Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I love to watch you open presents. There's this special smile you get while tearing through the wrapping paper that hasn't changed one bit. Eager excitement, carefree innocence, radiant joy, it's the distillation of everything I've always wanted for you since the moment I made you mine. You don't remember, of course, but I cherish the first time I saw it. Like sunshine through parting rainclouds, your tearful begging subsided. Forgotten fears dissolved into nothing, you gazed up at me, and for the first time saw the truth. I always think of that day when I see you smiling like this. 

You've torn away the wrapping paper now, and you're hugging Jade, the dress she got you held tight to your chest. Her skin brushes against yours, soft and supple. She’s warm. A shudder passes through you as you lean into the embrace, perfume tickling your nostrils, tingly feelings stirring in your belly.

Face flush, you pull away, eyes lingering on Jade’s plump lips, and wondering how they'd feel against yours. She’s doing the same, not that you notice. Poor thing. You've always been far too nervous to take initiative like that, every time. Perhaps one day I’ll change that about you. But not this time around, I think. 

Turning to face your friends, you unfurl the dress to a chorus of awws and coos. “Stars, it’s so pretty! Did you make it yourself Jade?” Kelsie asks, she’s vibrating in her seat with joy, perhaps envy? It is a very lovely dress. The silken material feels divine as you trace your fingers along it. Already, you’re full to burst with giddy excitement at the prospect of trying it on, showing off how you look to your friends, to Jade. But not now, you have more presents to open! 

You reach out to take another gift from the pile, and feel a tap on your shoulder. You follow it, glancing behind you, only to see nothing.  A giggle tickles your throat, and you check over the opposite shoulder just in time to see a single vine, but little else, creep in from just out of sight to gently pluck the dress from your grasp. Instinctively, your hands dart out to snatch it back. That’s yours. Of course, your hands manage only to catch empty air. Then, whirling about, your eyes fall on me. Fuzzy feelings of love and belonging envelop you like an old sweater, one that fits just right, and that momentary flash of possessive jealousy is forgotten, refracted and distorted in glimmering facets of fractal eyes. They draw you in; thoughts grow faint and knees weaken. 

My precious girl, still so easy to get lost in your Mommy’s eyes, isn’t it? Not that any other floret would be so different. I reach out to steady you, and once you’ve found your footing, your blown-out pupils regain some semblance of focus. So I smile down at you, and the same vine I‘d just used to help you upright oh so softly caresses the back of your knee. Another grips your arm. My hand cups your chin, thumb wiping a trickle of drool from the corner of your mouth; I watch the shivers come. Feelings you’ve only recently begun to understand overwhelm your sweet, adorable little mind. Lost in desire and humiliation, you whimper, and count speckles in the tiled floor. Poor dear, Jade isn’t the only one here you have a crush on. 

Vines encircle you. “Is something the matter, sweetheart?” I ask, voice innocent, maternal, hungry. 

And it sounds so sweet on your ears. So safe. Like home. A sound that reminds you of every quiet, cozy night you’ve ever spent in Her Vines. A sound which tickles deep-seated longing you cannot bear to name; a sound which whets the bubbly feeling in the pit of your stomach, stokes the worsening heat on your cheeks. 

“Uh, no Mom,” you stammer. “Nothing’s wrong.” You want to look up into Her eyes again, you realize, grow lost in them. And not just the eyes, all of Her. Her legs, Her curves, Her colorful flowers, Her pretty, pretty face. That’s when you notice your gaze has started to creep upward. 

She’s leaning over, stooped low to better meet your gaze, and that’s a problem, because she’s wearing some ridiculously low cut dress that you cannot imagine why she would wear to your birthday—it’s like she’s trying to embarrass you in front of your friends—and now you’re staring right into her cleavage. Stars, they’re so big and pretty and soft and warm looking and you can practically feel yourself sinking right into them and—your gaze snaps back downward, and you’re counting speckles in the tile again. Twin conflicting feelings, one familiar, but still new and exciting and so so wrong, the other not new at all, and equal parts safe and unsettling, whirl around in your head like one of those spinny theme-park rides Mom used to take you on when you were little. Could your cheeks get any hotter? You hope nobody’s noticed. 

