It was everything that she wanted, so Darcy reasoned that if Charlotte was happy, she too would be happy for her daughter’s success. After all, the tuition that Darcy paid to enroll Charlotte in Langford was well worth the sacrifice. Her numerous and sporadic gigs in modeling and acting paid the bills and got her a modest house that was not too far from Langford. Like any college debt, Darcy was sacked with the bills from Langford after Charlotte graduated. “And forget college!” Darcy sighed to herself with a morose face as she thought of the bills. “Langford was a high school!” And since Charlotte also attended grades 5 through 8 through Langford middle school, this poured salt on the wound and doubled Darcy’s debt. But three years ago, Charlotte surprised her mother in giving her a check to pay off the Langford tuition as a Christmas gift. But this was not all. She received an additional $50,000 from her daughter and was told to use it, as Charlotte said, “On a shopping spree”. But Darcy only spent half the money and saved the rest. Darcy then glanced at her phone again to find that another 10 minutes has gone by. It has now been 40 minutes since Sonya politely dismissed herself to try and find the perfect shoes that was per Darcy’s description on the slip of paper. At this point, it seemed like she was on some hopeless quest to find the hidden treasure. Her tardiness began to frustrate Darcy, as she began to tap the heels of her black pumps against the hardwood floor of the store. Each additional minute further fueled the frustration and growing defeat that was beginning to erupt inside of her. Finally, Darcy heard the sound of the door screeching open. A great feeling of ecstasy and relief came over Darcy as she saw Sonya holding a shoe box in both hands. “Could these be it?” she asked herself. “Are these the special shoes that will make my dear Charlotte happy?” Sonya plopped the shoe box on the counter and then produced a dutiful smile. “Sorry about the delay, Miss Warren. Special shoes can sometimes take a while to find.” Sonya figured that this lie would be enough to satisfy Darcy, as she was not about to tell her about her troubling experience with the mysterious magic that came from the shoe box. The strange and surreal magic that somehow altered her reality, forcing her to see strange visions and immobilizing her. It was like she was afforded a glimpse of the memories that the past owner of the shoes had. “Was selling the shoes to Miss Warren a good idea?” she wondered. Her subconscious was now beginning to scream at the top of its lungs. “Don’t sell her the shoes!” it screamed. But Sonya felt a warm energy from the shoe box that calmed her. It silenced her subconscious completely, extinguishing every last one of the fragments of the subconscious voice that was inside of her. Suddenly, a thought began to enter her mind. A thought that made her happy. Everything was going to be alright. “I need to sell her the shoes,” she told herself, as making each customer happy has always been the goal for her shoe business. And nothing else mattered. Darcy smiled as she presented her credit card to Sonya. She was very happy about the purchase that she was about to make, as she knew that these shoes were about to make Charlotte happy. Or so she hoped. A wadge of doubt began to invade her mind like an unwanted intruder. “What if Charlotte doesn’t like the shoes?” she wondered, casting a doubtful stare on Sonya. She now felt that she needed to ask Sonya a few questions to ensure that she was making the right purchase. “My Char is a size 7,” she anxiously gulped. “Is that the right size?” Sonya grabbed Darcy’s credit card and gave her a complete nod of confidence. “The shoe is a size 7,” she told her. “So it should fit your daughter’s feet well. Trust me. I’ve worked with shoes for a long time.” She glanced at Darcy, as if she wanted to say something else. “Ah yes! Those running shoes! The one who had them before…she was a very good runner. Her name was…………She was…….Well, I can’t think of her name.” At this moment, Sonya couldn’t help but feel awkward. Did she really know the one that used to own these shoes? Just recently, she didn’t even know that the shoes existed, and now they looked eerily familiar… She pursed her lips and maintained her positive demeanor, softly uttering another truth to further seal the deal. “And, Miss Warren, don’t forget. I’m an avid runner like your daughter. That is why I started this business, dear. Now are you going to trust a fellow runner like me?” This last question convinced Darcy, making her feel a lot better as she watched Sonya scan the credit card on the point-of-sale credit card terminal. A soft tap on the screen from Sonya reminded her to sign her signature before the transaction could be completed. Darcy, feeling more confident, signed her first and last name in cursive (DARCY M. WARREN) before receiving the printed receipt from Sonya and an accomplished smile from her. “I hope your daughter enjoys those shoes,” Sonya said, very happy to have another satisfied customer. “Feel free to come back and return the shoes if they don’t fit. And please leave a review. It helps my business to stand out from all the others in the Bay Area.” Darcy nodded as she began to pick up the shoe box. “Sure thing! Thank you very much, Sonya. My Char is going to LOVE these shoes!” But as Darcy was walking out of the store with the shoe box, her entire body was jolted with a feeling of warmth, which she guessed was coming from the shoe box. The warm feeling began at her toes and ran all the way up her legs and into her heart. This sent Darcy into a panic. “What is this that I’m feeling?” she said to herself, now casting a curious glance on the shoe box. “I don’t know if she’s going to like these shoes. What if she hates them? These shoes were not cheap.” Darcy sighed, knowing the very idea of her daughter rejecting the shoes that she bought for her would make her what she believed to be a failure as a parent. After all, a wide chasm has formed between herself and Charlotte. Since the beginning of Charlotte’s adulthood, both her and Charlotte have grown more and more apart. And Darcy has done everything to try and fix this inevitable separation between herself and Charlotte. And nothing has worked so far. She has scheduled time to support her at her fashion shows. She has checked in with her weekly to find out how she’s doing. She has even visited her at her new Barbie Mansion! And yes. She has attended her 5K’s and her marathon’s, rooting for her at the finish line. But every one of these attempts have proven hollow in her desperation to rekindle her relationship with her only daughter and only child. But as she was approaching the trunk with the box, she felt the warmth again. It filled her entire body from head to toe. Gone were the worries about whether or not her daughter would like the shoes. Gone were the concerns regarding the strange feeling that went through her when she first picked up the shoe box. None of that even mattered anymore. It was like every lingering concern that she had melted before her very eyes. What remained was finding a nice tube of wrapping paper to wrap the gift in. With Charlotte almost at her home, time was running out. But even this heightened level of urgency had no effect on Darcy. Even though the shoe box was not in her hands, she could still feel the warmth in her heart. It felt…good. And giving Charlotte the gift just felt right. And even if Darcy knew that Charlotte was only a half hour away from her arrival, that didn’t even matter to her anymore. Nothing else mattered. All that mattered to Darcy was that Charlotte was about to receive the gift that she always wanted. A completely perfect pair of running shoes.

Hey Everyone! While I'm in the process of gradually winding down The Running Shoes, I decided to make another one-off short story in the age regression category. As for the format, I decided to try a first-person narrative for most of the story. The entire story is complete, so I am welcome to all of your feedback! The summary is below. So without further ado, here's the story! Summary: Emmy, an 18-year-old babysitter experiences an unexpected surprise when she decides to try her baby sister Erica’s infant formula. When her curious experiment becomes a full-on obsession, how does Emmy conceal her newfound obsession with her now powdered pastime? 1. Babysitting Erica Dear Diary, No. That’s not right. Hi journal! It’s me! No! That still doesn’t work. Well anyway, it’s me. Emmy Smith. My parents are having another night out so I’m stuck babysitting my baby sister again. I mean, come on! I’m 18 years old and I just graduated a year ago, for crying out loud! This is not a good time! Well anyway, look out world, because Emmy Smith is going to be the next great influencer. You can find me on Insta, TikTok, YouTube and all socials (Blue Sky and X)! Just watch my videos, okay because they’re pretty funny. Well, getting back to tonight. I am sulking in my room. Little Erica is having her late afternoon nap and believe me. She must have it or she’ll be your worst nightmare. And what else? Erica is almost 10 months old and she just started to walk. Wait until she learns how to run! Then she’ll be a LOT of fun. I just want to get to the part where she potty trains since I am TIRED of changing her diapers. I stand up and hear the faint sound of crying coming from the other room. Really?! There goes my peace. Mom could’ve done this but she’s having her fun evening with dad! Okay fine. Usually I get a ping on the baby monitoring app, but let’s see what she needs… No sooner than I approach her room, my phone is vibrating. And there it is! The ping from the baby monitoring app! Couldn’t you have told me BEFORE she started crying? Anyway, let’s see what “wittle Eri” needs… I enter Erica’s room, and I’m immediately overcome with the scent of baby powder. The white noise machine is still on, and Erica upon seeing me begins to cry even louder. “It’s okay!” I said, in my condescending voice that I do just for my little sister. “Emmy’s here! Big sis is ready to wait on you hand and foot!” I effortlessly lift my little sister out of her crib and then…*sniff* *sniff* Oh. My. Gosh. What died in there? The smell gets worse and worse as I try to quiet down my sobbing little sister. While I stuck Erica’s pacifier in her mouth, she was still wailing. Hold on, little sis. It’s fine. Everything’s fine… I set little Erica down on the changing table while I swear was bought brand new just for her. I mean, I wish that you could see her nursery! Since before Kiki was born, my parents succeeded in not only giving my little sister her own nursery, but an opulent chamber fit for a princess. Seriously. My room could use a remodel, but they spared no expense for little Erica. Yuck. When I opened Erica’s diaper, it was nothing but cringe. Seriously. How can a 10-month-old produce that much shit? It’s all over the place, and…get it together Emmy. I’ll just take a pile of baby wipes and…there. Don’t reenact what happened the other day, little sis. The last time that I had to babysit you, I had to change your shitty ass four times! Seriously! That was not a good time. About a dozen baby wipes later, I finally get to cleaning the rest of my sister’s bum and princess parts before I powder a new Pampers Size 3 diaper. As I lay Erica on the diaper, I notice a red spot on her crotch. I guess I’ll have to use the Aquaphor on this. I apply a generous glob on my hands and rub it in to address my little sister’s diaper rash. Now, can we get to the part where I finish diapering you? I powder the diaper and then powder my sister’s princess parts. I fold the diaper between her legs and fasten the tabs snugly around her waist. There. Now you’ll be good for a couple hours if I’m lucky. My baby sister can’t talk yet, but she does do a lot of cute babbling. I think that she’s trying to talk but she can’t really make any words yet. I snap the crotch buttons on her white onesie with zoo animals on it. As I pick her up, she fusses, squirming as I carefully place her on the floor. But little Erica wasn’t satisfied with being on the floor. No. She presses her hands against the floor, propping herself up on both her legs. She uses a leg from the nearby changing table to keep her balance and gives me a big smile. Yay! My little sister can stand! As much of a pain as it is to watch Erica, I can’t help but love the little girl. I mean, look at her! She’s my little sister! My BABY sister. And as much of a chore as it is to babysit her, I often find myself getting lost in all the cute moments that she creates for me every day. I begin running the mental checklist through my mind, making sure that Princess Erica gets everything that she needs. And that’s when I heard it. DING DONG! Is it them? It can’t be. DING!!!! DONNNNNNG!!! It could. It definitely could be them. DINGDONG!!!! Okay! I’m coming! I walk over to the door and open it. And yeah. It was just as I suspected. My friends Jessica and Kayla are here, but wait until I tell them the unfortunate news. That it’s not going to be a fun trip to the movies tonight. Oh no. That’s ‘cause Emmy has babysitting duty tonight. Jessica. Kayla. Look. I have babysitting duty tonight. Okay? I wonder how they’ll take it? 2. Girl’s Night…In? I hated to break the news to them. But I didn’t want to keep them waiting! But there Erica was, crawling into the kitchen since her curiosity knows no bounds. Hey sis. My friends are at the door so I’m going to pick you up, okay? DING!!!!! DONG!!!!!! “I’m coming!” I shouted as I carefully cradled my baby sister in my arms. My sister is now comfortably resting in my arms by my chest. Wow. I’m surprised at how she’s letting me hold her! Usually, she’s squirming like crazy. Hold on, Jessica and Kayla. I’m coming! I carefully turn the knob with my left hand while firmly wrapping Erica in my other arm. And there both my friends stood. Kayla had an understanding look while Jessica had her mouth wide open like a goldfish. And what does Jessica say? “Oh. You’re babysitting?” Jessica said, in a surprised tone that she didn’t need to have since I knew that she was an only child. Plus, she knew that I have a baby sister so what’s the surprised tone about? She began to turn away and gesture to Kayla, as if she wanted Kayla to follow her. “Come on. Emmy’s babysitting her sister. We can go to the mall and watch the movie without her.” Kayla jabbed Jessica right in the groin, which made her wince in pain. “What kind of friend are you, Jess? We’re going to help Emmy babysit Erica tonight, okay? Shopping and the movie can wait for another night.” Kayla then smiled at me. “Besides, I get it, Emmy. I watch my little brother all the time, which is something that Jessica would never understand…” That’s right, Kayla. We babysitters understand what it means to watch our younger siblings. At least I have a friend that gets that! You Jessica on the other hand better do something to redeem yourself or I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Kayla and I are in the “Siblings Babysitter’s Club” (NOTE: Not a real club, LOL) and you have no part in it unless you help us watch Erica. Then I saw it. Jessica, as entitled as she was, let out a deep sigh. “Okay. We’ll help you watch Erica, I guess.” “Uh uh,” I told her sharply. “There’s no guessing in babysitting. You just do it! Besides, Erica is SO ADORABLE! Aren’t you, Eri?” Erica, who knew that she was being talked to, made her cute babbling sounds. Then, she began squirming uncomfortably in my arm. “Mama?” I had to sadly break the news to my baby sister. “Sorry kiddo,” I said in a syrupy sweet voice. “Mama won’t be home until later. But come on! Let’s get you your bottle, okay?” As per the routine for little Erica, she always got her bottle when she woke up from her naps. Fortunately, my mom already left one bottle in the fridge, giving me clear directions that I would have to make another one to feed to her before her bedtime. I glanced at my friends, and saw this as an opportunity for them to help me. I slyly glanced at Jessica and smirked. “Could you please be a good friend and get Erica’s bottle? It’s in the fridge.” Jessica looked like she was about to lose it. “Do I have to? Why does she still drink from a bottle?! She can walk now, right?” I watched Kayla scowl at Jess. “Walking doesn’t mean that she graduated from the bottle, Jess. My little brother Daniel is four and he didn’t stop drinking from the bottle until he was 18 months. A little late, I know. They should be ready to be weaned by at least a year. C’mon Jess. Do it or Emmy and I will have you change Erica’s diaper, and we’ll make sure that it’s extra messy.” Jessica, looking disgusted at the very idea of changing a diaper, immediately got up. I guess she decided that getting a baby bottle was less of a pain than changing my little sister’s diaper. Fair enough, Jess. I’ll give you a pass. She marched into the kitchen while I followed Kayla into the living room while carrying Erica in my arms. This was until Kayla offered to carry Erica the rest of the way, from the entryway all the way to the living room. Thanks Kayla. And look at that cute face on Kiki! I think she likes you! While Kayla and I were comfortably lounging on the couch, Jessica begrudgingly walked into the living room holding the baby bottle that contained little Eri’s after nap snack. A delicious blend of Similac baby formula mixed with freshly filtered water from our fridge’s tap. Yum. Wait. Yum? While it was a silly thought, I don’t really know what baby formula actually tastes like. Is it any good? My little sister seems to like it. Would I? But no. Don’t be silly, Emily Smith. You are 18 years old. Eighteen-year-olds don’t drink baby formula. I mean, there’s a reason why they call it baby formula. It’s for BABIES. But as I watched Jessica place Erica’s baby bottle on the couch, I couldn’t help but stare at the contents of the bottle. Sure, I knew that the formula was for my baby sister. But what does it taste like? I just couldn’t get that thought out of my head! Yeah. It’s silly and stupid but now I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Before I could even think about grabbing the bottle to feed my sister, Kayla grabs the bottle and proceeds to begin feeding Erica. What a saint! I didn’t even have to ask Kayla. She just did it! Watch and learn, Jessica. Watch. And learn. Jessica now had a jealous look on her face. “Let me do it! I got her the bottle. Can’t I feed her?” Kayla shook her head. “Not now, Jess. You need to be gentle when you’re feeding an infant. Now what did you say you were going to school for again?” She made a brief pause which I