Lorelai hovered at the window, her fingertips trailing the weathered frame. The glass, fractured from too many visits, shimmered in the half-light, like Durg silk spun from memory.
She should have someone repaint it.
But she liked the imperfection—the story it told.
Soft and cool wind threaded through her hair as the lock gave way with a click. She leaned into it, savouring the quiet, the breath of freedom it offered.
Her father had known about this little escape. He never said anything, just gave her that look. He understood. She wasn't ready to settle. Not for him. Not for anyone.
But hells, she didn't want to go to that ceremony.
To stand under a thousand judging eyes, feel the weight of her mother's legacy pressing against her spine like a slick dagger. Let them whisper, compare, and dissect. Let them decide who she was before she even stepped into the room.
She barely heard the window creak—
Before something seized her.
Arms. Thick. Heavy.
A steel cage crushing the breath from her throat.
"Missed you," said Tanner.
He lifted, and she squealed as her feet rose into the air.
"Wha— " she said.
Her breath hitched, her horns knocking against his chest as he lifted her like she weighed nothing.
Her mind scrambled, firing on all cylinders.
"Don't surprise me." She yelped.
The Theri man squeezed harder, his love choking her as she thrashed in his grip.
"Let me down," she wheezed, starting to feel dizzy. All the blood rushed to her horns as she was in almost a takedown move, her hand frantically tapping out as even her dress wanted a go at flipping. "Tanner!"
"That's me," he said, still grinning.
She glowered at him. "I will bite you if you don't put me down!"
His smile faded, and he plopped her back on her feet like a good semi-obedient pup.
"Blue today, huh?" He giggled.
She pulled her dress down and gave him a look. In return, he replied with that annoying grin.
"What, you were practically flashing me." He said.
"I thought I said I don't like hugs," she huffed.
"Are we really arguing right off the bat? I don't think you understand how cute you are."
She clicked her jaw at that. She ought to stab him and say, You didn't understand the word no.
Lorelai sighed. It was next to impossible to speak about anything but skinship and prodding her insides with him. Was soft and gentle hard to ask for?
She eyed his greasy smile, a sight that seemed fixed on one thing, how he could screw her. She never let him, but then again, why did she even keep him around? She clearly didn't feel the same.
"Are you done sulking?" Tanner sighed, like she was the problem.
"You get so emotional over nothing."
She bit her lip. Oh, if she could say what she really thought—she'd shred that meathead.
"I'm not sulking," she said dryly. "I'm telling you, it makes me uncomfor— "
She yelped as a hand slapped her ass, his fucking fingers ignoring everything she said.
"So today's the day, huh? You're now an adult, one hundred and eighty years old. How about we do… adult things?"
She slapped her tail around his wrist and twisted. "I told you," she growled,
"Ah, stop—" he cried, "It was a jok—"
She bared her fangs, "Jokes tend to be funny. Asshole."
And with a final twist of his fingers,
"Fine, sorry, I won't do it again." He cried.
She hissed, then let go.
"Good." She said.
Tanner cradled his fingers, huffing and puffing as if she had ripped out his heart or something. Although she lingered for a moment, she might end things sooner. She was already having doubts, and staying only led him on. Yet, it was so lovely at times, especially at the beginning. But still…
"Most girls lose it by a hundred. You planning to become one of those four-hundred-year-old dust bats?" He grinned, but his eyes darkened. "Come on. Don't make me wait forever, Lore."
She scowled at him, her lips ready to call in the best weapon she had. Her father would skin this man without a doubt. But did she want to be that kind of princess? Did she want to be little old Lorelai forever?
"So what," she said. "I do what I want. I'm a princess; I can have whatever man I want. Just let me remind you who I am. And who… " She felt a bitter taste just attempting to say it, "who my father is."
Tanner huffed, "Daddy's little girl. Wake up; you're becoming an adult today. I suggest you act like one."
"I could ask the same of you," she said, sharper than intended. "Now get. I have to get dressed."
Tanner didn't move.
She turned, fiddled at her table, pretending to search for something—powder, jewelry, anything to make it clear she wanted space. Silence stretched. She caught his reflection in the mirror. Still there. Still watching. His presence felt like fog creeping under a locked door.