Far above, you hear me giggle. I lean closer; brushing the shell of your ear now. The flowerpetals in my hair tickle your neck as I whisper, “well if nothing’s wrong, then what are you blushing about?” And before you have any chance to reply, I plant a kiss upon your cheek. Floral scents flood your senses, maturity and nostalgia fighting over whether this titillates or calms. Eyelids fluttering, you melt into my touch. A wistful sigh escapes your lips; you wonder how Her mouth would feel againt—shut up shut up shut up—you do not have a crush on your Mom. 

“It’s nothing,” you lie, barely able to contain yourself. 

“Of course, sweetheart, I guess I’m just being silly.” I’ll let up for the time being. After all, my present is next; this one is always my favorite to give. But first, I produce my tablet. With a few taps, I send a signal to your implant.

There is a funny tickle in the back of your brain. But before you can wrap your thoughts around it, dizziness overcomes you. A hole opens up in the bottom of your mind, and you sink right through. Leaving all those confusing, flustered feelings behind, you drift down into the warm, contented happiness and excitement appropriate for such an occasion. The dress Jade got you really was so pretty. You’re already looking forward to showing it off, but that can wait. You have more presents to open, after all. And right on cue, Mom’s coming over with the next one. It looks strangely familiar, the shape, the size, the wrapping paper. It’s probably nothing.

“Here, Melly dear, this next one’s from me.” You take it gingerly in your hands, gazing at the colorful parcel with a mix of excitement and reverence. “Go ahead,” I urge. “Open it, sweetheart.” No further prompting is necessary. You tear away the wrapping paper, wearing my favorite smile, and pull out the old frame carved from my corewood. 

There's a picture inside, of course: the two of us, side by side and smiling. You're wearing a lovely cocktail dress, and I have my favorite flower configuration, the one I only use for special occasions—Iike today—on display. In the background is a restaurant table. It's from our first date, when you still thought yourself independent. You were so adorable when you asked me out, trembling with nerves, I nearly took you then and there. But it was when you finally managed to spit it out and ask me to dinner that I knew for certain I had to have you. 

Delight shimmers in your eyes as you take in the finer details of the frame and its contents. I've spent a great deal of time perfecting the craftsmanship over the years, so it really is quite the work of art. Just looking at it fills you with such joy.

With your index and middle fingers, you trace the wood trim. It's smooth, and polished, and oh so familiar. “It's beautiful,” you whisper. You recognize the wood immediately for what it is, and, despite being surrounded by your friends, can't help but hug it to your chest and rock back and forth for a moment, eyes closed, a peaceful smile tugging at your face. 

A slow breath in, then exhale; you hold the frame out again, reveling in the texture as you brush your thumb along it, then take your first proper look at the photo. Tears wet your eyes. You realize you have a new prized possession. But there's something else. Something odd. Something you just can't place. Glancing up from the photo, our eyes meet.

"I love it, Mom. Thank you so much. But when was this taken? I don't remember...”

“My sweet, darling girl…”  Vines cup your chin and stroke your hair. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you nuzzle into your Mother's touch, eyes closed and blushing. The other girls can't help but giggle, not that they are any different. It's still embarrassing, though, when Mom gets this way in front of everyone. And you can't help but grumble. 

I notice it, of course, the way you blush and squirm, feeling that strange shame you're still so new to feeling, and still so uncertain how to feel about. But I don't mind your protest. It's part of this. By now the whole thing is almost ritual, not that you know your part.

You sink into your chair as I draw nearer, your gaze trailing up, up, up  to meet mine. A grin stretches wide across my face. Once, a deep-seated animal instinct, a prey instinct buried somewhere behind millions of years of evolution, would have roared to life at the sight of me bearing down on you like this. That instinct is gone. I have taken it from you. In your eyes now, I see only guilless love and trust. 