only knew meant that she already knew the answer. “Nursing, right?” Jessica nodded. “Yeah. So can I get some practice?” Both Kayla and I exchanged glances and grinned. I then gave Jessica a friendly nudge on the shoulder. “We’ll give you practice. You can change Erica’s next diaper. How about that?” “Eww!” Jessica cried in disgust. “Can’t I do something else?” “But Jessica!” Kayla argued in a mocking voice. “Nursing is taking care of someone. Don’t you want to take care of little Erica?” Jessica sighed. “Fine. I just don’t want it to be too yucky.” Jessica then pouted and looked at Kayla. “But you’re not studying to be a nurse! You’re going into child psychology!” I remained silent as I watched my friends bicker about their college studies. Unlike my friends, I was the black sheep that wasn’t quite in college yet. Sure, I got my diploma last year but I was not ready to go to college yet. I mean, I don’t really know what I want to do yet! So, I decided that I’m just going to be a famous influencer. And you don’t need a college degree to do that. I heard Erica begin to burp, so I grabbed a burp cloth that was sitting next to her other assorted things at the base of the coffee table. I flung it at Kayla, who managed to catch the mess that Erica was spitting up just in time. Yeah. My little sis always does that with every bottle she drinks. While it fills her up, she will always spit up a little bit. The bottle, which was once full of baby formula was now nearly empty and caked with milky residue. The afternoon, which went into the evening, was nothing too exciting. Yeah. It was just me, Kayla, and Jessica all taking turns at playing with little Erica in her playpen. We stacked blocks and colorful rings more times than what I cared to count. We pushed the colored shapes into their respective holes and watched my sister make her cute smile whether she was successful or not at fitting the shapes properly. Before dinner, we all took turns walking alongside Erica while she pushed herself in her walker, which looked like a shopping cart. And everyone, Jessica did it. She actually CHANGED Erica’s diaper! As much as I wanted it to be a poopy one, she lucked out and got to change a sopping wet one instead. And if you need to know the details, Jess did this right before Erica began playing with the walker. Kayla ordered a pizza for all of us from Doordash, while Jessica was kind enough to watch Erica while I prepared her nighttime bottle. I was now in the kitchen, with all my essentials to make Erica’s bottle on the kitchen island: New plastic bottle from the drying rack by the sink? Check. Similac Infant Baby Formula? Check. Knowing how messy the powdery baby formula was, I took the bottle and canister of formula over to the sink and sat the bottle inside the sink. Before I began preparing the formula, I decided to glance at the canister again. Upon reading it more closely, I was surprised to see that this formula touted theirs to be “Our closest formula to breast milk”. Really? To be honest, I can’t actually remember what breast milk actually tastes like. I think that my mom breastfed me when I was little, but that doesn’t mean that I remember anything about how the milk tasted. C’mon Emmy. Focus! You’re supposed to prepare your baby sister’s nighttime bottle! But…I just couldn’t focus. You guys, I just can’t. I just couldn’t adult today. I swear that my attention span was almost like a child’s. But there was the canister again. My focus sharpened as I lifted the lid off of the formula. The canister, I found, was half empty, with a plastic measuring scoop which was supposed to be two ounces of water for every level scoop of powdered formula. I glanced inside, my eyes intently gazing on the pale-yellow powdery mixture. I grabbed the scoop and dug it into the powder, leveling the scoop out with my finger before dumping the first scoopful into the empty plastic bottle. As I proceeded to get the second, third, and fourth scoopfuls into the bottle, it took every ounce of concentration to stop myself from just mindlessly gazing at the powdered formula. I mean, the burning question was in my mind. What does it taste like? Really. What does my baby sister’s baby formula taste like? The question was now like a raging forest fire in my mind. Finally, I sat the measuring scoop back into the canister and sealed it with the plastic lid. I walked over to the fridge and carefully filled the baby bottle to the 8-ounce line. I then screwed the teated lid on the bottle before placing a domed cap over it. I then vigorously shook the bottle until all the contents were thoroughly mixed together. To my surprise, the yellow powder that mixed with the water made the milk white. Yeah. This is something that I don’t really pay attention to, but you have been following this story so far, I can’t stop thinking about the formula! Does my sister even like it or is it just something that she has no choice but to consume? I walk out of the kitchen, holding the bottle while what I now felt was the weirdest urge. I wanted to drink my sister’s bottle so bad to see how it tastes! Get it together, Emmy! You are going to feed it to Erica, okay? I anxiously stared at the baby bottle while my sister was nestled in my lap, steadily sucking the contents down. Sure, I wanted to know how the formula tastes, but I now had a look of jealousy on my face. My sister looked like she was enjoying the formula while I watched her drink it. How is it suddenly feeling like torture now? Every second that I watched my sister drink her bedtime meal was…agony now? (She already had her strained peas and peach cobbler earlier for dinner.) Finally, relief. The bottle was empty so my anxiety subsided. Kayla gave me a weird look and nudged me. “What’s wrong, Emmy?” I ignored Kayla’s question and glanced at the empty bottle. “I need take care of Kiki’s empty bottle. And we need to get my sister ready for bed!” Kayla nodded. “Okay. We can do that. But let’s hurry. We’re all hungry.” Phew! She bought it. Good save! Oh yeah. While I was feeding Erica her bottle, the pizza came and we have been keeping it warm in the oven (Thanks Kayla for turning the oven on!). I’m kind of hangry myself so I think it’s time that I get my sister ready for bed. I rinse the milky residue out of the bottle and teat and set it in the sink. The three of us wasted no time in getting my cute little sister ready for bed. I drew the bath to a reasonably warm temperature, as it can’t be too hot because of my baby sister’s sensitive skin. Jessica was very helpful, but I could only guess that it was because of how seriously she was taking her duties since she wanted to be a nurse. I think it was more of that motivating her than actually caring about Erica like me and Kayla did. That, and she looked hangry like me and Kayla. And wow. Jessica is once again proving herself to me and Kayla by putting Erica in her nighttime diaper. Her process was a little more refined from the last time that she changed her. This has me thinking “Hmm…Maybe Jess has what it takes to be a nurse after all. Maybe it had more to do with her father being a doctor and her wanting to be a nurse like her mother. Kayla dressed Erica in her clothes for bedtime. She opted for a pink onesie, since this would be much easier to change her diaper than a footed sleeper. She placed her in a mint green sleep sack. I had the liberty of tucking in my sister. I carried my sister to her crib and placed her inside it. I took her clear pink see-through pacifier and placed it in her mouth before giving her a soft pat on the head. “Good night, baby sis.” After that, I glanced at my two friends as a pang of hunger hit all of us in the stomach. It was now time for pizza and some much-needed girl time. 3. Pizza and the Formula Dare Aw, relief. The three of us all smiled as we managed to devour an entire Supreme pizza between the three of us. We all licked our fingers as we finished every last stray topping that fell on our paper plates as we were all comfortably sprawled across the couch. Kayla and Jessica were the hungriest, so they each ate three slices. I had just two, which was enough to satisfy my hunger. I was especially pleased to find that one of my supreme slices had a little more sausage than mushrooms, green peppers, and onions. Kayla gave me a suspicious look again. “Spill it, Emmy. You were very nervous when you were feeding your sister earlier. What’s wrong?” Jessica smiled. “You can tell us, Em. The little one’s in bed and it’s just us now.” I sighed, as I really didn’t think that it was something that my friends needed to know about. But they’re my friends so I guess I better spill it. “Um…” I stammered. “I know that this is stupid and silly, but have you ever wondered what baby formula tastes like?” Jessica smirked. “Really Em?” Kayla shrugged her shoulders. “Let me guess. You wanted to try your little sister’s baby formula? Emmy, it’s for Erica! We have our own food! That’s hers.” “I know,” I told them, my face turning a shade of red. “But haven’t you ever wondered what it tastes like?” Kayla shook her head. “It probably just tastes like powdered milk, with vitamins and probiotics.” Jessica could not help but smirk. “No Kayla. I think that she’s on to something. Hey Em. Do you want some baby formula? I think that you should try it!” “No Jess!” Kayla argued. “That’s not Emmy’s! It’s for Erica!” “Not anymore!” Jessica argued with a big smirk on her face. “Erica is sleeping so it’s Emmy’s now. Besides, I have an AWESOME idea for the best TikTok ever! And guess what? I’ll be preparing Emmy’s baa baa. Wouldn’t you want that, Emmy?” My face turned red as Jessica gave me a mischievous glance. She can’t be serious! That is my sister’s baby formula! I mean, I wanted to try it but this is totally embarrassing! I mean, do I have to? Right in front of my friends? But then I thought of Jessica’s idea with the TikTok. If me and Jessica do this right, This TikTok could go totally viral and I will be famous! Sure, it’s a silly video of me drinking from a baby bottle, but I’ll be posting a bunch of other random shit that everyone will just want to watch after this one! This will launch my influencer career! I finally gave Jessica a nod of approval. Sure. I’ll do it, Jess. I’ll do it for the TikTok. I’ll do it for the views! I’ll do it for the fame. And most of all, I’ll do it just so I can know what that formula tastes like! As per my directions, I instructed Jessica to fill the bottle with four level scoops of Similac 360 Total Care, making sure that she filled the water to the 8-ounce line. After that, Jessica screwed on the teated lid and popped the domed cap on, before she began shaking away. “Shake it!” Jessica sang. “Shake it like a Polaroid picture! Whoo!!!” Jessica went all out, having fun with shaking the bottle that she was going to give me. And to be honest, I actually felt excited. Despite the embarrassment that I would have to endure with my friends watching me drink the formula, I would at least know once and for all what it tasted like. Kayla didn’t want anything to do with what me and Jessica were doing, so she frowned at us. “Jess,” she sighed. “You know that’s Erica’s. Her formula. And you’re going to make a stupid TikTok with that?” But Jessica was quick to shut her down. “So?” Jessica countered. “Emmy’s going to be a famous influencer, and then she can buy her own formula! Yeah! We’re just going to be making these videos. It’s going to be awesome!” We walked away from Kayla and Jessica reminded me that we needed a script before we started recording the TikTok. The plan would be as follows. Jessica would hand me the bottle and I would start drinking it. I would then begin acting silly and make baby sounds. Maybe a few goo’s and gaa’s and that would be it. Jessica held out my phone and we began recording the TikTok. I was very nervous, but I focused on my mission. Jessica gave me a big teasing smile. “Does baby Emmy want her baa baa?” In humoring the act, I nodded. “Yeah! I want baa baa now!” And just like that, I swiped the baby bottle from Jessica and began sucking the teat of the bottle. But something was wrong. No milk was coming out! How did Erica do this? She made it look so easy! Finally, after what felt like a couple of minutes, I managed to get the first few drops out. And…wow. That baby formula tasted so sweet. Yes. Very sweet. Like a powdered milk, but WOW was it good. As more drops came out of the bottle and into my mouth, I carefully sucked at the right point of the bottle and found a lot more of the milk coming out now. Bingo! I found the easy way to suck out the milk. To ham things up, I stopped drinking and glanced at the camera. “Goo goo!” I said, giving my best baby impression. “Gaa gaa! I dwink more!” And with that, I sucked down the rest of the milk in the bottle like a pro. And wow. That sweet aftertaste. Is this really what breast milk actually tastes like? It’s really anyone’s guess but I’m just going to call this a W for today. Jessica stopped recording and began to snicker. “You were wonderful, baby Emmy.” She teased, playfully shoving me in the side. Kayla and Jessica stayed for a little longer before they decided to leave. This left me with the cleanup. It wasn’t much that I had to take care of. All I had to do was rinse out the baby bottle and quickly wash it, so that mom wouldn’t suspect anything. There. Bottle is rinsed. Bottle is washed. And bottle is rinsed again. I sat the bottle in the drying rack, but then noticed the canister of baby formula that was just sitting there. Should I have some more? Because I’m really starting to crave this stuff now! Well, mom and dad told me that they would be staying out late, so why not? Being very tired, I decided to make my own “nighttime bottle”. I took one of my 24-ounce stainless steel water bottles and scooped 12 scoopfuls of baby formula (one for every two ounces) and filled my water bottle to the brim with water. I then tightly sealed the water bottle and began shaking it like crazy. There. Now I have 24 ounces of delicious goodness that I can enjoy before bed. I carefully sealed the baby formula and placed it back where I originally found it. I do my usual night routine and remove all my makeup before taking a cozy shower. I brush my teeth, floss, and gargle my mouthwash. I then put on another bra before changing into a white nightgown. And how could we forget our water bottle filled with baby formula? What a treat. I unscrew the small opening to my water bottle and begin drinking the sweet formula, which surprisingly tasted even better than the first time. Yes. Very sweet. It’s a whole lot. Almost done. Wow. I can’t believe I’m drinking the whole thing. *BURP* Okay. It’s gone. Man was…that…good…………………. I don’t know how quick it happened, but right after that, I fell fast asleep. 4. The Wrong Side of the Bed Ugh. I don’t know what happened, but something kept waking me up several times during the night. CRUNCH! CREAK! CRRRRRRUNNNNNCH! OW! What just happened? Whatever happened, I’m very tired so I’m going back to sleep. I fell asleep, the aftertaste of the baby formula still in my mouth. CRUNCH! CREAK! CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUNNNNCH! Again? I swear that this has happened at least five times or more. And…whoa. Did I just lose weight? No. Because my nightgown…What the…..! I sit up in my bed to find almost everything that I was wearing falling off of me. My bra didn’t fit me anymore. My panties were now enormous and now I’m swimming in my nightgown! Totally shocked, I undress and enter my ensuite bathroom in my birthday suit. The first thing that I did was step on the scale and…Oh. My. Gosh. 73.6 POUNDS?!!! I lost almost 50 pounds overnight! I run over to the mirror by the sink and I swear that I saw a middle school version of me staring back at me. WHAT?! HOW? All I did was drink some baby form….u….la. No. I was now in a complete state of denial. No no no no no no no no no! Really? All I did was drink my baby sister’s baby formula and now I’m a middle schooler again? No! I’m going to be a famous influencer! Well, on the off chance that the baby formula did push me closer to babyhood, I am NOT having any more of that stupid formula, no matter how good it tastes! I glanced at my alarm clock, which read 8:22 AM. Well, it’s Friday so it’s time to get up. But how is my mom going to see me like this? None of my clothes fit me anymore. Not even my panties! I pull my now oversized nightgown back on and began walking outside my room, dragging it as I went. And really? My timing could not have been any more perfect, because there mom stood, as if she was about to open my door. “Honey!” My mom told me. “I was just about to….Oh. Hmm….It looks like someone was naughty last night.” After that, mom gave me this smile that really started to creep me out. What? So, she’s not shocked that I’m this young now? My mom then glanced at me normally like nothing weird was going on. “It’s okay. You did a bad thing, but now you’re going to have to own up to your mistake. Now those clothes are way too big on you, sweetie. It’s a good thing that your mom still has your older clothes!” That’s when I remembered just how much of a packrat that my mom was. And yeah. Most of my older clothes she actually kept. How convenient! My mom left the hallway for a little bit and came back with a measuring tape. She measured me and nodded. “Yup. You’re a size 10.” My mom left to go down to the basement to find my older clothes. I couldn’t believe it. Overnight, I went down 8 whole sizes! Yup. If it’s that stupid formula, I’m never having any of it again. Maybe if I’m lucky, it will wear off and I will grow back to normal? A few minutes later, my mom came back carrying a large plastic tote. She opened it and the very first shirt was a Lavender Hello Kitty graphic tee. Really? Sure, I was into Hello Kitty in middle school but I’m WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY past that phase. I shook my head. “No mom! I don’t like Hello Kitty!” My mom gave me a stern look. “It doesn’t matter, sweetie. You made a mistake, dear and now you have to own up to that mistake. Okay? Now you liked Hello Kitty when you were 12 and see? It fits you perfectly! Now there should be a few skirts, underwear, and socks in there. I have another tote with pajamas, okay?” I started to cry. This was a nightmare of my own making and I just wanted to wake up from it. Six years lost in just one night? It was official. I have now lost my adulthood and this was more than what I could take. “Sweetie,” My mom said with a sigh. “Crying is not going to make it better. Now if you would’ve been a good girl, you would never have to worry about this. But it’s okay. Mommy will make it work. Okay? Get