Just leave, she thought. Take the hint.
But he didn't.
She dabbed her face, trying to channel calm—like her father at those damned war tables. Composed. Unshakable. But her tail curled tight around her thigh. Her fingers tapped at powders she'd already applied twice. She'd have to unrobe soon.
Still, he stayed.
Her breath caught. That heat rising in her chest—it wasn't embarrassment. It was something else. Something—
She smelled sweat. Copper. Felt a phantom hand clamped on her wrist—tight, unyielding. Her heart cinched shut.
A flicker of panic she couldn't name. Her skin itched like it remembered something her mind refused to.
The room flickered.
Warm candlelight—creeping of sight.
A whisper of memory.
She knew it wasn't there, she knew it wasn't real, a dream, a ghost, a curse, branded to her skin.
Because nothing happened.
And still, a single tear traced her cheek, catching in the corner of her mouth. Her throat caught around a sound she refused to name. Her hands trembled as they crushed against the table's edge.
"don't touch me." She whispered. "Don't…"
Behind her, Tanner chuckled.
"What's with that face?" he said. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
She didn't answer, Couldn't.
She was chewing her lip so hard it might split.
He moved closer—too close—and she flinched before she could stop it. His hand reached for her arm, slow, familiar. The contact should've made her recoil, but—
But she didn't.
She froze.
And when his arms wrapped around her, the pressure gentle now, his voice low at her ear, her body didn't resist.
"What's wrong?" he murmured. "Have I upset you?"
That voice. It stabbed her, threatened to peel her. It was a performance. A trap. She knew it.
But knowing didn't help.
She tried to speak. Nothing came.
"It's okay, Princess," he soothed. "You're just tired. Or maybe this ceremony is stressing you out."
She pressed her temples, the heat scorching like a furnace. Stress. Yes, that made sense. She was becoming an adult today. That had to be it.
She nodded. Slow.
"It was… nothing. Just stress."
"That's my girl," he said, lips brushing her ear.
She swallowed. Something twisted deep in her gut—wrong, wrong, wrong—but her body betrayed her. Melted instead of moving. And in the mirror, she saw the print of his fingers fading from the glass.
And still, she stayed in his arms.
Because maybe it was her.
Maybe she was imagining things.
Maybe she was being dramatic again.
Right?
"So what about it? Will we take this to bed?" Tanner whispered. "Good for stress and all."
His hand pulled her slightly. Fingers kneading into a shoulder rub. Yet something seemed to repel her like he was oil and she was water—Her body tightening instead of loosening.
Her feet moved anyway. This was love, wasn't it?
This was normal.
Her tail curled tight beneath her dress, like a puppy trying to disappear.
Then—
Sheets. White. Too white.
A needle. Cold against her throat.
"I— urm…."
She blinked. The room shifted. The window was gone. The sheets—no, not sheets.
What was she saying? Was she crazy? Did she seriously have doubts?"
Tanner smiled—soft, comforting. But her back wouldn't move. Her body was a locked statue. How could she do this? Was she really this selfish?
"Come now, let's not ruin the moment, princess."
She forced herself closer, her fingers loosening her strings, undoing it all. She owed him this; she was leading him on; she—
Her core vibrated. A howl rose in her chest. She tried to stop, but her hands moved, slipping fabric free. A cry clawed up her throat. Tears blurred her vision. Her body wasn't listening.
"Stop", her lips mouthed. "Stop", she pushed. "Please.."
She was losing it. She was a spoiled, selfish girl, wasn't she? Playing with hearts, with feelings, with fire...
She had to do this. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him. Every time the words flowed, her soul cried more; her body wanted to die. The sight of his eyes fell darker, the wobble of her voice growing.
"I love you." She whispered. "I love you." She whimpered.
Tanner stepped closer, "You are so shy, aren't you? Let me help with that."
But as his finger groped skin, she clamped her eyes shut, wishing—begging—it was a dream. That none of this was real. But the feeling didn't fade; the coldness wrapped her, and the thousands of hands dragged her.
The darkness. The void.
Called her.
And his touch—
Violated her.