Now, there is the matter of your question. A fuzzy feeler curls ‘round the frame. Turning it over to face me. I regard the photo for a moment, take in the nervous smile frozen on your face, the bags under your eyes, the implacable air of being… burdened. When I look on you now, I see no trace of such things. Years under my care have smoothed them out. The smile on your face, saved special for me, is one of innocent curiosity. “Let’s see, when was this taken? Hmm… I suppose you wouldn't remember,” I answer, ruffling your hair.

That gets you squirming and giggling. You think about how wonderful and loving and safe and pretty Mom is. Then you start to blush again, ‘cause you just remembered the feeling you sometimes get when you think about that last part. The one you're pretty sure you're not supposed to feel about your Mom. But before that can take root any further, there’s a clamoring from your friends to show them the gift I’ve given you, and like that, everything is the way it should be. 

Soon enough we’ve moved on from presents and the cake is out. The number of candles has grown a tad impractical. Still simple work for an affini, but I can’t help but notice you’ve failed to get them all in one go. 

* * *

From my lounging chair, I watch you. The faint blueish glow of your tablet illuminates your face in the otherwise dim evening light. You’re curled up on our couch, idly tracing a finger along the frame I got you, which rests in your lap. I don’t think you’ve noticed me watching. It’s getting late. Normally, I’d expect you to be in bed soon, but today was a special day, and you don’t have school tomorrow, so I’ll cut you some slack. Besides, just from the look on your face I can tell what you’re up to, and who am I to get in the way of young love? 

When we returned home, you took just about a hundred different photos of yourself in that dress Jade gave you. I have to wonder just how many of them actually made the cut. Either way I’m sure she loves them. The girl’s crush on you is about as obvious as yours is on her. Not that you’d ever notice, obliviousness on such matters has always been a strong suit of yours, I barely even needed to help there. 

Your fingers tap away at the screen; I see hesitation in your face, nervous, excited tension. An anxious sigh, in and out, you hit send..Like that you’re stuck staring, waiting. It doesn’t take long, though it sure feels that way. 

There’s a buzz, and your eyes light up. I watch you scan the words, then gasp. You hide behind your tablet, utterly failing to conceal those bright red cheeks, and squeal, kicking your feet in giddy exhilaration; it’s the latest in a long list of reminders that I have the most wonderful daughter in the whole universe. 

“Mellybelly dear, What are you texting Jade about?” I ask, and you freeze. You didn’t think I could tell. It’s so cute how oblivious you are to your own conspicuousness. 

“It’s uhm, it’s nothing.” Try as you may, there’s no hiding the little quiver in your voice, not from me.  

“That sure was quite the display for texting your crush about nothing, sweetness.” 

You gasp, how did She know? Tugging the blanket over your head, you burrow yourself away from Her watchful gaze, face in your hands, fidgeting from head to toe. “Mooommyyyy,” you whine, then freeze. When was the last time you called Her that?

About a week ago, actually, though you didn’t notice. I had you drugged up to your ears, and cradled in my vines. You’d had a tough day, so I put on one of your old favorite movies, bundled you up in my vines, and pampered you to your heart’s content and well beyond, like how I used to when you were little. Drowning in bliss as you were, you gazed up into my eyes, and felt the cosmic weight of my adoration eclipse all else. Then it just slipped out, as it will, on occasion. That sweet, precious voice of yours, half-coherent from lovestruck delirium. I could hardly contain myself; I nearly snapped, nearly acted rather prematurely. 

And now here we are again, except this time you’ve noticed your little slip up. And you can hardly contain your embarrassment. “Oh, darling,” I coo, sure to coat my every word in a thick lair of cloying condescension. The blankets you hide beneath shake and shudder with every word. My footsteps are silent, but you feel me draw near. A tiny squeak erupts from your little shelter as I settle beside you. My poor, sweet girl; it’s just too easy. Vines snake under the covers and ruffle your hair, tickle your belly, eliciting a sound somewhere between a whine and a giggle. Everbloom, if I could bottle this feeling and share it there wouldn’t be an affini in all the Compact without a daughter just like you. Peeling away your cover, I gaze down at you, beaming as I watch your pout melt into a bashful smile. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s perfectly normal. And come now, my dear. Do you really think I can’t tell when you have a crush on someone? There’s no hiding from your Mother, Melly.” 