a shower. We made a nice breakfast for you. Erica is even already downstairs so you’re the last one up. Now be a good girl for mommy, okay?” My mom left to get the other tote and I sullenly walked to my room, carrying the heavy tote filled with my old clothes. After picking a off-white skirt with colored stripe patterns, a cupped bra, a pair of pink underwear, the lavender Hello Kitty graphic tee, and a pair of white socks, I sulked all the way to the shower. But as I washed my sorrows down the drain in the shower, a feeling of terror came over me. How was it that my mom wasn’t even bothered at me being younger? She told me that “someone was naughty last night” and I knew that someone was me. Does she know what the formula can do already? And how is it that this particular baby formula makes me younger? Did mom do something that altered the formula? Then that means, my baby sister….Erica! I was dumbfounded. Could it be possible that my little sister used to actually be older than me? All this time, I thought that I was just being a good sister, feeding my sister her formula. But afterall, she’s not even a year old yet. But who knows what could’ve happened before then? Something is not adding up… Despite me being a preteen again, I still felt like an adult inside. And that was the most frustrating part. I comb my hair and put on all my clothes. With it only being June, I knew that my future was ruined. How was I going to be a famous influencer now? I exited the shower and entered my room, to find my mom yanking out all my old adult clothes that don’t fit me anymore. This was heartbreaking to see the clothes that used to fit me yesterday were now being packed into a tote and hauled away. All because I drank some baby formula. Just how stupid could I be? But that’s the stupid part! Baby formula is not supposed to literally turn you into a baby! This was the stuff of science fiction, and the scariest part was that it was happening to me for real. I glanced at my mom, trying to look like an adult. “Mom?” I asked her. “Can I be a famous influencer? Because I know I haven’t gone to college yet…” Mom gave me a smug smile. “Sweetie, you haven’t even completed the seventh grade yet.” I scowled. “But mom!” I protested. “I have a high school diploma and you know it!” My mom nodded. “You do, sweetie. But you were a naughty girl, and now you have to repeat the seventh grade. And yes. You will have to earn your diploma again. That’s your punishment for being such a naughty girl. But don’t worry, dear. We will work through this. Okay?” I gave my mom a clever smile. “Was Erica a naughty girl?” At this, my mom gasped. “Erica is a good girl, honey! Erica doesn’t know what is good or bad yet, so mommy has to decide for her. And honey, Erica is a good girl. It is you who are naughty. Now, we’re going to enroll you in middle school next week. You will start in the fall. You are going to be a good girl for mommy, okay?” I had no choice but to comply at this point. “Yes mom,” I said reluctantly. Breakfast was filled with the usual fare that we had in the morning. Bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast. I was so late that my baby sister was not even at her highchair. I was the only one at the kitchen table, eating my breakfast. Both my parents started their work. And to fill you all in, both my parents work from home, so they have a lot of flexibility in being able to take care of Erica. During the day, I checked my TikTok and to my surprise, the TikTok I made last night with Jessica had more than 215,000 views. Yup. The video is on its way to becoming viral. But I’m not an adult anymore so how’s that going to even matter? I’m now a middle schooler that according to mom, I have to repeat middle school and high school again. Well, if I don’t have any more of that stupid formula, I won’t have to worry about getting any younger so maybe I can get older? I’m kind of hoping that it will wear off and I can get older right away. The rest of the day was boring. And now… KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Oh. I think that my mom is knocking. What does she want? My mom smiled and glanced at my dad, who was next to her. “Sweetie?” My mom said with a grin. “I know that you don’t look the part anymore, but could you please babysit Erica again? Daddy and I are going out again and we won’t be back until very late. Besides dear. Twelve is the appropriate age to start babysitting. If you need help, just call the neighbor next door.” My mom then gave me a stern look. “Now you were a very naughty girl last night, so here’s your chance to be a good girl, okay? Mommy has more formula for Erica. It’s a brand new one since mommy made a new bottle from the last of the old canister. It’s already open since I poured the last of the old formula into the new one. Make sure that Erica gets her nighttime bottle before bed. And no drinking the formula this time, honey. Mommy doesn’t want you to be naughty. Be a good girl for mommy, okay?” I nodded, knowing very well that I wasn’t going to have any of that stupid formula this time. Sure, it tasted good but if it’s going to make me a baby, then I never want to have any of it again. About a half hour after my mom and dad left, Erica to my surprise was still sleeping. DING!!!!!! DONG!!!!! It’s them. My friends again. Kayla and Jessica. I am so dead. What are my friends going to do when they find out that their best friend is now a preteen again? I groaned and closed my eyes, praying that the doorbell was only my imagination. 5. Babysitting Blunder DING!!!!! DONG!!!!!!!! Nope. I am not dreaming. That damn doorbell is still ringing! And wow. I am so surprised that Erica is still sleeping! Usually, she would be up from her nap by now. But the biggest problem with me being a preteen now is being shorter. According to mom’s measurements, I am 8 inches shorter than I was yesterday! And now, I have to answer the door looking like a preteen instead of an adult woman. Well, here we go! I wonder what Kayla and Jessica will say? I let out a deep sigh and open the door. The first thing that Jessica does is frown. “Um…” she said, pointing at me. “Where’s Emmy? I didn’t know she had a third sister…” Kayla sighed and then glanced at me, her face as pale as a ghost. “Um, Jess? I think that is Emmy. Is it you, Emmy? You look a lot like you did when we used to go to middle school.” It had to have been the way that Kayla said it, but I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I weeped and turned my face to the floor. “Go away,” I told them. “I am babysitting my sister and I don’t want anyone to bother me.” But unlike Kayla, Jessica just smiled when she looked at me. “If it really is you, Em, then you really need us to help you watch your sister tonight. But first, let’s get something to drink, okay?” Jessica’s eyes shifted towards the kitchen, which made Kayla frown. “What are you doing, Jess?” Kayla asked her. Jessica paced quickly towards the kitchen. “Oh, I’m just getting Emmy a little drink, okay?” Kayla began to advance towards Jessica. “No, you’re not. You just want to give her more of Erica’s baby formula, right?” But Jessica ignored her question, outdistancing Kayla through the kitchen all the way to the fridge. She opened it to find a baby bottle filled with formula already in there. “Oh. What do you know? I don’t have to make one! Come here, baby Emmy…” I didn’t like where this was going at all, so I walked over behind Kayla. Jessica glared at me when she saw that I wasn’t following her directions. “Fine. If you’re not going to come to me, then I’ll do it myself!” Jessica hurried towards me, holding the baby bottle in her hands. No. You are not doing this! I successfully evaded Jessica and doubled back into the kitchen again. Jessica then grinned, holding the baby bottle filled with formula in front of my face. “Come on, Emmy. I know you like it. It’s so good. And don’t worry. I will help you this time.” Stop. Just stop. My will power was failing me as Jessica removed the cap of the baby bottle and began pushing the nipple towards my mouth. It is good. Yeah. I found myself doing the thing that I would never expect to do. I let Jessica feed me the bottle, as she calmly led me to the living room. “There.” Jessica cooed as she pointed to a spot on the couch where I sat. I kept drinking the baby bottle while she held it in her hands. Why did you have to do this, Jess? You’re going to get me into trouble! But before I knew it, I let out a soft burp as I realized that the bottle was completely empty. I then glared at my best friend, who for some reason thought that it was a good idea to play house. “Jess!” I shouted. “My mom specifically told me not to have any of Erica’s formula! You then go and feed all of it to me! What kind of friend are you? Get out of here! Get out!” Jessica nodded. “But I fed it to you, Em. You didn’t get it yourself. You don’t have to worry. It’ll be fine.” Suddenly, a loud wail could be heard in the distance. “Good going, Jess.” Kayla scowled. “Now can you please make a bottle for Erica while me and Emmy get her up?” Jessica nodded. “Gladly. I’ll have another one made in just a couple of minutes!” Jessica volunteering to make the bottle did nothing to undo what she had already done. She had broken one of my mom’s rules. And the worst part about it is that I’m going to be the one who will get in trouble while Jessica will get out of it scot-free. Some friend you are! Kayla and I were in Erica’s bedroom, where my baby sister was still wailing. I secretly felt glad that Kayla was helping me with her, as the stress of me being a preteen again didn’t do anything to help the situation. Sure, I was tall enough to reach over the crib, but I let Kayla take care of this instead. And my am I glad that I did! It didn’t take long for both Kayla and I to smell what we knew would be a very poopy diaper. I grimaced at Kayla, who responded with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Emmy.” Kayla told me. “I got this. I have changed Daniel’s poopy diapers many times. He’s mostly trained now and he only needs to wear Pull-Up’s to bed.” I nodded and calmly watched Kayla do her thing after she laid Erica on the changing table. Not only did she end up using fewer wipes than me, she took less time to change her! Wow. Kayla, can you come over and help me babysit Erica more often? Kayla carried Erica out of the room and I followed her. And by the time that we both entered the living room, Jessica was sitting there, holding a freshly made baby bottle filled with baby formula. Kayla pointed to the bottle. “Let me feed her.” But Jessica shook her head. “I can do it!” Kayla sighed. “Okay, but feed Erica this time!” Jessica nodded. “Of course! Into my lap, Kiki.” Erica squirmed forward towards Jessica when she saw her holding a baby bottle. Jessica calmly situated Erica into her lap. “There you go…” Kayla carefully watched Jessica while she fed Erica. As for me, I watched from a distance. I didn’t want Jessica to get any other ideas for the rest of the day. After Jessica was finished feeding Erica, she sat her in Kayla’s lap while she went to the kitchen to wash out the baby bottle. I thought I was out of the park when Kayla quickly sat my baby sister in my lap. “Ugh…” Kayla said, groaning. “I really have to crap! Can you please watch your sister? I’ll be right back!” And off Kayla went, running to the nearest bathroom to answer her call of duty. Jessica came back into the living room and carried Erica to her playpen. “We’re going to play with some toys now!” As I started to stack blocks with Erica, Jessica ran off for some reason. I was right in the middle of stacking colorful rings with my sister when Jessica decided to jump scare me. “Emmy!” I turned around in a gasp to find Jessica holding another baby bottle filled with baby formula. “It’s your turn,” Jessica told me. “Erica got hers so now you’re getting yours!” I backed away, knowing that Jessica was trying to bait me into drinking more of my sister’s formula. “Are you serious?!” I shouted. “You’re going to get me in trouble! No!” All Jessica could do was smirk. “Yes. You’re going to be a good girl like your sister, okay?” And before I could even react, Jessica had another baby bottle nipple shoved right in my mouth. “Drink.” Jessica ordered. And for some stupid reason, I did just as I was told. I drank the baby bottle while I watched my best friend smile at me. “There you go, baby Emmy.” Jessica cooed. “You like that, don’t you? It’s so good, isn’t it?” And just like that, I couldn’t believe it. Another baby bottle was empty. “Oh, good girl!” Jessica praised. “You finished the whole thing! I got one more for later. I made three of them while you and Kayla were tending to Erica. Now go play with your sister!” Jessica went and took care of the baby bottle while I played with Erica. Jessica joined in on the playtime. A few minutes later, Kayla returned and joined in as well. Kayla ordered Chinese for dinner and we spent most of our time engaging with my little sister. After dinner, Kayla fed Erica her nighttime bottle and we got Erica ready for bed. After giving her a bath, brushing her teeth, diapering her, and putting on a footed sleeper, Kayla did the honors, placing her in her sleepsack and putting her in her crib. After we all left Erica’s room, Kayla’s phone vibrated. Kayla had to take a very important phone call, so she stepped out of the room for a few minutes. After Kayla hung up, she gasped. “I need to get home.” Kayla told us. “My uncle is in the hospital and my mom wants me to watch Daniel.” This was fine, since both Kayla and Jessica each had their own cars. Jessica gasped. “Hope your uncle’s okay! Get home and take care of your brother!” “Thanks.” Kayla told Jessica. “Bye!” The situation was so urgent that Kayla did not even think to instruct or warn Jessica not to feed me anymore baby formula. So there I was. Alone with Jessica. Jessica glanced at me with a grin. “I think that baby Emmy needs her nighttime bottle!” I shook my head. “No! You are not going to do it!” Jessica shook her head. “Oh. That’s not being a good girl, is it? Get in your jammies.” Well, it was bedtime and I was tired of this Hello Kitty shirt so I scurried upstairs to change into my pajamas. Since my mom took the liberty of replacing all my clothes, I found a set that looked okay. It was a white and pink striped two-piece tank top and shorts pajama set. And the size was…a 12 slim. Okay. I’m not quite used to tween sizes but okay. Now in my pajamas, I decided to brush my teeth. Right after I finished, I found Jessica standing in the hallway, holding a baby bottle filled with baby formula. “Ready Emmy?” I sighed. No, I’m not ready. Yet I advanced towards her anyway. Jessica smiled. “Good girl. Into your bedroom.” I did as I was told and I sat on my bed. Jessica sat beside me, lifting the cap off of the baby bottle and bringing the nipple to my mouth. “Drink Emmy…” Jessica ordered. I began drinking, this time without hesitation. After a couple of burps, I got very tired. I could faintly see Jessica tucking me in and blowing me a forehead kiss. “Sweet dreams, baby Emmy.” Was the last thing that I heard before I was fast asleep. 6. Bad Girl! CRRRRRRRRUNNNNNCH!!!!!! CRRREAK! CRUNCH!!! Ow! It’s happening again! To fill you in on what the pain felt like, I can only describe it as something similar to growing pains, only I was feeling this pain in my bones. And it’s not that my bones were growing. No. They were trying to push themselves together, or something. Whatever it was, I could feel the pain in my entire body. And just the bones, but my skin and various organs trying to combine together. I wince in pain as the painful experience continued. Finally, I went back to sleep. The crunching and creaking happened a few more times. This next round was particularly painful. CRUNCH!!!! CRRRRRRRRRRRREAK! CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUNCH! OH! OW!!!! My face was now flush red with tears as I cried in pain. But with the pain beginning to subside, I immediately felt my body to see what was different. But then I felt something…wet? Huh? No! I didn’t just wet the bed! I once again found my pajamas draping over me. Both straps of my pajama tank top drooped past my shoulders and the waistline of the pajama shorts felt way too big. And…Yup. Basically all of my pajama shorts were sopping wet with pee and so was my underwear, which was once again way too big on me. I got out of bed to notice the large wet spot that was right in the center of the fitted sheet that covered the mattress. Like yesterday, I walked into my bathroom completely naked and decided to weigh myself again. How much smaller did I get today? And my weight was…drumroll please….46.5 pounds. That’s almost another 30 pounds overnight! That’s 70 pounds in two days! And when I glanced in the mirror, I saw this little girl! And yeah. There was no trace of puberty on my body anymore, but I knew that I had to be older than a preschooler… “This is stupid!” I said out loud, completely shocked that my voice now sounds like a little girl. I mean, it didn’t even sound like I was talking! It sounded like some second grader was repeating the very words that I dictated to her. I then tasted it. I still had the aftertaste of the baby formula from last night. Jessica! Why did you do this to me? You made me drink even more of that stupid formula and now I’m just a kid! You ruined my life! I was supposed to start my career, but now my mom will probably make me return to elementary school in the fall. I could hear the creak of the door open to my room, with my mom calling my name. “Emmy! It’s time to…Oh dear sweetie! Did you wet the bed?” As much as I didn’t want to show my face to my mom, I slowly exited the bathroom, not even thinking about my nudity. My mom studied me and gave me a matter-of-fact nod. “Emmy, it looks like you were naughty last night. How many times do I have to tell you?” I sighed, knowing that whatever I told mom, she would not believe me. “Um…” I stammered in my now younger voice. “My friend…Jessica…she fed me the formula…” My mom stared at me in anger. “Bad girl! That is a lie, sweetie! Don’t you DARE lie to mommy! Now tell mommy that you took the formula and drank it or you’re going to be in a lot more trouble.” I sighed, as I knew that I would be lying in admitting to my mom something that I didn’t do. My eyes filled with tears. “I….I took the formula and drank it mommy….” My mom just looked at me with a disappointed sigh. “Good. See how good it is to tell the truth? Now, what’s done is done, dear. But don’t worry. Mommy will make it work, okay? Now stand still. Mommy needs to measure you again.” I sighed, and let my mother measure me from head