The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Why?

The stars were cold and distant, like fragments of ice, lost in an eternal sea of nothingness.

Why?

All her life the stars had spoken to her, told her of the story of the cosmos, and often her role within it. Some called it the gift of prophecy, but to her it had always been just the ability to read a different kind of script.

Why?

But now it was almost as if the stars had no more stories to tell.

Why did I do it?

No answers came.

She had asked the same question each night, and this night shed no more light on the darkness than those before it. She stood barefoot on her balcony looking up at the night sky, pleading one last time to understand the handwriting of fate.

Please, I must know why.

The stars stood perfectly still, as impenetrable as ever, the nighty sky enveloping them in an inky embrace of nothingness. They would yield her no answers, only mysteries.

She cast her head down, feeling the passive gaze of her celestial judges upon her. Her guilt was known in the heavens above and soon would be known throughout all the land. What excuse could she offer for what she had done? Her transgression had been too great, there could be no forgiveness for one such as her. She ran a hand gently over her belly; after all, if she could not find it in her heart to forgive herself, how could she ask it of others?

Why?

She retreated from the balcony into her bedchamber, the gentle glow of a dozen lit candles offering her none of their usual comfort. It was an ornate room—a large four poster bed, tapestries, vases, columns, marble this and marble that, but none of the fine objects were quite so ornate nor caught the eye quite like the object standing in the center of the room. There stood a mirror, and not just any mirror, but a very special one imbued with powerful magic. You see, no matter where you stood the mirror would always find a way to catch your eye and show you your reflection. It was said to be one of the last objects crafted by the great Daedalus, the court inventor, before he had fled the kingdom.

Daedalus! Where have you fled to? Even you have abandoned me.

But then, could she blame him? To stay would have meant his certain death. And after what she had done could she really expect him to have remained behind? In some ways she was glad that he would not have to see her this way.

I am so sorry for all that I asked of you. All your wisdom and skills twisted and perverted by my unnatural desire.

She ran a hand across the mirror that his hands had once touched, lingering for a moment, wondering if he thought of her now. How she wished she could talk to him again. With a heavy sigh she turned away but not before meeting the eyes of her reflection; they too judged her, but in quite a different way than the stars. Where the stars were faraway and celestial in their disinterest, these were the eyes of the very near, the personal, the tormented and the tormentor, the accused and the accusatory. And deep within these eyes she could she could see one, burning, angry, frightened question.

Why!

Bitterly, Pasiphae turned her back on her reflection. Because. She wanted to answer. Is there really ever any more reason than that? Sometimes that is the only answer in life—because. That should be reason enough.

But it wasn’t enough. She bit her lip as she fought back the tears. It isn’t fair! What had made me— She stopped, revolted by the very thought of it. Why had I— Again, she refused to follow the thought any further. There were some things better not brought into the light of day. And yet she had to know. What had I seen in a him? What made me do it? Why did I fall in love with a—

No! Her revulsion refused to allow her to say it. Better to leave it nameless so as not to give form to an idea. Besides, could she really say her revulsion came from that which she had once loved, or from what she had become in the process? She cast her head down a second time. She just needed peace, peace from herself.

But the magic of the mirror worked its wonders, finding a way to catch her eye even then. Before she realized it her reflection was mocking her again, scathingly, as if daring her to accuse her of any fault.

Adulteress! Deceiver! Traitress to your king and subjects! it seemed to scream at her. For a moment she thought of smashing the mirror, ridding herself of its mocking gaze once and for all, but to do so would destroy her only companion. She fell to her bed and wept openly into pillows.

It had been a gift! She wanted to shout it to the rooftops of Olympus itself. IT HAD BEEN A GIFT!!!

It had been a gift. She sobbed into her pillow. A gift…

Sleep was at last upon her. She closed her eyes and hoped not to remember…

I feel something being fitted over my head. It is soft and heavy, like a thick blanket. It is being pulled down, draped over my cheeks.

“There, I think that suits her nicely, don’t you?” The voice is a woman’s, bright and cheerful, yet somehow otherworldly. Her hands are beneath my chin, tying the straps of the leather hood together. Hood? Yes, that is what I am wearing, a sort of mask or covering, but one that covers my head and not my face. I wonder why I am wearing it.

The woman’s voice tells me to shake my head and I obey without thinking. I hear laughter. Something deep within me tells me that I should be worried.

“Oh, she’s an absolute scream! The floppy ears are the perfect touch, don’t you agree?”