There is a flicker of a thought in your head. If She can tell I have a crush on Jade, does that mean She also knows about my crush on—it is plucked away, discarded like unripe fruit. You sigh, perhaps you were being a tad ridiculous just now. Mom is right, there is nothing wrong with having a crush on other girls your age. 

She’s leaning over you now, watching you with that smile of hers that’s just so pretty; the one that’s always made you feel so safe and loved for as far back as you can remember. Like nothing could ever possibly go wrong. I lean closer, and the heady scent of flowers in bloom overwhelms you; your eyes flutter as you take a slow, deep breath. Cool air rushes through your nostrils and your windpipe, fills your chest. It tickles the whole way down. And when you exhale, Her scent lingers on your tongue, clings to you, as though coating you inside and out. Does your breath now smell as sweet? 

Gazing up at Mom through lidded eyes, familiar, fluttery warmth blooms in your chest. It leaves you hot and squirmy, but heavy too, yearning to melt into Her. To get lost in Her presence, Her touch, maybe stay up late, long past when She’d normally have put you to bed, and stare long into the night. Another slow breath, and you shudder, nearly coughing as the air, thick with Her, clings to your lungs. You avert your eyes, fidgeting with your hands and wriggling your feet as something gooey and tingly and hot pools in your tummy. You want to ask for a kiss. You know you shouldn’t, but the image won’t leave your head. You can picture it with near perfect clarity: Her leaning in, parting your lips. Her warmth, Her tongue, sweet and soft. All sensation, all feeling, every facet of thought and awareness narrowing, coalescing into one singular point: your mouth on Hers. She explores it, gentle, safe, but oh so hungry for more. Shame forgotten, you melt into Her touch, whimpering and quivering in desire. The image is so vivid, so etched upon your mind. It’s like you’re there. You can practically taste Her. 

And now She’s leaning in, towering over you, dominating your vision. Her lips are pursed. Oh stars, it’s happening. Your heartbeat quickens, muscles tense. A small part of you thinks to run, but no, you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. Instead, you shrink into the couch cushions, eyes screwed tight, and wait. Her lips find your forehead, smacking in time with the kiss to make an exaggerated smooching sound. It’s a simple, chaste kiss, the sort Mom has given you time and time again, no doubt since even before your earliest memories. Then She pulls away, leaving a damp imprint behind. You feel so silly.

Watching your eyes flutter open, I have to stifle a squeal of adoration. There are traces of disappointment in your expression. They fade fast as I stroke your cheek, giving way to bashful pining. A nervous giggle escapes your lips; a puff of pollen comes with it, perhaps I allowed you to inhale a tad too much, but I can’t help myself. I need everyone to know that you are all mine. “Is something the matter, dear?” I ask. 

You cannot take your eyes off my lips. A yelp flies from your mouth as flower petals graze your neck. Words bubble, then dissipate in half spoken mumbles and whimpers. “I… n-n-n-no,” you manage.  

“Then come here, my dear,” I extend a hand, helping you to your feet. Stray tendrils surround and stabilize you, pulling you in close to me as I lead you into a slow waltz. “You should learn to do this if you want to be with Jade, shouldn’t you? She is a dancer, is she not?”

You nod, shivering, staring up into my eyes, practically swimming in my grasp. Guiding vines sweep you into the dance; you are little more than a puppet on strings. Each step is easier than the last, you sway and dip and twirl, sinking into our dance. It becomes automatic. There is no music save the rhythm I breathe life into. No thought save that which I permit. 

You drift, distant, hardly even aware at this point of my touch, of the back and forth of our waltz. I hold you closer, brushing your skin with delicate petals, pressing your cheek to my chest, but no shame or excitement registers. Here, locked in our dance, you can simply gaze up into my eyes, and bask in this feeling, in knowing that you are the center of my universe, and that Mom is yours. 