to toe. “45 inches,” My mom told me. “That’s another foot. That would put you in…a size 5 child. Stay there.” I didn’t want to test my mom’s patience, so I just sat there and twiddled my thumbs. To kill some time while my mom was in the basement, looking for my smaller clothes, I took my smart phone from my dresser and opened up TikTok. And there it was. The TikTok that I made with Jessica now had 4.2 million views. Well, it’s too bad that I can’t be an influencer! With me not even looking 10 years old yet, there would be no way that anyone would believe me if I told them that I am an adult. As I glanced at the TikTok, I scorned the older and original version of myself, who was happily sucking away at a baby bottle and making pretend baby sounds. You idiot! If only you knew that you were going to be a preteen the next day! I closed TikTok and sat the phone on the dresser before the sound of footsteps filled the hallway. I am guessing that my dad was watching Erica, as my mom wouldn’t leave her unattended. My mom came back with a large tote that held even more clothes since they were smaller. “Let’s see,” my mom told me. “You were twelve yesterday and now you’re eight, today. How many times are you going to punish yourself, Emmy? If you were a good girl, you wouldn’t have to be going through any of this. Now since you’ve been naughty, mommy is going to give you a shower. Be a good girl and mommy will let you take a shower on your own. Now, get in the shower, Emmy.” Over the next 10-15 minutes, I let my mother bathe me. It felt humiliating having her doing something that I knew I was perfectly capable of doing myself. All because Jessica kept feeding me bottle after bottle last night. Seriously. I think that something is wrong with Jessica. Despite my mom going through the trouble of getting all my new clothes from the basement, I had no say in what I was going to wear. For underwear, my mom chose…please no. Twilight Sparkle undies from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. C’mon! I liked that show when I was six years old! Why mom? I sighed. “Mom, I don’t want that underwear.” My mom shook her head. “Emmy, when you were eight, you LOVED My Little Pony. Now be a good girl and step in.” I sighed, stepping into my totally childish undies. Next, my mom put me in a cute lavender dress. Really. I looked more like a first grader than a third grader. I think that it had to do with my growth spurt that I didn’t have until I was ten. Before that, I was slightly behind in my development. Upon coming down the stairs, my father was at the bottom, looking me over from head to toe. He then glanced at my mom. “I take it that she was naughty last night?” My mom nodded. “She was. But we’re going to put it past us, okay? Now I picked out this cute lavender dress for Emmy. Doesn’t she look adorable?” My dad nodded. “Very much so. What a shame. It looks like she’s going to be in the third grade this fall, right?” My mom nodded. “She is. Since Emmy was a bad girl and didn’t want to be an adult, she can just repeat her schooling until she graduates again.” My dad nodded, as if he was perfectly fine with whatever my mom said. “Sounds like a plan. Emmy, be a good girl for us. Okay?” I quietly scowled under my breath. Jessica was the bad girl. Not me! What did I tell you? She got me into trouble and now things keep going from bad to worse for me. For breakfast, I was glad that my mom actually let me feed myself. I had the usual spread of bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast and drank my apple juice. While I ate, my mom took care of my bedding. And since it was Saturday, my parents were not working. So we all went for a walk outside to a park that was near our house. My mom was pushing Erica in the stroller while I walked beside her, with my dad walking on the other side of the stroller. Despite all the trouble that I experienced, I do have to admit that the walk outside felt good. It was a wonderful break from being trapped inside the house. The last time I was out was around a week ago, when I went to the mall with my friends. *sigh* Those were the days. After the walk, my mom told me to go and play with my toys. When I went up to my room, I found that my mom had replaced my toys with more age-appropriate ones for an eight-year-old. And worst of all, my smart phone was gone! Did my mom take it? Feeling very frustrated, I left my room and entered my bedroom to find my mom talking to someone on her cellphone. “Hold on,” My mom told the person she was talking to. She glanced at me and smiled. “Yes sweetie?” “Mom, where’s my cell phone?” I demanded. “Did you take it?” My mom nodded. “Sweetie, you are not old enough for a cell phone yet.” I pouted. “But I was old enough for one yesterday!” My mom sighed. “You were, dear. But honey, you did that to yourself. Eight years old is too young for a cell phone. We’ll talk about it when you’re in middle school, okay?” “It’s not fair!” I shouted. “I have to wait until I’m 11 to get my phone back?!” My mom nodded. “Sass at me again and we’re going to make it 12. Now sweetie, you were a bad girl, and bad girls get punished. Okay? Now I already see that what you’re dealing with is punishment enough, so let’s put it past us. Now let me finish this phone call. Daddy and I are going out and I’m lining up a babysitter for you and Erica tonight.” I gave my mom the pouty face again. “A babysitter? Mom! I can babysit Erica!” My mom laughed. “You are eight, sweetie. Yes, you used to be older but you lost those privileges. You were naughty so just be a good girl for me, okay? Accept your punishment like a good girl and let mommy finish lining up this babysitter for you, okay? From what she told me, you’re going to have a very good sitter tonight!” I sighed, but felt a little relief when I thought about the positives. Kayla has to watch Daniel because of her sick uncle in the hospital. And Jessica can’t come over if the babysitter is watching me. So yeah. At least I won’t have to worry about watching my baby sister tonight. Fine. I’ll be a good girl, mom. “Okay.” I told her with a sigh, knowing that I’m not going to get my cell phone back. I returned to my room and played with my new age-appropriate toys, which consisted of the Barbies and Disney Frozen dolls that I had when I used to be eight. The whole gang was there, with Anna, Elsa, Hans, Kristoff, and even Olaf. Yeah, that was a fun movie but it felt very weird playing with dolls again. What surprised me was how lost I got in playing with my dolls. Before I knew it, I heard my mom shouting. “Emmy! Daddy and I are leaving now! The babysitter is here now! Why don’t you come out and greet her?” I nodded, and smiled thinking about how fun the babysitter was going to be. Afterall, my mom said that she was going to be very good. Okay. I’m coming down. I walk down the stairs and…my heart stopped when I saw the babysitter that was standing by the door. It was…Jessica. No. Mom! Not her! Please, not her! But there Jessica was, smiling when she saw me standing there, now towering over me. The tip of my head now grazed Jessica’s bust. “Jessica is going to be your babysitter tonight,” My mom told me. “She will be watching you and Erica. Be a good girl and help her with Erica, okay?” “Also,” My mom continued. “Sweetie, I am going to tell you what I already told Jessica. No formula. It’s for Erica only, okay? Now don’t even try to find the formula as it’s not in the kitchen anymore. You were a naughty girl so mommy had to hide it. Be good for Jessica and have fun, okay?” Yeah. Fun. Fun with that psychopath? Please mom. Don’t leave me with her! “Okay,” I said in a soft and sullen voice. And before I could even protest, my mom and dad were out the door. I glanced at Jessica in her white classic top and red skirt. Her smile was growing and my anxiety grew with it. This was not a good time. And I just knew that tonight was going to be a total nightmare. 7. Babysitter Nightmare Seriously. Jess. What the hell is wrong with you? Jessica is now looking at me with a look of complete satisfaction. Jessica then glanced me over from head to toe. “Wow. Quite the reverse growth spurt, kiddo! Or is it a shrink spurt? So now I know it’s that baby formula that’s doing this to you.” I nodded at her with my arms crossed, looking annoyed. “Duh. And you heard it yourself. My mom doesn’t want me having any of that baby formula. It’s for Erica.” Jessica smirked and shook her head. “It’s for you, baby. Now that I know that it’s the formula, I want to see just how much I can give you before you’re a cute wittle baby!” No! I backed away from her, looking frightened “N-n-n-no…” I told her in a frightened stammer. But Jessica wrinkled her nose and slightly bit down on her lip. “You will listen to me, little girl. Your mommy is not here so I am in charge. And since I am in charge, you are going to have some more formula, okay? Erica is taking her nap so you’re going first.” Jessica now looked even taller than before, even though nothing had changed. “Be a good girl for me and wait for your baa baa, okay?” The moment that Jessica left the room, I used this opportunity to try and hide. Now granted, this is not going to accomplish anything. I just want to be away from my crazy friend turned babysitter. I quickly entered a nearby coat closet and closed the door behind me. A few seconds later, the door opened. Jessica was standing there, holding a baby bottle filled with milk. “Playing hide and seek?” Jessica teased. “That wasn’t a very good hiding place, because I found you! Now Emmy, get on the couch so I can feed you your milky. And if I don’t? I began to glance away but found the nipple being pushed in my face. Jessica had the bottle tilted down into my mouth and I began sucking, gulping the contents down quickly. As I was doing this, Jessica led me to the couch and sat me down. “Good girl.” The milk felt even more filling than yesterday, since I had a much smaller body, meaning a smaller stomach. It was good. It was delicious. This was pathetic. I was a helpless slave and I could do nothing to break free from Jessica’s control on me. If I even tried to argue with her. Jessica would begin feeding me anyway. There was no way to win against her. Especially since I was now a decade younger than my original age. And who knows how much younger I’m going to be tomorrow with all the bottles that she is going to force feed me. I just barely finished the bottle when I could hear the sound of loud wailing. Jessica smiled. “Don’t worry, Em. There’s already another one for your sister. I made sure that there was two this time. Now your mommy told you to be a good girl, so help me with your sister, okay?” I nodded, still unable to get over the cringe that was my friend now being my babysitter. Jessica was no longer treating me like the friend that I was. To her, I was now a little kid. It’s not fair! What did I do to deserve this? But my answer was between my teeth and still on my lips. The aftertaste of the baby formula that I should’ve never tried in the first place. Had Jessica never dared me to try to formula, I would’ve never gone down this crazy rabbit hole of going from adult to child in mere days. My mom was right. I was a naughty girl. I was a bad girl. I totally deserved all of this because the curiosity of trying my sister’s baby formula got the best of me. Jessica gave me a gentle jab, snapping me out of my reverie as we approached my baby sister’s room. The wail seemed to have grown louder as we entered. Jessica wasted no time in hoisting my sister out of the crib and laying her on the changing table. And from what I saw, her treatment of Erica was no different than her treatment of me. My theory is that Jessica sees every child the same. It makes me wonder just how much she made off of babysitting so far this summer. What’s weird is that she wasn’t much into this until Kayla and I encouraged her. But wow. Her transformation to super-babysitter is night and day. “Wipes Emmy.” Jessica ordered. “I need more wipes for your sis. There we go!” I continued to provide Jessica with everything that she needed to quickly change my sister’s diaper. And no surprise, it was another really poopy one. Regardless of this, I did not see Jessica flinch at all. She only teased at just how messy it was. After my sister was changed into a new diaper, Jessica carried Erica into her arms and I followed them both downstairs to the living room. I sat with my little sister while Jessica retrieved her baby bottle out of the fridge. It was my sister’s turn, so I watched Jessica feed my sister. Jessica even had a burp cloth next to her so when my sister spit up, she masterfully caught the spit up. After my sister was fed, Jessica led both of us to Erica’s playpen. “Start playing with your sis,” Jessica instructed me. I did as I was told, and helped Erica stack blocks and colored rings. What seemed like 10 minutes later, Jessica came back to the living room and led Erica to her grocery cart walker. So I walked beside my sister while she walked. Jessica then turned on the TV and selected a Cocomelon video for Erica to watch. I watched the video with my sister. I was distracted until I felt the nudge of a bottle next to me. “It’s your turn,” Jessica whispered, as she tilted the bottle so that the nipple rested in my mouth. I helplessly sucked away at the sweet milk, enjoying all the sweet notes that flowed over my tongue and down my throat. When my bottle was empty, she took it and went to the kitchen to wash it. I’m guessing that she knew my sister’s feeding schedule and didn’t want to disrupt it with another bottle. After Cocomelon, my sister and I played with Jessica joining in. For me, the biggest disappointment was dinner. My mother had for me a nice TV dinner with chicken nuggets, fries, corn, and a brownie. It was supposed to be for me, but Jessica ate my TV dinner instead. My dinner instead was another bottle of baby formula. Yes, it was delicious and sweet, but I was kind of craving those chicken nuggets and fries. Alright? But what a clever coverup. Jess, my babysitter knew that my mom wanted me to eat my TV dinner, so she eats it instead so she could break more of my mom’s rules and have me get blamed again for it. Urgh! I just wish that my mom could believe me! But who’s going to believe a child? It’s not fair! Jessica wastes no time in quickly getting my baby sister ready for bed. Since my sister had another poopy diaper, Jessica had to spray my sister clean before she started her bath. From there, she followed the usual routine, using that opportunity to start getting me ready for bed. She had me brush my teeth while she brushed my sister’s. After she diapers my sister, puts her in a cute star and moon onesie, puts her in her sleepsack, and places her in her crib, she glances at me with a smile. “In your room,” Jessica ordered. “Change into your jammies. I’ll get your babas. Okay baby Emmy?” Now somehow used to that nickname, I sighed. “Okay.” I said in a flat obedient tone. While Jessica left, I checked to see what pajamas I wore when I was eight. I found a short sleeved pink set, with a button down top with matching bottoms. After I finished getting into my PJ’s, I plopped myself onto the bed, waiting for my deranged friend to feed me my nighttime bottle. The door gently opened, with Jessica holding not one, but TWO baby bottles. Jessica noticed that I was already laying on my bed, so she nodded once again smirking with her smile. “I wonder if this will be enough?” Jessica said looking at me. “Emmy baby, I am going to turn you into a baby so I’m hoping that two bottles is enough to do that.” I pouted. “Why? Mom already said not to give me any—” “Your mommy’s not here,” Jessica told me, with a victorious smile. “And when your mommy’s not here, I’m in charge. When she finds out, and she will tomorrow, I will just tell her that you snuck into her room when you were playing hide and seek and found her baby formula. You mixed it with water and drank it. She’s not going to believe anything you tell her. You’re just a little girl.” “That’s not fair!” I shouted. “Why are you getting me in trouble?” Jessica smiled. “Because I can. Look at you, Emmy. You’re just a little girl now. And pretty soon, I’m going to be your regular babysitter. Isn’t that going to be fun, Baby Emmy? Now, are you ready for your baba?” “No I’m n….” My words were cut short with the nipple being tilted into my mouth. I began to drink the bottle like a good little girl and smiled, enjoying the sweet notes that were in the formula. “Good girl,” Jessica whispered. “Just think about it, Emmy. You are going to be my baby every time I babysit you. Are you enjoying that?” I nodded, with a few tears rolling down my eyes. “But mom said,” I protested. “Look at me, Emmy.” Jessica told me. “I AM your mommy! As long as your mommy and daddy are away for the evening, I am your mommy, and you have to do what mommy says. You don’t want to be a naughty girl, do you Emmy?” I shook my head, knowing that I was fighting a losing battle. “Good,” Jessica said, realizing that the bottle I was drinking was now empty. “Now are you ready for seconds? I know that the baby formula is making you younger, and I’m going to make sure that you’re a baby the next time that I babysit you. And guess what? You won’t be able to talk back! All you’ll be able to do is cry! But it’s going to be okay, because I’m going to take care of you.” Yup. I don’t know what snapped in Jessica’s brain but she has totally gone off the deep end. “You’re fucking crazy!” I shouted. Jessica gasped, and set aside the full bottle. “Where did you learn that naughty word? Say it again, Emmy, and I will stick a bar of soap in your mouth.” I knew not to test my friend’s patience at this point so I remained silent. Jessica then patted me on the head. “Are you ready for the second one, Emmy baby? Here. Let me help you.” I helplessly sucked down the second bottle, causing Jessica to smile. “Very soon, Emmy,” Jessica told me. “Very soon, you will be like Erica. Won’t it be cute? You’ll both be twinzies!” I started to get tired as I drank the second bottle, feeling very full, even though there was still a quarter left. I burped a few times and looked up at Jessica. “You’re almost there,” Jessica calmly coaxed. “Just a few more. Do it for Jessy!” I continued burping as I tried to get the last few gulps down. I think I did it, as I heard Jessica say right into my ear. “Good girl.” My eyes flickered as I let out a few deep yawns. Then I felt Jessica tucking me into my bed. Then the lights went out. And then, I fell…a…sleep….. 