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Description

AND YET YOU DO

Shaded fullbody (6) + 804 words (3) + Development Bonus* (2) + Same character bonus (1) = 12 AP to Aduro

*Milan's physical form changes, much to his horror. Internal insecurities become much more visible ones.

Story content warning for intentional burns.

Milan stood in front of his great mirror – a massive thing with decorated, gilded frames that he had bought on a whim, but loved enormously. It was big enough to show him from hoof to the tip of his ears, a perfect mirror for preening and preparation alike.
The day had been most pleasant one. He had woken up early to paint, and after a light lunch, retired for a small nap. Now, awake once more, he was planning what to do for his and Bale’s date tonight. He knew well what Bale liked, but he still wanted to put effort into his looks, and picking an outfit. The kirin never mentioned any of it, but he knew that his love noticed anyway.
Milan was not blind to the wandering eyes when he picked the perfect oufit in color and cut. That was always what he chased, his goal.
He had become quite good at it.

It was in midst of selecting his bridle that he felt it.
Just a feeling at first. A creeping touch.
Then, the change.

It started with the shoulders.

Strangely, there was no pain. Milan looked on as his reflection grew… Wings?
No, not wings. Fins. Enormous fins in vibrant orange shades spread out, breaking through the skin as if they had always been there.
Before they were finished, his backside grew similar but smaller spines. Bright orange and striped with white, the sensation of these new appendages was terrifyingly foreign.
It was like he did not know his own body anymore.

Soon after came the hair.
It grew unnaturally, vibrantly. It reminded Milan of his mother when she was young. The deep terracotta red stained his tail as it elongated, turning from the proud, flirty high carriage he had always known to a long hairy snake.
The mane slithered down his back and rear to join the tail even as his hairs grew feathers.

Milan stepped back from the mirror, horrified. He did not want this.
This was not Ignacio’s doing. His god would have spoken.

This was not his god’s touch.

“Leave me alone!” Milan shouted at the empty room, even as bronze scales burst into the open, hardening as they appeared. A glistening armor covered his back first, then his chest. Finally scales pushed forth from his forehead, and from their tips sprouted a pair of antlers as deep red and bronze as the scales.
Not mighty twined things like Bale had, no. Small, rounded, barely possessing spines.
Then, it was over.

Milan stood, legs wide apart, staring at his reflection as it stared back. A stranger coated in orange, bronze and red. With a broken whimper, he threw the nearest object – his heavy jeweled bridle – at the mirror, shattering the glass into a thousand million pieces that covered the hallway in glass like a road of diamonds.
Almost as if in trance, Milan turned away, suddenly completely calm. He walked into the kitchen, and set fire to great big oven there. As it heated, he fetched one of the metal bars he kept in his atelier for various metalcrafts, and pushed it in.
He stood silent watch over it as the fire crackled away.

Maybe he knew already what the end result would be.

After all, he felt the warmth of the fire on his skin, even standing away from it.

Clearly, it did not deter him.

The stick heated, Milan grasped it in his teke with the same calm confidence he had once used to grasp whips and tools of his trade as a slave trader. Gone was the certain delicate touch of an artist, replaced by the well learned mannerism of a man whose livelihood came from the oppression of others.

“Kirins do not burn”, Milan breathed, and pressed the searing hot iron against his own skin. Like a brand, it scorched skin and then flesh. The smell of it was disgusting.

Milan screamed.

He held it in place longer than was necessary for the experiment. Hoping against hope that the pain would subside – that he would not be burnt anymore.
Finally, he let go. The searing hot iron fell on marble, cracking it.

Milan, heaving and stumbling from the pain, took a few heavy, uncoordinated steps away, and then crumbled. The pain of the fresh burn was excruciating, and made him gag, the muscles of his rear convulsing from pain.
He heaved and coughed and hit his head on the floor to work through the thick pain until it slowly fizzled out.
His heaves of pain turned into those of dry tears.
There were no tears, only sadness.

Eventually, even the emotion fizzled out. Milan was left alone, the room darkening around him as evening fell.
Expression blank, cold. Not truly there, not anywhere.
He had never felt so empty.
Dirty.

Alone.