Ears? I catch a glimpse of them as they flap in front of my face. They are soft and furry, like an animals, and jut out from the hood just above my actual ears. That seems a strange thing to wear. I start to wonder why I am wearing a hood with furry ears but then I hear the sound of waves and my mind is a blank again.

How long has it been since the sea first filled my mind—days, weeks, months? I do not know. I only know that their gentle lulling never leaves me, breaking upon the shores of my mind with a hypnotic rhythm. It makes me feel…content.

There is another sound in my mind, this one a voice, a voice that is deep and buried and that long ago I once knew. But it is harder to hear, beneath the waves it is muffled and distant. It used to be stronger, but the voice grows fainter with each passing day. I sometimes wonder if it is staring to drown.

“This is too dangerous.” I hear another voice, a man’s, reply to the woman. He sounds hesitant, worried. “She must be completely covered, every part of her, especially her face.”

“And where would the fun in that be?”

“Fun? She isn’t exactly some unknown peasant, you know. There are entire ballads devoted to the beauty of her face alone. If someone sees her they will immediately know who she is. And if that happens, fun will not be the word to describe what happens next.”

Yes, I’m starting to remembering—I am someone famous. I think I am someone important, too, maybe even someone powerful. I try to remember who I am but it hurts too much to think. My head slumps forward, lulling from side to side with the sound of the waves.

“Does her privacy really mean so much to you?”

“This isn’t just about her privacy,” he says gruffly. “It is about my safety. Her husband’s jealousy is legendary, matched only by his cruelty.” I wondered whose husband they were talking about. He didn’t sound very nice. “If he were to find out that—”

“You fret too much. Can’t you just take a moment to enjoy your handiwork?”

Their words swirl about me like a mad jumble. My mind is lost in a fog, like one who has had too much to drink. But something the woman says next briefly pierces through the clouds of my befuddled mind and I grab hold of it.

“After all, this is truly a brilliant costume.”

Costume? I feel as though that word should mean something to me, but I am not sure why. I try shaking my head clear, but I only succeed in flapping the fuzzy ears across my face. Thinking is difficult, and I decide it is better to slip back into the fog of not knowing. But something deep within me calls up out of the darkness, willing me to think.

Focus!

It is that voice in my head again, the familiar one. It cries out for me to concentrate. I do not want to, it hurts to think, and I know the waves do not like when I try to think, but the voice is insistent. Maybe if I pretend to listen to the voice it will go away? I decide to focus a little bit and concentrate on where I am.

I…I feel trapped. I am inside of something big and heavy, almost as if I am wrapped up inside of several thick blankets. I…I can’t seem to move. Strange. Whatever my body is covered in, it is soft and heavy, like padding, and goes all the way over my shoulders so that only my head remains free. I wish for nothing more than to return to the fog but the voice grows shriller, almost hysterical, demanding that I focus even harder. It is such a nuisance, but the more I try to ignore the voicer the louder it becomes. Fine!

I think for a few more moments and gradually realize that I am lying on my chest, but with my legs straight and down, as if I were bent over a table. My legs are parted, too, so as to form a sort of reverse V. I try moving them but they have been placed in something long and narrow, preventing any movement. I feel padding around my legs as well. My arms are in a similar position, thrust down in front of me in some sort of tubing. I try to pull my arms up but they are held in place by leather straps around my wrists. I think there are straps around my ankles too, but I can’t be sure. This is all very curious.

I wish I could see what sort of costume I am wearing. I try turning my head, but can’t see well enough behind me to tell. Whatever I am in, it is bulky. For the first time I realize that I am suspended a few feet above the floor, staring down at floorboards covered in sawdust. Perhaps if I look under me I will be able to determine what it is that I am wearing? The voice implores me to try and with a bit of an effort I see something on the floor just below me. For a moment I am excited, thinking that I have found a clue as to what I am wearing, but then I see that it is just a piece of wood, carved into the shape of a hoof. I notice another one, each hoof on either side of me, about where I would expect my arms to be if I could see them. I’m disappointed—I had hoped to see what I was wearing.

“Its brilliance is what worries me,” the man says, breaking through my concentration. “I would have been wiser to have made it more common. If anyone sees her like this it won’t take them long to figure out who designed her special outfit for her.”

“And it truly an exquisite design, so lifelike and with a painful attention to detail. Gods, but it does fit her like a glove!” I had the feeling that I was being studied, having a hand run over my back. “And of course, my favorite part, it is fully functional. Your skills truly are legendary, Daedalus. You have my greatest appreciation.”