8. A Nightmare Come True Once again, I felt the unbearable pain of my bones in my body. Whatever they were doing, they were retracting down, like they were shrinking. I felt like everything inside me followed suit, as my skin tightly receded with my shrinking bones. CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUNCH!!! CREAK! CRUNCH! Ow! OWWWW! My face reddened with tears and I cried in pain again, as my body was violently forcing every cell in it to shrink. To divide. To disappear. To vanish. It was like the antibodies inside of me were treating my excess cells like a virus. And as a result, I knew that it was rewinding my physical age. This painful experience happened at least three more times before it finally stopped. When it did, I sat up to realize that I wet my bed once again! And it was no surprise to me that my clothing was once again too big on me. My Twilight Sparkle undies were soaked in pee, along with a good portion of my pajama bottoms around the crotch and butt. My pee-soaked pajamas seemed to stick to me as I tried to wiggle myself out of my bed. The bottoms finally fell off, along with my oversized undies. My oversized pajama tops, however, sagged around my shoulders. Frustrated with this, I unbuttoned them and threw them off. Having studied my fitted sheets, I discovered that I did not just wet the bed. I flooded it. The wet spot covered an isolated portion of the bed with everything else being dry. Sighing, I walked over to the door to my bathroom. And wow. My head was now level with the door knob. Well, at least I can still walk easily. I open the door to my ensuite bathroom to make a rather frustrating revelation: I’m so short now that I can’t even see myself in the mirror now! Do I have a step stool in here? I glance around and scowl. Of course I don’t! Instead, I decided to go over to the scale to weigh myself. Let’s see. My weight for today is…33.3 pounds. That’s another 13 pounds overnight! So yeah. More than 80 pounds in three days? Oh, please let this be a nightmare! I’ve heard of weird science fiction stuff, but I never thought that it could happen in real life. Frustrated, I press both hands on the counter and hoist myself up just enough to see my face. And WHAT? That is NOT my face. That looks like the face of a preschooler! “NO!” I shouted, my voice sounding even more high pitched than yesterday. “That stupid Jessica! Why does this have to happen to me? It’s not fair!” I pouted and sulked all the way back to my room. My alarm clock read 6:22 AM, so it was not time for me to get up yet. But what am I going to do? My bedding is soaked and my mom is not even up yet. I decided to get another set of pajamas, even though they were too big on me. Fortunately, all of my drawers were still reachable, so I grabbed a oversized pair of My Little Pony: Friendship is magic undies and stepped into them. I did the same with an orange pajama set that looked similar to my pink set. I found the dry part of my bed and rolled over to that area, piling the covers on top of me before I fell back asleep. And with this being a queen bed, it now felt enormous. Oh, please don’t let there be any more pain in my bones! While there wasn’t any pain in the bones, I did feel a tap on my shoulder. I yawned and glanced at the clock, which was now 8:03 AM. My mom was staring at me, not looking pleased. “Emmy Emmy Emmy…” My mom said with a sigh. “Didn’t I tell you to be a good girl last night? Look at you! You were a naughty girl last night.” Mom then pulled back the covers to see the enormous wet spot isolated over just a portion of the fitted sheet area. “And you wet the bed again! Stand still, Emmy. Let’s see how old you are today. Don’t move. Mommy’s going to run and get the tape measure.” I nodded, feeling very uncomfortable in my oversized pajamas. Moments later, my mom was back with the tape measure. She undressed me down to my birthday suit and measured me from head to toe. “37 inches,” My mom said, nodding. “That’s a 3T honey. And mommy knows that you wore 3T’s a lot when you were four.” I gasped. 3T? That’s toddler clothing! There is NO WAY that my mom is going to put me in baby clothes! “No!” I protested. “3T is for babies!” My mom just smirked. “You did it to yourself, honey. If you would’ve been a good girl last night, you wouldn’t have to wear your four year old clothing again. Now I know that the damage has been done, but we’re going to work around this, okay?” “But it’s for babies…” I said, with a few tears starting to form in my eyes. But to this, my mom matter-of-factly nodded. “And for you, sweetie, that suits you. You’re on your way to becoming a baby because you can’t be a good girl so you’re back in your toddler clothes. Take the punishment like a big girl. So Emmy. Did you go into my room and take my formula last night? Admit it, dear.” I knew that I was trapped, so I told my mom her version of the truth. “Yes,” I sadly admitted, knowing that it was a lie. “I went into your room and took your formula.” My mom sighed and nodded. “You’re a bad girl, Emmy. Can you stop being bad? Mommy wants you to be good! Get in the bathroom. I’m going to get your clothes and then give you a shower.” I nodded and sadly walked to the bathroom, still feeling the slight taste of baby formula in my mouth. As I stood there, I began to wonder. My mom only wants Erica to have the baby formula, but she doesn’t want me to have it. How is it okay for Erica and not okay for me? Erica doesn’t look any younger and she’s been fed the same amount of formula. Is there a limit to how young you can get? Or are the doses carefully measured for my little sister so that she doesn’t get any younger? All I’m doing is assuming right now, as I had no evidence to suggest any connection with my sister and the formula. But I knew that the formula was affecting me. It just had to be. My mom entered the bathroom holding a set of clothes that she had already picked out for me. “Hope you like Disney Princesses,” My mom told me. “All of your underwear has them. And look! I picked out Cinderella for you!” I glanced at the faded light blue underwear featuring a Cinderella print over the faded light blue cotton, with a light blue waistband and light blue around the leg openings. Yeah. That’s definitely baby underwear. I gave my mom a hopeful glance. “I’m four again,” I told her. “So can I dress myself?” My mom shook her head. “You were a naughty girl, so mommy is going to dress you. Look what else I got! A cute light blue tank dress with colorful patterns!” I sighed looking at the dress, glancing at the colorful patterns sprinkled all over it that reminded me of balloons. I stuck my tongue out at it in disapproval. “Mom! I am not a little girl! I am a teenager!” My mom hoisted me up in her arm so that I could see myself in the mirror. “Look at the mirror, honey. Does that look like a teenager? You have been a very bad girl, so you have to deal with your punishment, okay? Mommy’s got a fun day planned for you and Erica. We also need to go to the store to get you some things.” My heart sank. “What things?” My mom glanced towards the bathroom door. “For one thing, sweetie, you wet the bed last night. I don’t want to destroy that mattress so it’s getting a plastic cover. Also, when you were four, you wet the bed a lot, so mommy’s going to get you some nighttime Pull-Up’s.” “No!” I shouted. “No nighttime Pull-Up’s!” My mommy gave me a stern look. “Emmy, you are going to wet the bed again if you don’t wear them. Oh, don’t start crying again. You didn’t want to be a good girl. You didn’t want to be a grown up, Emmy. Because of that, this is what you get. You’re four again and you’re going to sleep in the Pull-Ups tonight.” My sobbing turned into quiet weeping, as I realized that this was a nightmare that I was not going to wake up from. Yeah. It was a nightmare come true with no escape from it. My mom gave me a shower, while the water and tears went down the drain. After the shower, my mom bunched my brown hair and tied them into two pigtails. Great. Now I look even more like a little girl. Like yesterday, my dad gave me his inspection, clearly knowing that I was naughty again. The usual breakfast followed, and afterward my mom asked me to play with Erica in her playpen after I ate and drank my apple juice. As I was playing with Erica, I could overhear my mom talking to Jessica on speakerphone. “Jessica?” My mom said, as she briefly glanced at me. “Emmy told me that she went into my room and took the formula. Is that what happened?” “Yes, Mrs. Smith! Emmy and I were playing a game of hide and seek and Emmy decided to hide in your bedroom. When I found her, she had the lid of the formula open and she was drinking the formula from your rinse cup that she took from the bathroom. I don’t know how much of it she drank, but I stopped her right away.” That wasn’t true! Jessica is flat out lying to my mom right now! My mom sighed. “Well, thanks for letting me know. I don’t know what has gotten into Emmy, but she has been a bad girl lately. While you’re still on the phone, how would you like to babysit her again tonight? Keep your eyes on her, as she might try to do the same thing again.” “I will, Mrs. Smith. I will make sure that Emmy is a good girl this time.” “Thank you, Jessica. You are a wonderful babysitter, and I look forward to you watching Emmy and Erica again tonight. See you at 4:00! Bye!” The moment that my mom hung up, I stood up in anger. “Mom! Jessica is lying! I did not do that!” But my mom shook her head. “You already admitted to me that you took your sister’s formula, hun. Now why are you trying to lie to me that you didn’t? Jessica is going to watch you carefully tonight so that you don’t take Erica’s formula again. Be a good girl for Jessica, okay?” Dad had some extra work to do at home, so I went to the store with mom and Erica. Because I was so much smaller now, my mom had to reinstall my car seat that I haven’t used since I was five and a half. This made me feel even more like a baby, since I couldn’t use a normal seat belt. Once at the store, I walked beside my mom, while she pushed Erica in the shopping cart. At the store, my mom bought some more food and the things that she needed for me. A waterproof mattress cover and the nighttime Pull-Ups. My heart sank when I watched my mom set the 3T-4T box of Pull-Ups Nightime in the cart. And yeah. Sadly enough, I did wet the bed a lot when I was four years old. And now that I’m four again, I’m reliving that nightmare, as things are not getting any better. Once back at home, my mom had my bedding all washed and dried again. While I played with Erica, she put on the waterproof mattress cover and put all my bedding back on. With my bed having a queen mattress, it felt enormous to me. After playing with Erica for a little longer, the time came for her afternoon nap. My mom took care of her, while she told me to play with my dolls in my room. What other choice did I have? I kept myself busy with the Barbies and Disney Frozen dolls that I played with yesterday. I got lost in playing once again when I heard it. DING!!!! DONG!!!! “Emmy! Jessica is here! Come downstairs, honey.” Great. My former friend turned crazy babysitter is here. And after what happened yesterday, I am so over it. I pinched both sides of my cheeks with my fingers, hoping that it would be enough for me to wake up. 9. The Nightmare Continues My mom had both me and Jessica sit next to each other on the living room floor while she went over all the rules. “Emmy,” My mom told me. “Absolutely NO DRINKING ERICA’S FORMULA! And Jessica? Keep a careful eye on Emmy tonight. Do not let her out of your sight, so try a different game besides hide and seek. I have another TV dinner for Emmy so just give her that. Feed Erica her baby food. Feed her a bottle after her nap and another one before bedtime. While you don’t have to give Erica a bath, I appreciate you keeping her clean. That’s it. Have fun and keep Emmy out of trouble!” My mom then looked at me. “Do you understand, Emmy? Be a good girl for mommy, okay? Listen to Jessica, as she’s a very good babysitter. Okay. Love you! And Jessica? When Erica wakes up from her nap, you know what to do!” Jessica nodded. “I do, Mrs. Smith!” My dad smiled. “Time for another fun evening. Let’s go, Eve!” My mom gave me one more hug before they both left the house. Moments later, both I and Jessica stood up. Since I shrank another 8 inches from yesterday, the tip of my head now went up to Jessica’s stomach. She was taller than ever, and I could feel in my gut that this wasn’t going to be good. Jessica scowled when she glanced at me. “It wasn’t enough! How much formula is it going to take? We’ll find out, Emmy, as I’m really starting to get into this babysitting thing. I am watching infants next week, so I’m already prepared. And that means I’m also prepared for you.” Jessica unzipped what I guessed looked like a diaper bag which was next to her purse. A few empty baby bottles spilled out of it. “Go and play,” Jessica ordered. “I’m going to make you lots of babas.” I glanced at the five empty bottles that were scattered on the living room floor as a feeling of dread came over me. “And I’m not going to drink them,” I told her in a sassy voice. “You’re not listening to mom. They’re Erica’s! They’re not for me!” “They are for you, baby,” Jessica argued. “Now be a good girl for me and play. I will have your milkys ready for you soon.” “You’re not going to make me!” I shouted. Jessica, who loomed over me, smiled. “Oh. I don’t have to make you, Emmy. You will drink them. You always do.” And before I could argue anymore, Jessica disappeared into the kitchen, holding the five empty bottles. I pretended to play with my sister’s toys in her playpen. I could still feel the pinch marks on my face and was sad that I didn’t wake up. Minutes later, Jessica caught me by surprise, as she lifted me up into her arms. She took me over to the couch and sat me in her lap. She had one of her baby bottles filled with my sister’s formula and removed the domed cap, pushing it towards my mouth, which I had closed. “Emmy,” Jessica said, looking disappointed. “Open your mouth. Be a good girl!” She pushed the nipple forward, which forced my mouth open. “Nghnn.” I said, my mouth full with the plastic nipple. “Ahnnn whnnn nhnn dhnnn…” But my mouth was already closed around the nipple as I began to drink the bottle. Why am I doing this? I was comfortably rested on Jessica’s lap while I mindlessly sucked the formula down, like I had no other choice. Yeah. It was good. It was…sweet. Why should I even try to fight it anymore? “I will not drink the formula…” I said, after letting out a loud burp. “You won’t?” Jesssica said in a teasing voice. “You just finished a bottle, Emmy. And don’t worry. There’s more. I have four more bottles with your name on them.” “No…” I said weakly. “I will not….” And yeah. I didn’t even bother to fight Jessica for the rest of the night. I was a good girl and I drank every one of the bottles she gave me. When I was halfway through the second bottle, I actually liked it. I smiled, enjoying every last drop of the delicious formula. And why did I ever think that Jessica was doing me a disservice? She was giving me the one thing that my mom said that I could never have. I think I snapped, as I showed no resistance sitting in Jessica’s lap and enjoying another bottle. It was good! And I looked forward to the last three bottles for the night. You guys, I was completely wrong about Jessica. How was it that she was messing up my life? She was only making it better as that sweet formula is so good. *burp* Excuse me… I was surprised at how late Erica slept, as she woke up from her nap a half hour later than usual. It was the usual poopy diaper. While I expected Jessica to ask me to help her, she didn’t this time. She handled everything like a pro. And with two bottles already down me, I was anxiously waiting for the third one. All this time I was in denial, trying to resist the formula that I craved. But Jessica will get it for me. I know she will. I rushed off to the bathroom with Jessica rushing behind me. “Where are you going, baby Emmy?” Jessica asked me. “To the bathroom,” I told her, pressing my hands on my crotch. “I really have to pee.” “Go ahead,” Jessica told me. “Use the potty like a big girl!” I nodded, hurriedly closing the door and rushing to the toilet. But the toilet was so big that I had to climb on top of it this time. I lifted up my dress and pulled my Cinderella underwear down, carefully stretching my legs on either side of the bowl, steading myself with both hands so that I wouldn’t fall through the seat. I heard the loud whistle of pee splashing against the inside of the porcelain bowl. Whew. That was close. I was awkwardly posed on the toilet, trying to keep my legs stretched wide enough so that I wouldn’t fall through the seat. If I were any smaller, this just wouldn’t work. After I finished peeing and performing my acrobatics on the toilet, I carefully shuffled both legs forward to get off the seat. I used some toilet paper and wiped before throwing both squares in and flushing. I now had another problem. How was I going to wash my hands? Frustrated with this predicament, I hoisted myself onto the counter and squirted a couple of globs of liquid soap in my hands before turning the sink on and washing them. OW! Too hot! I adjusted the temperature, making the water cold enough to not burn my hands. When I was done, I just shook my hands dry, as I didn’t want to even bother with the hand towel that was out of reach. When I returned to the living room, I saw it. Jessica was sitting there, with another bottle ready for me. See? Jessica delivers. I climb onto the couch and into Jessica’s lap as she fed me my third bottle. Jessica smiled as I drank down the bottle that she was holding. “I already gave Erica her bottle. She’s watching some Cocomelon so I can focus on feeding you. There we go. Good girl.” When dinner time came around, I didn’t even care that Jessica ate my TV dinner this time. That’s because Jessica gave me something better. Another bottle of baby formula, just for me. And it was so good. Thank you, Jessica! After Jessica gave Erica her bath, she got her ready for bed, following the same routine. This time, I knew to brush my teeth while Jessica brushed my little sister’s. But before I left the bathroom that time, Jessica pointed to the scale. “Emmy? Could you please step on the scale for me? There. It’s on.” I stepped on the scale, confused why Jessica needed to know my weight. Jessica studied the numbers as they appeared. “33.7 pounds. Thanks Emmy!” I got off the scale but froze when Jessica gave me further directions. “Go to your room. I am going to finish getting your sister ready for bed and I’ll be there in a little bit.” I did as I was told, knowing that Jessica was going to reward me with two more bottles. Why did I ever resist this? Afterall, I wanted to know what the baby formula tasted like. A bad girl? No mom. I am being a very good girl in doing every single thing that Jessica is telling me to do. I was about to take my Disney Cinderella underwear off, when Jessica entered the room. Wow. That was fast! I didn’t even get into my pajamas yet! Jessica was holding a plastic sack, with the two baby bottles in her other hand. Upon inspecting the sack, I noticed that it was a sack of Size 5 Huggies Overnites Diapers. What? I don’t wanna wear those! I didn’t even want to wear the nighttime Pull-Ups! “Why do you have diapers?” I asked her. “Mom got me the nighttime Pull-Ups.” Jessica nodded. “I know she did, Emmy. But you’re a baby. And babies wear diapers. Up you go. We’re going to borrow your sister’s changing table for this.” Jessica carried me in her arms as I began to pout. “No!” I cried. “I am not a baby! I don’t wanna wear those stupid diapers! C’mon Jess. You remember me? I’m a teenager! I’m 18 years old!” But Jessica gave me a smirk, clearly indicating that she had the upper hand. “No you’re not, Em.” Jessica said firmly. “You are a baby. What did that tag say on your dress? 