Reference Firefly 5 by swillowness

Description

AND YET YOU DO

Shaded fullbody (6) + 804 words (3) + Development Bonus* (2) + Same character bonus (1) = 12 AP to Aduro

*Milan's physical form changes, much to his horror. Internal insecurities become much more visible ones.

Story content warning for intentional burns.

Milan stood in front of his great mirror – a massive thing with decorated, gilded frames that he had bought on a whim, but loved enormously. It was big enough to show him from hoof to the tip of his ears, a perfect mirror for preening and preparation alike.
The day had been most pleasant one. He had woken up early to paint, and after a light lunch, retired for a small nap. Now, awake once more, he was planning what to do for his and Bale’s date tonight. He knew well what Bale liked, but he still wanted to put effort into his looks, and picking an outfit. The kirin never mentioned any of it, but he knew that his love noticed anyway.
Milan was not blind to the wandering eyes when he picked the perfect oufit in color and cut. That was always what he chased, his goal.
He had become quite good at it.

It was in midst of selecting his bridle that he felt it.
Just a feeling at first. A creeping touch.
Then, the change.

It started with the shoulders.

Strangely, there was no pain. Milan looked on as his reflection grew… Wings?
No, not wings. Fins. Enormous fins in vibrant orange shades spread out, breaking through the skin as if they had always been there.
Before they were finished, his backside grew similar but smaller spines. Bright orange and striped with white, the sensation of these new appendages was terrifyingly foreign.
It was like he did not know his own body anymore.

Soon after came the hair.
It grew unnaturally, vibrantly. It reminded Milan of his mother when she was young. The deep terracotta red stained his tail as it elongated, turning from the proud, flirty high carriage he had always known to a long hairy snake.
The mane slithered down his back and rear to join the tail even as his hairs grew feathers.

Milan stepped back from the mirror, horrified. He did not want this.
This was not Ignacio’s doing. His god would have spoken.

This was not his god’s touch.

“Leave me alone!” Milan shouted at the empty room, even as bronze scales burst into the open, hardening as they appeared. A glistening armor covered his back first, then his chest. Finally scales pushed forth from his forehead, and from their tips sprouted a pair of antlers as deep red and bronze as the scales.
Not mighty twined things like Bale had, no. Small, rounded, barely possessing spines.
Then, it was over.

Milan stood, legs wide apart, staring at his reflection as it stared back. A stranger coated in orange, bronze and red. With a broken whimper, he threw the nearest object – his heavy jeweled bridle – at the mirror, shattering the glass into a thousand million pieces that covered the hallway in glass like a road of diamonds.
Almost as if in trance, Milan turned away, suddenly completely calm. He walked into the kitchen, and set fire to great big oven there. As it heated, he fetched one of the metal bars he kept in his atelier for various metalcrafts, and pushed it in.
He stood silent watch over it as the fire crackled away.

Maybe he knew already what the end result would be.

After all, he felt the warmth of the fire on his skin, even standing away from it.

Clearly, it did not deter him.

The stick heated, Milan grasped it in his teke with the same calm confidence he had once used to grasp whips and tools of his trade as a slave trader. Gone was the certain delicate touch of an artist, replaced by the well learned mannerism of a man whose livelihood came from the oppression of others.

“Kirins do not burn”, Milan breathed, and pressed the searing hot iron against his own skin. Like a brand, it scorched skin and then flesh. The smell of it was disgusting.

Milan screamed.

He held it in place longer than was necessary for the experiment. Hoping against hope that the pain would subside – that he would not be burnt anymore.
Finally, he let go. The searing hot iron fell on marble, cracking it.

Milan, heaving and stumbling from the pain, took a few heavy, uncoordinated steps away, and then crumbled. The pain of the fresh burn was excruciating, and made him gag, the muscles of his rear convulsing from pain.
He heaved and coughed and hit his head on the floor to work through the thick pain until it slowly fizzled out.
His heaves of pain turned into those of dry tears.
There were no tears, only sadness.

Eventually, even the emotion fizzled out. Milan was left alone, the room darkening around him as evening fell.
Expression blank, cold. Not truly there, not anywhere.
He had never felt so empty.
Dirty.

Alone.

Reference Firefly 5 by swillowness