But as our dance continues, you feel taken by the strangest sense of deja vu. This feeling, these movements, have you been here before? An image crystalizes in your mind: you’re wearing a cocktail dress, giggling and teetering on unsure steps, the taste of red wine on your lips. How do you even know what wine tastes like? Vines surround you, swaying and flowing in a careful dance, and with one small step, you find yourself drawn in. Her body presses against yours. There is a suggestive glimmer in those eyes. No, you think, you’re not ready to take this, whatever this is, to the next step. Maybe with a terran, but with an affini someone like Her? It’s nerve-wracking to say the least.

You stumble, and I catch you. There’s a look of shock and confusion on your face. “What is it, Mellybelly?” I ask.

It’s gone. You shake your head clear. “S-sorry Mom, had a weird feeling. I don’t really know how to explain.”

“It’s probably nothing,” I say. You agree. “You know,” I muse, leading you back to the couch. “I was thinking, for our Friday Mommy daughter date, would you like to go to that fancy place down the street? The chef who runs it is the same one who used to run Verdis and I know how much you loved the food there so I figured—”

“Actually uhm,” you interject, wincing at the sudden wrongness that comes with interrupting Mom. “I was going to take Jade there. And she said Friday would work best for her so I was kind of hoping we could… rain check? Maybe Saturday?” 

I freeze, my head tilts. “Take Jade there? Friday? Whatever do you mean, sweetness?”

Something feels itchy, but you can’t say what. There just is itchiness. It’s nowhere but it’s everywhere. You shift in place. “Well I uhm, when I was texting her just now, I asked her on a date and she said yes.” 

“You asked her on a date?” It’s funny how suddenly one can lose control over a situation. 

“Mhm,” you nod.

“But you… you’ve never… not since…” 

“Never what?” you ask.

“Hmm, forget it, sweet thing. I was just thinking aloud.” No matter. “I’m sure you two will have a lovely time together.” Plans can change.

Chapter Text

The restaurant is packed. You do not know I am here; in all likelihood you will not find out.

I imagine on some subconscious level you likely sense me. My presence drapes over your mind at all times like a warm, calming blanket. One you've grown so accustomed to, that you do not even notice. 

I intend to keep it that way. The point here is to not to interfere. I want you to enjoy your date, after all. Even if it was never meant to happen this way. Even if you are choosing to spend time with her over me—something I have never seen you do. Even if tonight’s Mommy daughter date was meant to be a very very special occasion. But it’s fine. You did not know. That’s rather the point. 

My fingers drum against the table.

Everbloom, this is foolish. What kind of affini gets jealous over a relationship between florets? Admittedly Jade is still playing her part in that farcical wardship they put her in, so she is not a floret yet. But considering the degree of conditioning necessary to integrate her into this community, she may as well be. Regardless, I should not lay the blame at her feet. This is my own fault, nobody else’s. Somewhere along the line, I grew complacent. I forgot that you can still surprise me. 

It’s fine. None of this will matter at all soon enough. But this… deviation has been a rather curious one. I wish to better understand it,  to see where it goes, to learn what I can from it. It may prove useful in the future. After all, I can always do better, be better. That is the goal, is it not? To make you the happiest I possibly can, the very best you that you can possibly be. 

So I will give you space. I will keep to my corner booth and watch—unless, of course, intervention becomes necessary—and I will be sure to remind myself that I am doing all of this for you. 

I hear a splitting sound, and glance downward. Oh dear, one of my fingertips appears to have snapped off. It is embedded in the table. My thorns are out; how odd, I hadn’t noticed. I keep drumming. I keep watching. 

There is a slight furrow in your brow as you pour over the menu, is something wrong? Should I step in? No,I am being ridiculous. You are clearly having a good time. But you’re also starting to realize just how little you know about food. Being adventurous with your meals and trying new things seems fun when Mom is there to make sure you'll still enjoy it but now… you’ve never even heard of most of this stuff. And there’s a lot of xenosophonts eating here, too. Is this all non-terran food? Can you eat non-terran food? You wouldn’t know. 