3T? Yup. You’re a baby, Emmy. Plus, if you are a good girl, I will give you both of your bottles. How does that sound, Emmy baby?” My desire for those bottles far outweighed the humiliation and embarrassment of having to wear diapers again. “Okay,” I told her. “I’ll wear them.” “Good girl.” Jessica quietly entered my sister’s room and laid me on the changing table. She removed my underwear and tore the plastic off the sack, grabbing a fresh nighttime diaper. My face immediately blushed when I saw the diaper. I blushed even more when I saw myself laying on top of the open diaper. Then, my last bit of resistance kicked in. “But Jess” I argued. “Diapers are for babies! I am not a baby!” But Jessica ignored me as she folded the diaper between my legs and fastened both tapes, which sealed me into complete comfort. Fine. I guess this diaper isn’t so bad if I’m going to be able to have some more formula. Jessica quietly carried me out of the room in just my diaper and laid me on the floor in my room. She found a set of pink footed pajamas with a white unicorn on it and zipped me into them, securing the safety flap over the zipper. After that, she carried me to my bed and sat on it, while I rested in her lap. As I enjoyed the comfort of my best friend, Jessica got out her cell phone and opened the TikTok app. She loaded the TikTok that I made with her the first night this started. There I was, my 18-year-old self, drinking a baby bottle that Jessica handed to me. I made stupid baby sounds and smiled at the camera. Watching this really made me miss being an adult. “You see that, Emmy?” Jessica said, pointing to the TikTok. It just hit more than 20 million views! It’s gone viral!” Great. I made a viral video, but the ironic part is that I’m nowhere near the age of an adult anymore. So much for becoming a famous influencer… Seeing that video was more than I could bear, and I began to cry in Jessica’s lap. “I wanna be an adult again!” I wailed. “I wanna be a famous influencer… *sniff* *sniff* *sniff* *sob* My sobbing was quickly silenced when Jessica stuck the baby bottle in my mouth. I instinctually began to suck on it, enjoying the comfort and sweetness of that milk that went down my throat. The bottle was empty earlier than I wanted it to be, and I cried again. This time, it was because I wanted another bottle and I wanted it NOW. But my gratification was immediately satisfied as I felt the nipple of the other bottle being placed around my mouth. I sucked down the bottle, very thankful that Jessica was able to satisfy my need for my sister’s formula. Jessica smiled as I sucked away at the bottle. “Emmy baby, you’re making my lap warm. It’s a good thing that you’re in a thick diaper…” Jessica’s statement surprised me, as I was so relaxed that I didn’t even know that I was peeing. Well, I guess that I’m glad that I’m in something that is better than a nighttime Pull-Up. My stomach felt bloated by the time that I finished the second bottle. And my eyelids were very heavy. So heavy that I almost didn’t hear Jessica saying good night to me and kissing me on the forehead before turning out the light. I let out another burp, feeling the taste of baby formula fresh in my mouth. Yeah, the nightmare was continuing, but what can I do? Afterall, Jessica was actually the good girl. I was wrong. I closed my eyes, ready to be the bad girl again. 10. Toddler Terrors I howled in pain, my eyes flush with tears as I felt my body beginning to painfully rearrange itself again. CRRRRRRRRUNCH!!! CREAAAAAAAK! CRRUNCH! I bawled in my bed, enduring the inevitable transformation that I was experiencing. To my relief, this painful crunching of my bones only happened one other time before I woke up. I glanced at the alarm clock. 4:22 AM. It was still dark out, and the last of the bone pains were gone. But as I sat up, there was a wet spot in my footed sleeper. And…That’s weird. My footed sleeper felt just a little bit too big. I rolled out of bed, frightened by just how far I fell from just getting out of my bed. As I stood up, I could feel my bulging diaper begin to sag down my waist. And yeah. My diaper is now too big on me. Just a little bit too big. I paced forward towards my bathroom, feeling my diaper sag heavily around my crotch before I felt like my diaper almost sagged off of me. The only thing holding it in place was my footed sleeper. Due to the bulk of my soggy diaper, I waddled towards the bathroom door, which was fortunately open just a crack. I pushed it open to go and weigh myself. I waddle over to the scale and step on it. To my shock my weight for today was….28.9 pounds. I couldn’t believe it. Despite me putting my full weight on the scale, it’s telling me that I weigh less than 30 pounds. I didn’t even want to try to hoist myself onto the counter. First of all, it was dark in the bathroom and I could only see my weight on the scale because it lit up. The other problem was that the light switch was way too high for me to reach now. Instead, I walked back to my bed in frustration. “Cahtawiteon!” I said, gasping when I realized that I couldn’t say the sentence properly. Let’s see. I was four years old yesterday. Just how much younger could I be today?” “Agobaatobed.” I said out loud, my entire sentence all jumbled together in one word. When I returned to my bed, I realized the tip of my head just barely grazed over the top of it. I lunge at the bed and press my hands against the side, launching myself onto the enormous bed. I crawled across the expanse over to the pillow, where I crawled underneath the covers, feeling the squish of my heavily sagging diaper before I fell asleep. I was jolted awake by my mom, picking me up out of bed. “Oh, you were a naughty girl again!” My mom said, looking very disappointed again. But I shook my head in protest. “Nu! Ahgoogul!” My mom, understanding my slurred words, shook her head. “No Emmy. You are a very bad girl. You had more of that formula last night, didn’t you?” “Nuuuuuuu!” I said, realizing that I meant to say “I did”. My mom was also holding the measuring tape this time, and she shook her head. “Emmy honey, Jessica told me the whole story last night. While she was preparing your sister’s nighttime bottle, you grabbed an empty bottle and ran off with the formula. You then got onto the sink in the bathroom and began mixing the formula with water. When Jessica found you, you were sucking on a baby bottle and it was already empty. Bad Emmy! You are a bad girl!” “Ahnahbaagul!” I protested, with tears rolling down my eyes. My mom was now holding her hand next to my soggy diapered butt (that was covered by a slightly too big footed sleeper), ready to strike. “Emily Elizabeth Smith, tell mommy that you’re a bad girl or you’re going to get a spanking!” The feeling of terror of being spanked was far too much for me, so I relented and told my mom her version (or Jessica’s version) of the truth. “Ahbaagul!” I sobbed loudly. “Ahbaagul! Ahbaagul! Donspame mama. Pease mama. Pease!” Really, I meant to say mom, but saying “mama” felt almost automatic and easier to say in my mouth. My mom nodded. “You are a bad girl, Emmy. Now why are you a bad girl? Tell mommy.” “Ahtakfoamwah. Ahdwinkfoamwah. Ahbahgul mama….” Yes, I knew that it was all lies. I knew that Jessica actually fed me the formula. But my mom would never believe me, so I had to tell her a different version of the truth. The truth that Jessica told her instead. My mom then began patting me softly on the back. “You’re soaked, Emmy. It’s because you were naughty. But let’s not worry about that. We’re going to work through it, okay?” My mom swiftly unzipped my footed sleeper to find the soggy diaper which was just about to fall off me. She undid it and wadded it into a ball. “Jessica already told me about putting you in a diaper. It’s okay, honey.” My mom then carried me in my birthday suit to my ensuite bathroom, where she had me stand on the scale again. “Mama,” I said pointing at the scale. “Ahwadsafahweddie!” My mom nodded, looking surprised. “You did? Well, mommy’s going to weigh you again because you probably still had your pajamas and diaper on. Step on the scale, Emmy.” I stepped on the scale as my mother told me and I saw that the number was a little different. “27.4 pounds.” My mom said, nodding. My mom then got the measuring tape and had me stand against the wall, while she measured me from head to toe. “33 inches,” My mom said, giving me a decisive nod. “That’s 18–24-months clothing. You’re back in the terrible twos, Emmers. “Tawbultoos?” I said in my frustrating two-year-old voice. My mom sighed. “It will have to be 18–24-months clothing since you were still in diapers at two. Emmy, you were not even ready to potty train until you were almost three! But there’s one problem. I don’t have any diapers for you. Now it’s going to be a little tight, but I think that you can fit in one of your sister’s diapers.” I gasped. I couldn’t believe it but I was actually small enough to fit in my sister’s diapers. It wasn’t too long that I was changing her diapers and now they barely fit me? My mom gave me a bath like she did with my sister and got out some bath toys. “Be a good girl and play with your bath toys,” my mom told me. “I’m getting your two-year-old clothes from downstairs.” I nodded and began to play with my toys. Almost immediately, I felt a warm spot where I was playing. I spread the suds around my face and move the little tug boat around in the warm and sudsy water. I got lost in my playtime again. I don’t know what it is about the toys, but I feel a lot more happy with playing with them now. They used to bore me but now I can’t stop putting them down. It took a tap on the back of my neck from my mom to rouse me from the fun adventure that I was having with the tugboats. My mom was holding out some kind of pink dress. “It’s a pink floral flutter sunsuit,” My mom told me. “24 months, so it should fit you perfectly. And look Emmy! There are snap buttons around the crotch so mommy can change you easily!” My mom dried me off from my bath and wrapped me in a towel. She then carried me into Erica’s room and laid me on the changing table. And now, my mom is going to change my diapers again. Well, she already does it a lot with my sister so she’s probably very good at it. My mom laid me on a powdered size three Pampers Baby Dry and powdered me before folding the diaper between my legs. After she fastened both tapes…Yeah. I could definitely feel that the diaper barely fit me. “Ihtot mama!” I complained, pressing my hands around my waist. My mom sighed. “I know it’s tight, Emmy but we’re going right to the store to get you some Size 4’s. Those will fit you perfectly. Now, let mommy put on your sunsuit!” My mom put the sunsuit on me and snapped the crotch buttons over my diaper. The diaper felt tight, so I hope that my mom would get me the diapers soon. My mom prepared a Ziploc Bag full of Cherrio’s and yogurt bites and put them in what looked like a diaper bag. She filled two sippy cups with juice and added them to the diaper bag. She told my dad to watch Erica and that we were going to the store to buy me some diapers. When my dad saw how young I was, he nodded. He then gasped. “Wait! Eve! Is Emmy not wearing any diapers?” My mom nervously laughed. “She’s wearing one of Erica’s. It’s very tight on her so we need to be quick.” My mom sat me in my car seat and smiled. “I found your old diaper bag so we’re going to use it again. Now Emmy. Can you be a good girl for mommy today?” “Ahbegoogul.” I said, repeating the words the best that I knew how. “Ahbegoogul fomommy!” It didn’t take long for us to get to a store. My mom found a shopping cart in one of the corrals and wheeled it over outside the minivan. She unbuckled my car seat and carried me a short distance until she sat me in the child seat of the shopping cart. She buckled me in, handed me a sippy cup filled with apple juice, and pushed the cart into the store. This felt strange, as I couldn’t remember the last time I sat in the seat of a shopping cart. It didn’t take my mom too long to find the diaper aisle, where she plopped two massively large boxes of Size 4 Pampers diapers in the cart. Thankfully, I could still read. So it looked like one was baby dry and the other one was Swaddlers Overnights. My mom also piled a large box of baby wipes in the cart, along with a couple of tubes of Aquaphor, some butt paste, and three very large containers of baby powder. She also added a couple of containers of baby lotion for bedtime. As my mom was checking out, I saw droplets of pee dripping between my legs and onto the shopping cart. My mom immediately noticed this and gasped. “Oh no…” The moment that my mom checked everything out, she ran with the shopping cart and took it into a family restroom, which was thankfully vacant. My mom folds out the oval changing table in the wall, hoists me out of the shopping cart and sets me right on the changing table. She unsnaps the crotch buttons and opens my diaper quickly. She had to open one of the boxes of diapers and tear open one of the white plastic sleeves to get out a new Size 4 Baby Dry. She opens the box of wipes and takes out a smaller pack. She opens the pack and begins to quickly wipe me down. She opens up the powder and powders the new diaper. She quickly sits me on it and powders me before folding the diaper between my legs and quickly fastening it. She then snaps the crotch buttons back up. I immediately notice the difference in how much better the diaper fits me. I smile and glance at my mom. “Fanku mama!” My mom nodded and tossed the soaked Size 3 diaper in the trash. “You’re welcome Emmy. Now that was a little rough, but you made it rough, dear. Remember, you were not a good girl so mommy had to get you diapers at the last minute.” I nodded, and looked at my mom, longing for my adulthood again. “Cannabe bihgulghen?” My mom nodded. “If you are a good girl, then you will be a big girl again. But I can’t stress it enough, Emmy. No more formula. It’s for your little sister Erica, okay? Now can you be a good girl? If you can, then you’ll be a big girl again.” “Ahbeebihgul!” I shouted. The trip home felt a lot more pleasant, since I was in a diaper that actually fit me this time. To spare you the boredom, my Monday was like any other day. One key difference was that I didn’t have my Barbie dolls anymore since my mom wanted me to play with something more age appropriate. Since I was only two, I played with a lot of Lego Duplo blocks and made all kinds of creations. Oh yeah. And my mom, due to my most recent regression, enrolled me in a daycare that I would be attending in the fall. It would be the same daycare as Erica, so I would see her all the time. And after lunch that day, I felt very tired. And when I woke up, I found myself laying in my bed. I did not know how I got there. Did my mom carry me there? With that, I guess I need afternoon naps now. I also pooped after my nap so my mom changed me again. It wouldn’t be my only time, as I would be pooping three more times before bed. My mom, completely used to doing this with my sister, didn’t mind at all. So is this what it’s like? It felt very weird to be on the receiving end of the diaper changes, as I could very clearly remember changing my sister all the time. My bedtime was disappointing, as my mom gave me milk that tasted nothing like my sister’s baby formula. It didn’t have the same sweet taste that I was used to. It made being a two-year-old even more of a chore now. The rest of the week dragged on, with me growing more and more disappointed with each day. I missed the taste of the baby formula and I wanted it so bad now. I’m guessing that this is what a withdrawal feels like. It was the worst feeling in the world, as I so badly wanted to have some baby formula again. Now my mommy kept calling me a good girl for not having the formula, but that didn’t matter. I wanted to be a bad girl so I could have more. I wanted to be a naughty girl and drink all the baby formula that I wanted. Jessica let me do that, so I really miss her. What day was it again? Monday happened, and so did Tuesday, and Wednesday. While I was playing with my Lego Duplos before bedtime on Thursday, my mom did the usual routine in getting me ready for bed. This time, she gave me and Erica a bath at the same time. My mom brushed both our teeth and got us both into our nighttime diapers. She put us both in our footed sleepers and then my mom carried me…Wait mom. You’re going the wrong way! Why are you carrying me to my sister’s room? My question was answered when I saw not one, but two cribs sitting in my sister’s room. Why? Why is my mom having me sleep in a crib now? “Nahkib mama!” I said in a pouty voice. “Nahkib! Bihgulbed! Bihgulbed!” But my mom shook her head. “Emmy, that bed in your bedroom is way too big for you. Now daddy and I are trying to find you a smaller bed that’s just right for you. For now, we have your old crib set up in your sister’s room. Plus, you’re a roller Emmy, and we don’t want you to roll out of your queen bed and get hurt.” Before I had any other objections, my mom lifted me up into my crib and tucked me in. Well, it’s official. I’m now sleeping in a baby crib again. All because I wanted to try some baby formula? This is why all of this has happened to me. Whatever. I’m a bad girl. What was worst was that I had that same boring milk as the past two nights. While I was weirdly getting used to my diaper being changed, I was not used to going without my formula. It just wasn’t the same. Thursday came and went. Still