“Yes, well, her husband won’t be so appreciative if he were to find out. I can’t imagine he would be thrilled to learn that I helped to outfit his wife as a…as a…”

“As a what, inventor?”

“You know.”

“I do, but can you not bring yourself to say the word?”

“Of course I can.”

“Then why don’t you say it?”

“Very well.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “As a cow.”

Cow? Yes, I remember! I am in a cow costume. I am relieved to have finally figured that out. But wait, why am I dressed like a cow? That doesn’t sound flattering at all. In fact, that sounds like something that would make me look fat.

My heart is starting to race and I think I am struggling, trying to move, but fortunately the waves are there for me. They wash over my mind, drowning out my panic and filling my mind with gentle, empty thoughts.

Why are you worried? the sea whispers into my mind’s ear.

I do not know. I cannot remember.

You look lovely in your new costume. I am sure that you must be very proud.

Yes, I am. But I’m worried that it makes me look fat.

It shows off your eyes. Cows always have such big, lovely eyes.

Then you don’t think it makes me look fat?

It brings out your best attributes. You do want to show off your best attributes don’t you?

Oh. Well, yes, I suppose.

And a thin cow would look rather silly.

Yes, that is true. But—

You would’t want to look silly would you?

No, I guess I don’t.

And you do have such lovely, big, round…eyes.

The sea reminds me of how hard the inventor worked, how I had bribed him, pleaded with him and threatened him into making this costume. The memory of that brings anguish, I was so rude to the inventor. I wish there was some way to make amends for my poor behavior. The sea listens. Suddenly I get an idea all of my own—I can wear the inventor’s costume to show him how appreciative I am! I ask the sea what it thinks of my idea. I hear a deep rumble, it sounds almost like a chuckle, and the sea tells me that it is a very good idea. It is decided then, I shall wear the costume with pride. For the inventor’s sake.

“You need not worry about her husband, I will see to it that no harm comes to you from his hands. It is the least I can do in return for your miraculous invention.”

“I have done nothing miraculous. I have merely done as you have asked.”

“I asked the impossible, yet you succeeded. I call that miraculous.”

“You had me fashion an object that you put in her mind. I set bronze to wood and wood to padding, nothing more.”

“Do you really think that was the material with which I asked you to forge—bronze, wood, and leather?”

“What else?”

“Her. She was the true material with which you crafted, the rest was merely secondary.” I felt the woman place her hand on the bare flesh of my protruding bottom as she spoke. “You haven’t forged an object but an idea, inventor. You have transformed her from the most powerful and beautiful woman in all the world into something common and tawdry. She will become a story, a cautionary tale, and her legend will take its place among the greatest of myths, to be told and retold for centuries to come.”

Wait, my bottom?! Yes, there was no mistaking it, there was her hand resting on the exposed cheeks of my bottom as casually as if I were no more than a table or wall to lean against. So it is not just my face that are bare. I began to wonder if other parts of me were exposed, too, but the man’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“You talk of her becoming a story. I would like to know one thing more, before we go any further, if you do not mind it.”

“You may ask anything you like, inventor. After the excellent work that you have done,” she said, patting my bottom. “It is the least I can do.”

“Yes, well, it is just one minor thing.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but it put on, like it was forced. “I would just like to know if she will…survive it.”

“Survive? Oh I certainly hope so. In fact, it is vital that she does. Yes inventor, she will survive.”

“Then my design will work? I…I am very happy to hear this.” He tried to hide it, but his was voice was obvious with relief. Somewhere within me I felt as though I should find that touching, but I could not remember why. “My device will see to it that no harm will come to her!”

“Oh now, that is a different matter entirely. I never said she wouldn’t be a bit sore in the morning.”

“But you just said—”

“You asked me if she would survive and I said she would. But she is to be punished, and her husband must be punished, as well.”

“But why must she—”

“Daedalus, you know I would give you almost anything you asked for, but this is not within my power. Only the sea can make such a promise to her and I very much doubt that he is willing to give it.”

“I…I understand.” I heard the man mutter. “But she will survive, at least there is that. That will have to be enough.”

“You know, I’m starting to think you might have a thing for her.”

“I do not.”

“No one would blame you if you did. She is rather beautiful…when she’s not dressed up like a big, fat heifer, that is.”