Food’s always been kinda weird for you. Not in a bad way, but sometimes when you’re eating a meal, you’ll get little flashes of… something. You’ll take a bite and the thought will occur to you that perhaps it could have used a little more time in the oven, or a dash of cardamom, or less lemon zest. Something like that. Other times, you’ll catch a whiff of something from inside the kitchen as the door sails open, and images of dancing plates and sizzling pans will skip like stones across your mind. Then the stones sink, and you forget. 

You shiver. It’s such a lovely night. 

And gosh, Jade is looking so pretty. She's got this super cute low cut green dress that really brings out her eyes. You think about complementing it, but you already have. You’ve already complimented her necklace, too, and also her shoes. 

It’s at this point you realize that you're floundering a little. That much is obvious, even from here. In so many ways, you've grown up so much. But you're still no smooth-talker. My poor dear, should I step in? No, no, I’m being ridiculous. It’s okay, sweetness. You’re going to be fine. 

The thought of asking Jade how things are going with Miss Cinnia crosses your mind, but just then, your server comes up to your table. She's wearing a well tailored suit, and a bed of flowers in place of an undershirt. Mom has taught you to always be polite and pay attention to adults whenever they address you, so you do just that. 

“Good evening, dears,” she greets. “My name is Lalia Byllis, Second Bloom, She / Her.  I'll be your server tonight. Do we know what we'd like to eat?” She turns to Jade first, and oh no, you hope Jade managed to find something okay. You'd hate to have suggested a restaurant only for her to not like it.

Jade glances at her menu, then back up to Lalia with a polite smile. “I think I'll have the rockfish,” she answers confidently.

I see the realization, followed by humiliation, hit you in a clean one two punch. Jade knew exactly what she wanted with barely even a glance at the menu, meanwhile you still have no idea. But don’t worry, sweetheart. I anticipated this. Mommy will always come to your rescue. 

Lalia turns to you as you pour over the menu in last minute desperation trying to find something, anything you're sure you'll like, then she speaks. “As for you, Melly. We've already received a special request from your mother. No need to worry. A meal is being prepared to your exact tastes as we speak.“

You freeze, trying and failing to scrape together the words to protest. You invited Jade out! You wanted this specific restaurant! Picking something off the menu should be easy! But nothing comes to you. Defeated, you squeak out a polite, “thank you, Miss.” 

Miss Lalia gives a polite little bow then heads off back toward the kitchen, leaving you to stew in your shame.

Alone with your date once again, your eyes meet Jade’s. What must she think? This is so humiliating. “D***.” Huh? Jade just said something: a word, you think. But it's like your brain skipped right over it. “Your Mom is so nice. She’s like, always looking out for you and stuff, it’s really sweet.”

Relief washes over you. Of course Jade feels that way. Miss Cinnia isn’t even her actual Mom. She’s… a case worker or something? You can’t remember the exact details. Mom explained it to you once, but whenever you think too much about it your head starts to feel all fuzzy. 

Anyway the point is, Jade probably really wishes she had someone to look out for her the way Mom looks out for you. You breathe an easy sigh, and grin. “Right,” you chuckle. “Sorry just, for a second I was worried you'd think I’m lame or something.” 

Amusement sparkles in Jade's eyes. “Why would I think that?” 

“I dunno.” It seems so silly in hindsight. “I guess, when we first met you were the new girl at school and like, you seemed all nervous y’know? Still figuring yourself out and stuff. So I felt kinda like I was looking after you—like a mentor or a big sister or something—and like you looked up to me.”

“Well yeah, I kinda do,” Jade blushes a little, but the smile on her face tells you all you need to know. “You helped me through a whole lot.”

“See that's what I mean! I've somehow tricked you into thinking I'm cool, I don't wanna ruin that image by like, y’know, needing my Mom to order food for me and stuff,” you giggle. 

One of the servers comes by. She asks me to please not damage the table further. Apparently I have been sawing into it with the cutlery. How embarrassing. My vines have minds of their own sometimes.