no formula. I was getting more and more frustrated. And then Friday came around. Mom and dad looked like they were packing for some big trip. “Wehgoin mama?” I asked her in my innocent sounding toddler voice. My mom smiled. “Me and daddy are going to our lakeside cottage for the weekend. For you and Erica, I was able to get Jessica to watch you two again. She’s coming over in a couple of hours.” I nodded, and returned to playing with my Lego Duplo blocks, which was my new addiction. I mean, it surprised me just how easy it was for me to become fascinated with something. Could it be this smaller body and fresher brain that I have to work with? I do admit that my now shorter attention span does get frustrating at times. I lost track of time as I continued playing with my Lego Duplo blocks, deciding to make something special for my mom. DING!!!!!! DONG!!!!!! The way that door bell rang just jogged my memory so clearly. The babysitter was here. It was…Jessica. I smiled, and I can’t believe that I am saying this. Jessica was finally here and I just couldn’t wait to see her. 11. Babysitting…Me? The door opened and my mom kindly let Jessica in. Jessica stood there, holding a very bulky diaper bag, which I guessed had extra diapers for me and Erica. My mom spent the next 45 minutes discussing every single rule to Jessica. Fortunately, Jessica came right after my mom put Erica down for a nap, so she wasn’t interrupted once. My mom then turned to me. “Emmy? Listen to mommy. Mommy doesn’t want you having any of Erica’s formula. Now there’s milk for you to drink so have that instead. Now you’ve been a good girl this week so mommy wants you to continue to be on your best behavior. Now I know that you don’t like your crib but daddy and I will get you a smaller bed after this weekend. Be a good girl, and daddy and I will get you a very nice bed. Okay?” “Ahbeegudgul!” I said in another one of my one word sentences. Mom and dad both hug me and I’m guessing that they already hugged my sister before they gave her a nap. Both my mom and dad left, leaving me with Jessica, who I felt very happy to see for some reason. As I walked up to Jessica, I realized that the tip of my head was now up to her waist. Jessica was taller than ever, because I was just a little bit smaller than last time. Jessica scooped me up and gave me a giddy smile. “I missed you, Em. I really did. And do you know what? It’s very cute hearing you talk now. Now I babysat three different houses over the past four days. One family for Monday and Tuesday. The second family was Wednesday and the third family was yesterday. Guess what, Em? The first family that I watched had a nine-month-old boy, and the family had the same Similac 360 Total Care baby formula as this house did. And do you want to know the difference? The baby formula did nothing to the nine-month-old. And on Thursday, a three year old wanted to try her younger brother’s baby formula. Sound familiar? Well, I already took a dry measure of the baby formula from the first house and let little Andrea try it, just to see if she would like it. She had the whole thing and since I had to spend the night with the kids, I found Andrea to be the same age.” “So Emmy, I know that it just can’t be the formula. All I can guess is that your mom has done something to the mixture. Now can I make you a baby this time? I wonder how much formula I have to give you?” I began to happily skip up and down, as I desperately wanted the formula so bad. I missed it, and I just knew that Jessica was going to come through for me. “Foamwah!” I shouted. “Foamwah! Foamwah!” “How cute!” Jessica said with a smile. “Don’t worry, baby Emmy. Jess here has plenty of baby bottles, so you’re going to have a lot of formula to drink this weekend…” I joyfully smiled as I went right to work on building something special for Jessica. It was going to be for mom, but I had to change it since they were gone for the weekend. I was almost done with my Lego Duplo blocks when Jessica caught me by surprise again. She scooped me up, sat on the couch, and sat me in her lap. She immediately gave me the baby bottle and I desperately began to suck on it. Oh. How I missed it! That’s the flavor that I missed. The sweet notes running all over my tongue and down my throat. It was much better than that boring milk that my mom gave me. “Good girl,” Jessica praised as she watched me gulp down my first bottle. “Are you ready for the second one?” I nodded, and found another nipple around my mouth. I began the next bottle and smiled. Yes, I lost it. Yes, I lost everything. But for the formula, it was worth it. I will be a naughty girl if I can have another bottle. Yes mom, you told me not to have it, but it’s okay. Jessica is feeding it to me and you put her in charge, right? I burped loudly as I finished the second bottle. After that, Jessica watched me play with my Lego Duplos. “Whacha making, Emmy?” Jessica said with a smile. “Sahfin fohyu!” I said, in a shy and reserved voice. “For me?” Jessica said smiling. “Well, I’m going to let you work on that and I’m going to check on your sister, okay?” “Otay!” I lost track of time. I finished making my special Duplo figure for Jessica and moved on to my next project. In fact, my attention span wasn’t enough to finish another one. I was nudged by another bottle in my face. I was now in Jessica’s lap again, enjoying another bottle of baby formula. I never thought that my best friend would end up being my babysitter. But she was good. She always knew what I needed and unlike mom, she always gave me the formula. Jessica then changed both me and my sister before getting dinner ready. What made it funny was that both me and my sister both had poopy diapers for her to change. Jessica didn’t mind at all but found it funny herself. And what I meant by getting dinner ready, Jessica cooked my dinner, but ate it herself. I enjoyed another bottle filled with baby formula. And then, before she got both me and Erica ready for our baths, I enjoyed another bottle. But then I saw Jessica’s other hand and found that she was also feeding my sister a bottle at the same time as me. It felt weird, but I was very close to being like my little sister. After that, Jessica gave both me and Erica a bath. My sister splashed me a lot and I splashed her back. This made her giggle and I giggled with her. After that, Jessica brushed our teeth, put both of us in our nighttime diapers, snapped us both into our onesies, and put each of us in our cribs. I was just about to fall asleep when Jessica lifted me out of my crib. She was holding a baby bottle filled with my sister’s baby formula. She quietly took me into my old room, which still had my queen size bed set up. My eyes flickered as I sat in Jessica’s lap on the bed, sucking on a new baby bottle and smiling. “Good girl.” Jessica praised, as she watched me drink down the milk. “Very soon, baby Emmy. Very soon. You will be a baby. You will be…my baby. My baby to watch whenever I babysit.” I didn’t even realize that I was drinking my second bottle when I was starting to burp. Jessica also told me how warm her lap felt again, or something like that. I think I managed to drink the last of it, as I heard the words “Good girl” before I fell asleep in Jessica’s lap. CRACK!!!! CRRRREAK! CRACK!! Owwwwww! I woke up, wailing loudly this time. This also woke Erica up, who was also wailing with me. I hoped that the pain in my bones was the last pain that I felt. Jessica came running inside, in just a white nightgown. “Kiki! Emmy! What’s wrong?” As I glanced at the crib, I could already tell what was wrong. Well, first of all, my onesie is a little too big. And while my diaper still fits, I’m very wet. Jessica placed a pacifier in my sister’s mouth and started with me. She lifted me out of the crib and immediately checked my diaper. “You’re about to leak, and…that’s strange. Your Onesie looks a little big on you, kiddo!” Ya think? Jess, my mom is a packrat and has more of my baby clothes downstairs. “Stawrs.” I said, pointing down. “Staaawrs…” Jessica looked confused. “Stars? Yes Emmy. There are stars in the sky. But you’re pointing down….” “Staaaawrs.” I repeated, hoping that Jessica would understand what I’m saying. Jessica gasped. “Stairs? Do you want me to go downstairs? Are there clothes down there?” “Yaa!” I shouted, giving her a cute smile. “Okay,” Jessica told me. “But first, I’m going to take care of your sister quickly. On second thought, why don’t I get you into a new diaper first?” Jessica removed my saturated diaper, cleaned me with wipes, powdered me, and changed me into another nighttime diaper. She then sat me down in nothing but my diaper while she tended to Erica. It didn’t take Jessica very long to take care of Erica. She changed her into a new diaper, rocked Erica back and forth, and she was back to sleep once again. Jessica then pointed outside my room after she placed Erica back in her crib. “Baby Emmy, go to your old room. I will be back with your clothes.” I shook my head. “Mehdah! Mehdah!” Sighing in my mind, I placed one hand at my head and the other at my feet. Jessica looked at me, studying where my hands were. “Are you trying to say measure, Emmy? That would make more sense so I can get the right size. Does your mommy or daddy have a tape measure?” “Behdoom!” I said. “Bedroom!” Jessica gasped. “Okay. I’ll get the tape measure and measure you. And how about we go into their bathroom to weigh you as well? Because you do look a little younger, Emmy baby…” Jessica carried me all the way to my mom and dad’s room and got the tape measure. “Stand against the wall,” she ordered. I stood against the wall, while Jessica measured me from head to toe. “You are…” Jessica read. “30.5 inches. Now step on the scale in the bathroom.” We entered the bathroom and I stood on the scale, while Jessica glanced at the numbers. “23.7 pounds.” Jessica read. “Okay Emmy. Now let me look these numbers up on my phone. I’m gonna google it. Jessica got her phone and googled the numbers. “It’s saying 18 months, Em.” Jessica told me. “I’m going to find your 18-months clothing downstairs. Wait in your old room. Okay?” I still had the mind of an adult, so I nodded and followed directions. I entered my old bedroom, which still had the door open a crack. I walked over to my bed, which seemed to be even higher than before. I looked around to find that Jessica was using my old room to spend the weekend in since I was sleeping in my own crib in Erica’s room. I somehow managed to climb onto the enormous bed. My diaper crinkled as I landed on top of the comforter, which I was surprised that Jessica kept very well made, despite her sleeping in it. I was half asleep when I heard the sound of the door creaking open. Jessica laughed. “Did you know that your mom has a tote for each month? 24 months, 18 months, 12 months, 6 months, 0-6 months. Wow. Doesn’t she ever throw anything away? Well, it’s good that she doesn’t because I found your 18-month clothing. It should fit you perfect, Emmy baby.” Jessica found an almost identical onesie that was 18 months and snapped me into it. Yeah. This fits a lot better. Jessica then laid me back on the queen size bed and smiled. “Wow. So even after all that formula I gave you, you only went down six months? Well, you’re just about there. I’ll be right back, baby Emmy.” I nodded, and found myself nodding off a little bit. I woke up being plopped into Jessica’s lap, with another baby bottle being stuck in my mouth. Thanks Jess. I needed this. I couldn’t even remember drinking the whole bottle, but I fell asleep before I could even finish it. Then I heard a whisper. “Wow. I can’t believe that baby Emmy finished drinking that bottle in her sleep.” Really? Now that Jessica mentioned it, I think I was only half awake when I finished drinking that bottle. I was in my crib again and I squinted my eyes shut. I woke up being hoisted up by Jessica. To my relief, there was no other bone pain for the rest of the night. The first thing that Jessica did was measure me only to find that I had the same measurements as last night. During the very next day, Jessica did a good job taking care of me and Erica. She changed both our diapers in the morning and fed me my morning bottle of baby formula. She did the same with Erica, feeding us our own bottles at the same time (only Erica had my mom’s bottles and my bottles were Jessica’s very own supply, except for the formula). And yeah. I wish that I could tell you anything more exciting that happened that day. It was all routine. Jessica regularly fed me my bottles and, oh yeah. After lunch Jessica put both me and Erica in our cribs and we took our naps. I needed mine badly since I found myself getting very tired after lunch. And after our naps, Jessica changed our diapers and fed both me and Erica our bottles (I loved this part). During the afternoon, I played with my Lego Duplos only to find myself getting a little bored with them. I started to find the toys that Erica was playing with a lot more fun, so I joined her in stacking blocks and colorful rings. Jessica even put on a Cocomelon video for me and Erica, which I started to like a lot. A little later in the afternoon, Erica needed her nap, so Jessica took her upstairs and placed her in her crib. I knew exactly what Jessica was going to do when she came back downstairs so I sat in the couch, ready for Jessica. Jessica went to the kitchen and came back with another baby bottle filled with baby formula. She sat on the couch and sat me in her lap. She tilted the bottle into my mouth and I drank down the sweet formula. I then went back to playing with Erica’s toys, which were becoming my toys more and more by the hour. And I couldn’t believe it. It was already dinnertime again. Jessica changed both me and Erica before dinner and then it was dinnertime for me. I drank another bottle of formula, while Jessica ate my dinner that I was supposed to have. I didn’t mind, as I found the formula to be more appetizing. And before bathtime, Jessica was duel feeding. She fed me with one bottle in her one hand while she fed Erica with another bottle in the other hand. And wow. Bathtime was fun. Both me and Erica kept splashing each other, which Jessica had to stop us from doing. I’m sorry Jess, but it was just too much fun! Jessica brushed our teeth, put us into our nighttime diapers and snapped us into our onesies. While Jessica placed Erica into her crib, she carried me to my old bedroom. Jessica plopped me on my bed and smiled. “We’re almost there, baby Emmy. I don’t know how much younger you are going to get, but you’re very close to becoming a baby. Very close to becoming…my baby Emmy. Don’t you just want to be my baby forever?” I gasped. Forever? That is, never ever reach adulthood again? I don’t think I like the sound of that. “Nahhh…” I said, with a few tears rolling out of my eyes. “Let it all out, baby Emmy.” Jessica told me. “Because that’s what babies do. They cry. And that’s all you’ll be able to do soon. But don’t you worry, Emmy. I will take care of you! Now I will be back with your nighttime baba.” “Don….” I said, with a desperate look on my face. As much as I enjoyed the formula, I didn’t want to be a baby forever. No. That was never what I wanted. I don’t know what it was, but I felt tired again. But before I knew it, I was sitting in Jessica’s lap again. “Drink up, Emmy.” Jessica said, tilting the bottle towards my mouth. “Nahhh…” I said, now starting to sob. “Oh, my little baby!” Jessica smiled. “You are going to be okay. Here. It’s going to be okay.” If I was anymore alert, I would push the bottle away. But instead, I found the nipple around my mouth and I began to suck on it again. “Good girl,” Jessica whispered, her voice sounding syrupy sweet. “Drink every last drop. You don’t have much longer to go, Emmy. You will be my baby forever…” Jessica opened her TikTok app again and smiled. “50 million, Em. Too bad you can’t be an influencer anymore, huh? It’s okay. Because you get to be my baby. Sweet dreams, baby Emmy…” Like last night, I was half asleep when I finished the last bit of the bottle. I was now in my crib again, where Jessica gave me a soft kiss on the forehead. “Good night, Emmy baby.” I closed my eyes and entered a very peaceful sleep. CRRRRRRUNCH!!!!!!!! CREAK! CRRRUNCH!!! This time, I immediately wailed upon feeling that pain in my bones. This also woke Erica up. In seconds, Jessica ran in wearing a pink nightgown. She popped a pacifier in Erica’s mouth and then carefully studied me. Jessica gasped. “It finally happened! I can see it! Your face looks so CUTE!” I glanced at Jessica and began to make some babbling sounds. Did she get any of that? Oh no! I can’t talk anymore! Jessica lifted me up out of my crib and smiled. “Oh, you feel a lot lighter, Emmy baby. But let’s measure you after I get your sister back to sleep.” Jessica did her routine with Erica and quickly got her back to sleep. I was trying to stand up, but I found my legs wobbling and I couldn’t always keep my balance. “IIhbllbllb…” I babbled. “Uh oh!” Jessica said as she saw me lose my balance. “Here, baby Emmy. Let’s get you to your old room and I will measure you.” Even though it was almost morning, I was still drowsy as Jessica carried me to my old room. Jessica then glanced at the wall. “Emmy, I want you to stand.” I tried standing, but my legs wobbled too violently, which made me lose my balance again. “Urlllh.” I grunted. Jessica nodded. “Oh. That’s right. You haven’t even learned to walk yet. Here. Lay down and I’ll measure you.” I laid down and Jessica measured me from head to toe. “Wow Em. 4 more inches in one day. You are 26.5 inches. Now I’m going to help you stand so we can get your weight.” Jessica steadied my legs while I stood on the scale. “19.7 pounds.” Jessica gasped. “I just weighed Erica the other day, and she’s a little more than 20 pounds. I think you’re the same age, Em. So guess what. TWINZIES!!!!” Great. Now that I’m the same age as my sister, I have to share all her clothes now? Jessica glanced at my diaper, which looked a little too big and shook her head. “And you know what baby Emmy? That also means that your Size 4’s are too big on you. Your sister’s size 3’s should fit you perfect now!” Interesting. I can remember those same diapers being too tight on me. And now they’re going to fit perfect. My, how the tides have changed. The day was pretty much a blur, but Jessica still had us until the evening when my parents would be coming back. One thing that I noticed right away was how much she dialed back my bottle-feeding schedule. I am guessing that she let off on this since I guess I’m finally “her baby”. I don’t know if I like the sound of that, as I would like to be an adult again. Could mom