“She is a commission, nothing more.”

“Mm hm. Very well then, you can help me with her tits.”

“Her…her what?!”

“Oh, don’t get squeamish now. Come on.” I felt a playful pat on my rump as the woman came around to my front.

“I don’t see how any of this is necessary.”

“If it were necessary it wouldn’t be nearly so much fun. You take the right one, I’ll get her left.”

Normally I dislike lying on my chest as I have large breasts and find it uncomfortable. They pool out underneath my arms in an unpleasant manner. But I realize now that I have no such discomfort. The inventor must have placed two holes in the costume where my breasts are. That was so sweet of him! And it is so unlike a man to think of something like that.

But wait, something about that doesn’t seem right. Wouldn’t that mean my breasts are exposed, just like my face and butt? I feel something start to well up inside of me, something akin to panic. That faraway voice in my mind tries desperately to get my attention, telling me that I should be worried, but the waves quickly sweep in and wash it away. They tell me that I am pleased. And the waves are right, I am pleased. I am very, very pleased. The waves tell me how fortunate I am to have an inventor who is so concerned with my comfort. I am, I am very pleased with my inventor’s attention to detail.

I see him now, standing in front of me. I decide to smile at him and let him know how much I appreciate his hard work. But he turns turns pale and looks away. I am confused. Perhaps he doesn’t think I am pretty? I hope he doesn’t think my breasts are too big. The waves tell me that he is just shy and to pay it no mind. Oh. I feel sorry for him. But I decide it is best to pay it no mind.

“Well, I think we can see why her husband is so besotted with her, and it’s not because of her personality.”

The inventor does not reply.

“She’s not exactly a dainty little damsel, not with boobs like these, is she inventor?”

I feel their hands on my breasts, maneuvering them beneath me. My breasts are like objects in their hands, just another part of the costume to be positioned properly. The waves calm me, urging me to stillness throughout the process. I am part of the machinery now, my soft flesh just another part of the greater whole, I remain still. The waves tell me it is better not to think. Women think, the waves remind me, cows do not. So much better to be a cow.

My breasts are unceremoniously worked into position and I feel fingers on my nipples. They are careful in their touch, but they go about their work in a business like fashion, pulling my nipples down gently, but insistently, elongating each one. They are made taut and ready…but ready for what? I do not have to wonder for long. I feel a smooth hardness slide over the tips of my nipples and then I understand: they are putting ringlets on me.

This is not my first time wearing such jewelry. I have worn such ringlets many times before, but only ever for…someone. Strange, I cannot remember his name but I feel as though I should. It is so hard to think when everything is buried deep within a foggy mind.

A deep moan fills the room, it is the moan of desire, the sort of agonizing desire that remains forever unfulfilled. I realize after a moment that it is me, reacting to the feel of cool metal sliding up over my pink tautness, making their way toward the base of the nipple. I feel such deep, terrible desire. I want one thing and one thing only. I know I must have it. I must have it, I must have the—

But my thoughts are cut off by that insistent voice again, screaming from deep within mew. It is still somewhat muffled and far away, but I can hear it warning me not to wear the ringlets. It tells me they are a trick, that I need to shake them off, shake them off now for once they are on they can never be removed. I wish this voice would leave me alone. Thankfully the waves crash over her and I forget what she was saying. I suddenly remember how much I like jewelry. I hope the ringlets are made out of gold, I always thought I looked better in gold than in silver.

My nipples are given a few slight yanks to make sure they are ready and then the fingers let go, allowing my nipples to shorten and become thick again. The ringlets cling tightly to the thickened base and I know that no matter happens, they will not come off.

But just to be sure my breasts are released, letting them swing lazily beneath me, back and forth like a pendulum, before coming to a rest. The woman tells me to shake them, and once more I obey unthinkingly, giving my chest a few hearty shakes. No sound of metal hitting the floor echoes throughout the room as my nipples remained properly attired. The woman tells me I should proud, that my breasts are as big as udders. I smile.

Stop smiling like a stupid cow and listen to me!

It is her again, that voice that won’t go away, only this time she is louder. I hear her deep within me, clawing up from the darkest recesses of my mind, desperate to be heard. I try shoving her back down again, but she keeps climbing.

This is not your will. None of this is your doing.

It isn’t? But I paid the inventor a large sack of gold. I’m pretty sure I did all this because I wanted to do it. I am so confused.

No! You are being punished for your husband’s greediness.