Jade scoffs. “Are you kidding? I’m terrified over here. This is the first time I’ve been on a date with anyone. I’m sure you go out with tons of girls. Meanwhile I didn’t even know I was a girl til I was in my tw—” her eyelid twitches, and stops short. “Uhh…” a groan sounds from somewhere in her throat as Jade grimaces, and squeezes her eyes shut in concentration. Her breathing quickens; her lips move on their own, mouthing silent mantras that even I do not know. 

I watch closely, straining to read her lips. “...Jade… and I am... girl… in my… year of…”

Would that I could see past her expression, into the folds of her brain, and watch those smothered memories strain against the weight of Cinnia’s conditioning. She is a master of her craft, after all. And sews such intricate, intimate webs through her subject’s mind. 

Jade shudders, then moans, low and breathy, Her eyes open once again. “What was I saying? Uhh… oh, right, nerves,” she giggles. “I mean this is first time out without Miss Cinnia in stars knows how long, let alone dressed like this, and I keep worrying that everyone is looking at me like I’m—”

“You look amazing.”

Wiggling in place, Jade murmurs a quick “thanks.” 

That was well-played. It’s hardly the first time you’ve told her that tonight, but she needed to hear it. I was worried, for a moment, that you’d be spending this entire date tripping over your words. But Jade’s practically glowing now. You’ve done well.Of course, who knows where you’d be without my intervention? Still, I am so very proud.

Jade manages to pry her eyes back up from the tablecloth. “So do you. Look amazing, I mean. And that dress too.” 

“Oh this?” You tug at your dress, a frilly, white and pastel blue little thing that I picked out for you, much to your chagrin. But I knew Jade would like it. Who wouldn’t? You look absolutely precious in it. “Thanks, I uh, wanted to wear the one you got me but Mom insisted I wear this one instead.” 

“Oh, so Miss Varyn picked it for you?”  

You blush, twiddling your thumbs a little. “Yeah, She insisted you’d like this one and that the one you got me was better for a more formal occasion. I guess she was right. Like always,” Laced within the unmistakable love and reverence, I detect a hint of frustration. I suppose, perhaps, I may have been a tad overbearing. Maybe. And only a tad. But it’s for your own good. The last thing I want is for you to have a bad time. Especially over something silly like wearing the wrong clothes for the occasion.

Jade tugs at one of her straps. “Miss Cinnia helped me pick this one out too… she also helped me put it on.” Her cheeks flush as she seems lost in memory for a moment. Your heart skips a beat. She looks so pretty like that, smiling to herself all bashful. 

You get that funny feeling in your belly, the one you often get when thinking too long and too hard about Jade. Or Mom. 

Jade shivers a little, then sputters, struggling to regain her composure. “Just, y’know, there were so many hooks and stuff, I don’t think I’d have ever been able to get it without her to be honest.”

“I know the kind,” you laugh. “I never would have gotten this on without help. But y’know, if you like this dress so much how about next time we hang out you come over to our hab? I have so many outfits, half of them I swear I’ve never even worn. We can try some of them together and I can probably help you in and out of most of them!” 

“Oh!” Jade averts her gaze, giggling awkwardly and fiddling with her hair. “Um, yeah. I think I’d like that… it’s just that um…”

She looks a little nervous all of a sudden. “Did I say something wrong?” you ask.

Jade shakes her head. “No, not at all! I just… haven’t really done that since uh…” she gasps, then pauses in thought. Is she talking to herself again? It’s a funny quirk of hers, but it’s cute. Then she focuses up again. “At least, I haven’t with another terran before!” 

Your brow furrows. “You've never... tried on clothes with another terran?” 

Oh dear, I should have anticipated this. 

Jade gives you a searching look, then her eyes widen. “Oh!” she says. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have assumed. I’ve just heard a lot about how… fast things can go with fl*****, especially physically.”

Now it's your turn to look perplexed. “Sorry I think I… missed part of that? Also, physically? What do you mean?” 

Something seems to dawn on her, and Jade giggles. “Oh, nevermind. Sorry I think I must have misunderstood. That sounds like fun. I’d like that.”