help me with this? Throughout that whole day, my feeding schedule matched my sister Erica’s to a tee. Jessica made sure that everything was synchronized. She changed our diapers at the same time. We took our naps at the same time. And *yawn* Yeah. I even needed that afternoon nap that my sister always took. As Jessica took me upstairs for my afternoon nap, she smiled at me. “So isn’t it great, my baby?” Jessica said with a smirk. “We can have fun like this again and again and you will be my baby forever!” At this, I began to wail. NO! I don’t want to be a baby forever! I don’t want to be YOUR baby forever! But Jessica just smiled at me again. “Oh, wittle Emmy is cranky because she needs her nap! Get your nap, baby Emmy. You will feel better when you get up. Sweet dreams.” And with that, Jessica gave me a kiss on my forehead before I fell asleep, as my diaper started to get warm. I was now feeling well rested again, but I was now sitting in my mother’s lap, with Jessica sitting right next to me. My mom once again sighed when she stared at me. “Emmy, you were a bad girl again.” Jessica sighed. “Emmy was. The little rascal ran off with the formula while I was in the middle of making Erica’s bottle!” I glared at Jessica. That’s not true! You fed it to me! “Blllbblllbababehbehbeh…” I babbled, trying to tell my mom the truth. My mom sighed. “Emmy, you should not have run off with your sister’s formula. Just look at you! You can’t even speak a word!” “Mama!” I shouted, which was the only word that I could intelligibly say. “Mamamamamamamamama…” My mom gently patted me on the back. “You did this to yourself, Emmy. Mommy still loves you. Mommy is still going to take care of you, okay? Now you are a bad girl, and you have to pay for all your mistakes.” Jessica nodded. “Yeah. She will, Mrs. Smith. That Emily’s always getting into trouble and now she’s a helpless baby!” My mom nodded. “Yes she is. But I can take it from here if you want to go home. Your babysitting pay is in the envelope. Thank you for watching her. You are a good babysitter.” Jessica nodded. “Thanks Mrs. Smith. Bye Emmy! I’ll see you hopefully soon!” Jessica left, leaving me with mom, dad, and my sister Erica, who was playing in her playpen. My mom sighed. “Emmy, what am I going to do with you? You were a bad girl. But don’t worry. Mommy’s going to make it work.” I joined my sister and played with her. Just before bath time, my mom began to feed my sister her baby bottle filled with her formula. I began to whimper, as I really wanted to have that formula. I craved it, and now that Jessica is gone, my mom was going to give me my stupid milk. But then, when my sister was done, I crawled back towards the playpen. “Emmy, don’t you want yours?” I gasped. What? My mom is actually going to give me the formula now? My mom sat me in her lap and she stuck the baby bottle in my mouth. I began to drink the bottle down, enjoying that sweet baby formula. “You were a bad girl, Emmy.” My mom told me. “So, guess what? Since you like that formula so much, I’m going to start feeding it to you like I’m feeding it to Erica. And when Jessica comes over again, she will need to follow the same schedule with you.” I wish that mom could see the laughter in my mind. That’s what Jessica has been doing the whole time! I’m sure that Jessica won’t have a problem with that rule! I joyfully continued drinking the baby formula, enjoying it down to the very last drop. Epilogue It was a rather quiet Monday afternoon when Eve Smith decided to take her daughters out for a peaceful stroll in the park. Afterall, she just bought a brand new Graco double stroller and she found the occasion right to test the stroller out. To let her daughters sleep while she calmly pushed the stroller through the sun dappled path lined with trees and various flowers in bloom. Eve smiled when she thought of her husband Adam, who was hard at work on another invention. Afterall, they have found success in various different experiments throughout the years. Eve found a park bench and sat down to rest her feet. She was glad that she made the trek out to the park, as she needed the exercise, and her girls needed the rest. Afterall, this stroll was during their naptime so it was perfect. A young woman pushing a single stroller approached Eve, gasping when she saw the double stroller. “Taking your little ones outside?” The woman asked eve. “I’m Katie, and I’m taking Sharon outside to get some fresh air.” Eve nodded. “Yes. Fresh air is good for them. Your Sharon. How old is she?” Katie smiled. “Sharon is almost 18 months. How about your little ones?” Eve smiled. “Oh. Them. The one in the front is Erica. The one further back is Emmy. They’re both 10 months old and they’re twins.” What Eve didn’t realize was that a little face gave her a look of resentment. What Eve also didn’t realize was that Emmy was actually awake and she was hearing the entire conversation. And if Emmy was still capable of speech, she would’ve shouted with “Mom, how could you! That’s a lie!” But all Emmy could do was project her anger at her mother while she pretended to sleep. Emmy knew that her sister was sleeping for real and that her behavior was more typical of an actual 10-month-old. Emmy on the other hand, felt like an adult trapped in an infant’s body. An infant that just couldn’t walk yet. “Twins?” Katie gasped. “Amazing. Well, Eve, I need to keep going. I hope our paths cross again.” Eve nodded, while Katie passed her, wheeling Sharon in her stroller. When Katie was out of sight, Eve glanced at the stroller. She especially glanced at Emmy, who she hoped was sleeping. “I hope that both you girls are having a good sleep.” Emmy used this opportunity to squint her eyes open. Eve smiled as she saw her daughter open her eyes, which she hoped was from a restful nap. “Well Emmy, whether you are asleep or not, I wanted to say again that you were a naughty girl. And Emmy, you were not the only naughty one. Erica too was naughty. And guess what? You both used to have a brother! Erica was supposed to watch Ethan, but she did a very naughty thing. Do you know what, Emmy? Erica was like you. She loved the formula. She couldn’t get enough of it. But it was only supposed to be for Ethan. I wanted Ethan to always be my little boy. Emmy, Erica too was a teenager. She was supposed to watch Ethan. I leave her with Ethan all weekend and what happens? I find Erica as just a five-year-old and Ethan? What happened to him? Ethan was a newborn and was dead. Erica gave Ethan too much of the formula. He was supposed to remain an infant, but she made a mistake. And where do you enter the picture? When I was pregnant with you, I decided that as a punishment, Erica was going to be my replacement for Ethan. She would always be my little girl. And Emmy, I really wanted you to grow up and take care of Erica with me. But what do you do? You make the same mistake as Erica. You crave the formula and keep having more and more of it. And now, Emmy, you have also reaped your punishment. I have decided that you two will always be my little girls. Be good girls and keep drinking the formula. And I will keep taking care of you.” At this point, Emmy wished that she could speak, but all she could do was wail. Eve sighed, and began to rock Emmy back and forth. “Emmy, it’s going to be okay. Just like it was with Erica, it will be okay with you too. Both of you girls were very naughty. But it’s okay! Mommy will make it work, okay?” Eve then got out Emmy’s phone and loaded TikTok. “Emmy, you are a naughty girl. Why did you make this? There’s a TikTok of you grabbing a bottle from Jessica and drinking it. There’s over 70 million views! But guess what? Mommy’s going to delete that naughty thing!” And just like that, Eve deleted the viral TikTok that Emmy and Jessica made. Gone was the TikTok where Emmy tried the formula for the first time. Gone was the laughter and funny antics. But one thing was clear to Emmy. What wasn’t gone was the reality that Emmy was now an infant with her sister. Emmy wished that she could just erase everything that she did like her mother did with the TikTok. Then everything would be better. Then, if Emmy would’ve been a good girl, she would’ve been able to keep her adulthood. But all that was lost now. “It’s okay, Emmers.” Eve reassured her baby daughter. “It’s all deleted so mommy made it better. What’s done is done, Emmy. Just like it is with Erica. You will always be my little girls and mommy is going to keep you happy. Just keep drinking the formula, will you, my dearies?” Eve placed Emmy back in her stroller and left the park bench. She left the park, ready to continue to care for the two daughters that she loved.

Katie Ann What do you do when you look 7 years old, but you're actually a college student in your late teens? For Kathleen's entire life, she had fought against people treating her much younger than her actual age. Feeling obligated to grow up fast to show people she wasn't the age of her size, Kathleen never let her inner child out. Tired of fighting against the world, she explores the adult submissive world. What she finds, however, is an enjoyment of regression. Had she made a mistake? Would life be better if she just let people treat her how she looks, 7 years old? By Becky Anne ©2018-2024 ~o~O~o~ Chapter One: The Website Nineteen-year-old Kathleen sat staring at her laptop, working on the courage to create an account and profile on the website she just found. She had found this website after taking out her frustrations on the Google search engine. Frustrations she acquired by rage quitting her multiplayer roleplayer game. Baron, her master in the game, turned out to be like most guys she has met online, only wanting sex, cybersex in Baron’s case. Submissive Match, the name of the website, kept staring at her from her purple laptop. It was distracting her from figuring out what she needed to acquire for her return to Mountain College. Not realizing she was doing it, she clicked the yellow create account button. Moving some of her auburn hair out of her view, she flipped back to her list of supplies needed for her return to college next month. “Hmm, most of these things I already have…” she thought. “Oh, I better buy some more notebooks. While I am at it, I will buy that new book by Percy Jackson, ‘Sea of Monsters.’” “It is too bad that Stephanie had financial aid issues. I wonder how this Allison is? Is she going to have a problem with a college roommate who is short enough to be her little sister?” She continued to herself as she looked at her roommate's information pamphlet. Flipping back to the website, “Let's see what they want… I am a submissive… oh, that pulls up a whole new form… some of the standard stuff … Kathleen … Why do they want my middle name … Annabelle Telgenhof … March 16, 1987… I guess the owner's choice for a submissive name … Email… Don’t send me spam from your sponsors… Don’t share my email with suggested owners... Password… I am not sure why they want this information… Weight… 55 pounds soaking wet… Height ... 4’5” rounded up... their selection doesn’t even go that small. I guess I have to choose less than 5’... Location… Pennsylvania… I guess I am looking for an online owner. Oh, what the hell, an offline owner, too... Let’s see, a short questionnaire, a short description, and a recent picture will finish it off.” Looking at the time, “Wowser, that took longer than I thought it would,” Kathleen thought as she put her laptop to sleep. She meets her mother, Marlene, in the kitchen after walking out of her bedroom. “Hello, sweetie. Do you want some ice cream?” Marlene asked as she was scooping into a bowl. “You know I can never turn down cookie dough, Mommie.” "We can watch AFHV as we eat it.” “Sounds like a plan.” “What are your plans for tomorrow while I am at school?” “I told them I would do some volunteering at the zoo since time is getting short until my return to college. I need to stop for college supplies before or after; I just hope I don’t get pulled over for underage driving this time,” Kathleen mentioned. “That still happening?” Her mother asked. “Usually once a week, Mommie.” “Not much we can do about that, unfortunately, sweetie, except for you to grow a few inches,” Marlene pointed out. “Or afoot? Neither an inch nor a foot is going to happen, Mother. That ship sailed ages ago,” Kathleen said crossly, turning her eyes towards the TV. Marlene nodded and watched the television in silence. ~o~O~o~ Rolling out of bed at about 7 o’clock the following day, Kathleen booted up her laptop as she got dressed and ready for a day of volunteering. Coming back to the computer, she started her everyday morning computer habits, email, MySpace, Yahoo Messenger, and a few websites… before logging on to Submissive Match. “Let's see if I got any hits from my profile.” She discovered after she was finally logged in that there were three messages waiting for her. Looking at the first, “Eww, I really didn’t need to see that guy’s dick, this might of been a big mistake. … Oh, there is an ignore feature, thank god.” “Here goes nothing for the second, … interesting name… I seriously doubt his name is really Beast…” “Hello, Little Girl, you’re just the kind of young girl I would really like to meet. You would be perfect kneeling in front of me …” Other than the nickname for herself and himself, this guy isn’t too bad so far, Kathleen thought. “... with my legs spread wide open, and pants zipper down …” “EEEWWW,” Kathleen said out loud, “Spoke too soon!” and she couldn’t click the ignore button fast enough. Leaving the third message for later, she went to get a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Looking at the time, “I will have to leave the third message and college supplies ‘til after the zoo.” ~o~O~o~ “Hello Kathleen, thank you for coming. Why don’t you take the hedgehog and sit down on a bench just inside the entrance to the zoo? You should get plenty of exposure there,” Mr. Cooper, the zoo’s volunteer coordinator, instructed while thinking to himself about that also places her in a place where we can watch her. I am always worried she may be kidnapped, being so small and easy to be confused with an actual grade school kid. Kathleen nodded and headed to where the educational animals were kept. Continuing the thoughts, Mark took a memory trip back five years. “I first told her she was too young to volunteer. She had to be 14. I could have sworn it was a five or six-year-old asking to volunteer. I am kind of glad she pleaded her case and produced proof of age since she has been one of my best teenage volunteers.” He continued to himself, “I will never tell her, but that outfit is custom-ordered for her. I also purposely took the tags off to hide the fact that it is a size 7/8 girls' polo shirt.” Looking out of his office window towards the entrance plaza that it overlooked, he noticed Kathleen was setting up right where he requested her to. “I have never discussed it with her, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she were self-conscious about her height. I would be if I were her,” he thought before returning back to his volunteer hours spreadsheet. ~o~O~o~ “Riiinnnggg” “Susquehanna Valley Zoo, Volunteer department, Mark speaking, how can I help you?” … “How old is your daughter?” … “Sorry, she is a few years too young. She has to be 14 to volunteer.” … “The one with a hedgehog today? She is actually 19 years old.” … “Unfortunately, a common misunderstanding with her. Have your daughter give me a call in a couple of years.” … “Talk to them then.” Hanging up the phone, he looked out the window at the object of the confusion. A group of grade school kids currently surrounded her. The only thing that set her apart from the other kids was the green polo shirt, which signified that she was a volunteer. ~o~O~o~ “OK, Mr. Cooper, I have returned the hedgehog to the education department.” “Thank you, Kathleen, five hours today?” Mark said, looking at the clock. “What was your driving time?” he continued. “Yes, that is correct, and it takes me twenty minutes each way to get here.” “When do I expect you back?” “Unless you have a better idea, I should return Wednesday at the opening,” Kathleen said, thinking of her plans. She had agreed to go out with some high school friends tomorrow. “Works for me. When do you return to college?” “My parents and I are going in a convoy next month, August 13th.” “You will be missed again this year.” “Aww, I will be back again next year,” Kathleen said as she felt her face color up. Showing her to the door, Mark turned his attention to entering Kathleen’s hours in his spreadsheet. “That girl is the closest thing to a little girl I would ever have. I can’t seem to produce the required X chromosome for a girl,” he thought, thinking of his three boys currently in daycare. Meanwhile, Kathleen started driving to a bookstore to buy her prize book and required school supplies. Seeing a cop tailgating her in her rearview mirror, she checked her speed. Noticing she was actually under the speed limit, she thought, “Not again. Can I ever drive without being pulled over for underage driving?” After five minutes and no lights, she wondered what was taking him so long to pull her over. Five more minutes later, the cop slowed and made a U-turn. Kathleen thought that was strange. He tailed me and didn’t pull me over. ~o~O~o~ Pulling into the driveway, she couldn’t get in the house fast enough to check that third message that had been calling her all day. After booting up her laptop, she went to the kitchen to get a glass of peach tea. “Let's see,” Kathleen said, entering her details on the website. “Oh, two new messages. I must have received another today.” Opening up the first message, the third from this morning, she began to read it out loud, “Dear Buttercup, I was inspecting the new profiles and happened to notice yours. I am intrigued by your profile, and I hope to hear from you. Master Adam” “Well, that was short to the point and not creepy,” Kathleen said, going to the second message... “Not another dick picture,” Kathleen screamed, going to the ignore button. After returning to Master Adam’s message, she checked out his profile. “Adam Dale, 25 years old, Pennsylvania, Looking for online/offline submissive, oh he isn’t bad looking.” Hitting the reply button, she typed, using the submissive name he gave her, “Dear Sir, Buttercup is intrigued by your profile too and interested in communicating with you. I am not sure how to go about the next step. - Buttercup.” Putting her computer to sleep, she went into the living room to watch some television. ~o~O~o~ Author's Note: Comments, and questions are always welcomed. I am currently writing chapter 69 of this story. -- Thanks Becky