My…husband? Yes, I remember now, I am married! My husband is a powerful man, isn’t he?

Very powerful.

But that’s good. If he is so powerful he can protect me from any punishment.

You would have been better to marry a common peasant than a man such as your husband. Because he is so powerful, his punishment must be that much greater.

But I—

There is no more time for questions! I need you to remember. Think!

I…I can’t. It is so hard to think.

But you must! Remember why you have come here. You asked the inventor to help you, to help you guard a dark secret—

—so that no one would ever discover what the secret is—

—especially not your husband.

But, why not? My husband loves me, he would do anything for me.

No, Pasiphae, jealousy and obsession are not love. If your husband ever finds out your secret, you will be in deadly peril. Your husband is the—

—king, isn’t he? Yes, that is right—Minos is my husband’s name. He is King of Crete.

Yes, now you are remembering! And you need to remember that none of this is your will. Because if you husband is the king—

—then that means that I…I am…the…

Yes, say it! Say it and you will remember who you are and what your will is. If your husband is Crete’s king, then you its qu—”

But her voice became an angry muffle of rage, as a cascade of waves crashed inside my mind with the power of a whirlpool, swirling about until it dragged that strange voice down deep where it could never be found again. I could hear her screaming beneath the torrent, imploring me to remember who I am, begging me to…to…something. I can’t remember what it was that I was just thinking. The waves lap gently at my mind and I am content. People think, cows don’t. I am content. I am content to be a cow.

“Now this is something I have waited a long time to do.”

My left breast is being tugged at. The woman has grabbed it again, only this time her grip is not so careful. She pulls my breast down with a remorseless determination, angling it down and away from my body. I feel two fingers on either side of my nipple. I am curious if I am being readied for more ringlets. But my curiosity vanishes in a searing hot flame of pain as her fingers push together, pinching my nipple between them.

My scream shakes the rafters. She keeps the pressure on, squeezing me until my nipple is flattened out. My scream has no end, as the hot, searing agony takes over my entire being. But in that moment of pain the fog is cut through with a hot, angry knife, and I have clarity at last as I realize whose voice I have been hearing it my head. It had been me all along. The voice is me!

The fingers finally let up some of their pressure, leaving me gasping for air. But from the pain I have reclaimed the knowledge of who I am. I am breathing heavily, panting, sweating, but I remember and this time I will not give up what I have gained. I know who I am!

“I just wanted to make sure I had your attention, little cow,” the woman soothes, her voice calm and tranquil. “You can you hear me I hope?”

I feel her fingers tense threateningly on my nipple, letting me know that I should answer. I nod. I nodded perhaps too well, causing my furry ear to fall across my face a few times in a ludicrous manner.

“Good. Now listen to me well. I have fitted your tits with ringlets; I assume you can feel them as the fit should be rather snug. I have just now fashioned a gold chain to one of these rings. You cannot see this chain as it is invisible to all mortal eyes, but it is important to me that you know it is there.” She let go of my nipple and showed me her empty hand. Then with two small yanks she pulled at the air, eliciting from me an involuntary yelp as I felt my nipple pulled in the same direction. “You felt that then?”

The waves tell me to nod, and I did so far more enthusiastically than before. I knew the fuzzy ears must be flying about in a comical fashion.

“You can stop nodding, little cow queen, that will do.” She patted my breast. “Now try to stay still while I tie the chain to the—”

My howls of rage and pain drowned out whatever the woman said next. I filled the room with more screams as I felt my soft flesh being stretched painfully outward and down away from my body. I was shouting, yelling, hurling threats, yet none of my protestations seemed to matter as the woman calmly and quietly tied the invisible chain to something beneath me. When at last she was done my breast did not swing back underneath me as it should have, but instead stayed pointed outward in an uncomfortable position.

I twisted and turned in my leather bedding, desperate to find any relief from the stretching. I was in pain, but I held on to that pain. I remembered what it gave me, and I refused to give that memory back to the fog. I refused to forget who I was.

But before I knew it she had grabbed my right breast, pulling at it too, only in the opposite direction. My voice howled with renewed rage, my cries growing ever higher in pitch as this new indignity was visited upon my flesh. Undeterred by the threats that poured forth from my vengeful lips, the woman tied my right breast like she had the left, until my vows of retribution soon became tearful lamentations of sorrow and desperate pleadings and promises that no woman could keep. By the time she had stood up from her wicked work, I had called upon every god and goddess for mercy, but to no avail—my breasts were tied outward, pulled in opposite directions.

I heard a rush of air followed by a loud smack as I felt the sharp sting of her hand against the exposed cheeks of my rump.

“THAT is for saying you had nicer tits than me, cow!”

I yelped. She delivered yet another such slap, this one against my other cheek and I cried again. Each spanking sent me lurching forward, but with my nipples tied in place my every movement forward only increased the stretching, causing me to yelp yet again. She gave me one more good whack and this time I made sure to brace myself to keep myself firmly in place.

I let out a mournful wail feeling my breasts pulled in either direction knowing that no matter which way I turned, I could not relieve the stretch. Yet the pain drives me to try to achieve the impossible, as I wiggle from one side to the other, trying to slacken the stretch on one nipple only to make it worse for the other. I squirm and twist, desperate to find even the slightest bit if relief—left, right, forward, and backward I move at a frenzied pace, but nothing works. I try again and again and again, but every new turn only seems to increase the strain and this in turn drives me to ever more frenzied gyrations.

I am frantic, desperate for relief, but in my mania I can feel myself weakening from my exertions. Sweat pours over my brow, the ears fall over my face, and I know that I am slipping into the fog once more. I hear the waves gathering, ready to soothe away my pain. But in my agony, in these final exertions I cling tightly to the one thought I will not let the darkness reclaim: I AM THE QUEEN AND THIS IS NOT MY WILL! THIS IS NOT MY WILL!

I hear a terrible moan of frustration and know that it must be my voice that made it. My head slumps forward, and at last my gyrations stop. I feel my nipples pulled tight in either direction beneath me as I tell myself this is not my will. Then all is darkness.

When I at last awaken I feel tension on my breasts but I know it is of little matter. I hear moaning, dreadful moaning, like an animal in heat but unable to mate. I open my eyes but everything is blurry. It takes me a moment to focus. The moaning stops. It must have been me. I see the man before me. He’s the inventor. He is looking at me. He looks worried.

“You are awake, at last.” I think he is speaking to me, but his words are a jumble. “Can you hear me, your highness?”

I moan—a fevered, piteous moan.

“Your heat grows worse by the hour.” He kneels down so his face is close to mine. He is looking into my eyes. “Can you understand what I am saying? Your highness, if you can understand me, please say something.”

I stare back at him, my eyes big and empty.

“You know that I would free you if I could.” He brushes some hair from my forehead and tucks it under my hood. “But I have built this suit so that it will protect from the worst of it.” His voice trails off and his eyes look warily at my breasts. “It was unwise of your husband to think that he could cheat the gods.”

He looks at my breasts for a long moment. He looks worried. Eventually he looks into my eyes again.

“You will survive, Aphrodite has assured me of this.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “And I have found an old path that will take us to Gorton, one that is rarely used anymore so we might be able to arrive unseen.”

He places a hand on my cheek and brings his face close to mine.

“Your majesty, I want you to know that when all of this is over and after you have…well, after you have done what you must do, I just want you to know that I won’t think any differently of you. When we meet in the palace again to discuss philosophy and art, we need never mention what happens this night. And no matter what happens tonight, no matter what you do, I will always look at you the same as I always have. I promise.”

I thought I should say something but then my mind was so blank I couldn’t even think of the words I would say. I may have moaned again, but I couldn’t be sure.

“There is one thing more your majesty. My queen, I…”. His voice trails off. He tries again. “Your highness…Pasiphae. Ever since I first arrived on this island, ever since I first saw you on the sandy shore…I…”

But he doesn’t finish. He is kissing me now, his lips against mine. But I know my lips are not meant for his. These lips are already promised to another, bound by fate long ago. The waves tried to take that knowledge from me, tried to rob me of the memory of who I am, but in the throes of my agony I clung tightly to that memory and I refused to give it back. I remember who I am.

The inventor pulls away from my lips, sensing their lack of response. He looks sad. He wipes some sweat from my brow and straightens my hood.

“Just know that I am sorry.”

But I do know. And I know that one day he will understand. I know, because in my torment I remembered something else, something that I value even more than the knowledge of myself. I remember the stars. And I remember what was written in those stars, long ago of love and bodies intertwined. I remember who it is that I am promised to. I will meet him tonight, in an open field under a full moon. I know what it is that I will and I will this. I am the queen and I will this.

The waves tell me to smile and shake my head. I smile and wiggle my furry little ears about. I am the queen and this is my will!