“So I guess I’m getting a second date?” You ask, a cocksure grin stretching across your face. Poor thing, you have no idea just how close you were to disaster. 

Out the corner of your eye, you spot Lalia approaching, carrying two steaming platters. “Looks like our food’s here!”

Loath as you are to admit it, the meal Mom chose for you was perfect.

* * *

It’s been a few days since your little date with Jade. And you have been absolutely abuzz with the most adorable excitement for your impending second. I almost feel guilty that it likely won’t come. Maybe next time Cinnia and I will plan for you two to get together. It will be easier for everyone that way.

In the meantime, I pull you close, and nestle us both further into the couch, gazing down at your precious face as you flip through a catalogue of outfits you'd like to compile in preparation. 

Moments like these are my favorite. Just quietly passing the day with you, stroking your hair while you chew idly on one of my vines, watching you bask in the pure, simple happiness of our life together. From time to time, your little fingers reach up to swipe across your tablet screen, or tap at one selection or another. Whenever you see something you especially like, your eyes will sparkle and your smile will widen for just a moment

I feel so warm just sitting here, watching you like this, feeling your happiness resonate with and amplify my own, which in turn nourishes yours. This sort of easygoing contentment would have never been possible for you before we met. But look at you now. It’s such a joy to watch you blossom like this. I am so very proud. You are my greatest accomplishment, after all. 

Perhaps sensing my adoring gaze, your eyes are drawn upward, to meet mine. Tiny shivers of joy all ripple across my vines as I watch your pupils widen and your lips tremble at the mere sight of me. Mommy is here, little one; Mommy is here. 

I beam down at you, and a tiny “eep” escapes your lips. Now you’re staring ahead, hands over your cheeks as they burn bright crimson. Poor thing, those silly older girl feelings you get can strike at the most adorably inopportune times, can’t they? 

But before my teasing can continue, your tablet begins to buzz, and you jump, dropping it to the floor. 

That’s from Jade. You already know it's from Jade, and yet, despite the fact that you and she have already begun planning a second date, you still can't shake that nervous, giddy excitement  at the mere thought of her texting you. 

You scramble from the couch onto the floor to recover your tablet, heart pounding in your chest. As it turns out, she’d only sent a meme, but you're happy to see it all the same. Anything Jade sends you feels special, maybe not as special as how Mom makes you feel, but special all the same. Also—how you feel about Jade and how you feel about Mom are totally different. So, y’know, the comparison really doesn’t apply. The point is how special Jade makes you feel. One text from her is enough to have you bursting with giggly glee.

It’s absolutely infectious too, that glee of yours. It tingles wherever my vines touch your skin, percolating up through my extremities and into my core, where it pools tender and lovely and oh so precious. Still, I cannot shake a slight pang seeing you scramble from my lap just to read the words of another. As much as I remind myself that I will always come first to you, I can't help but long for the tenderness we shared only moments ago. 

From your place now lying at my feet, you exchange a few more texts with Jade, growing more excited by the moment, occasionally glancing up at me to give that adorable smile of yours. Then your cheeks flare red, and you hold your tablet close to your chest, hiding your face in your hands.

“Something the matter, dearest?”

“No, Mom,” you reply, before pausing in thought. You peak at your tablet, then at me, then back and forth a few times. “Mom,” you ask, “what's topping?” 

Did the room suddenly get colder? A stem in my neck snaps as I turn to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t catch that.” 

“Topping,” you repeat, oblivious. “What does it mean?”

My jaw clenches. I will no doubt need to replace a few teeth later. Some words were never meant to be spoken with your voice, nor form on your lips or tongue. It feels profane, My dear, sweet little girl, I am so sorry I failed you. I shiver, and force my gentlest, most maternal smile possible. “Mellybelly, sweetheart. Where did you hear that word?” There is a quiver in my voice that I struggle to keep suppressed.

“Jade asked me if I would be okay topping, and I said, yes, but I don't really know what she meant by that.” 

Of course. Of course of course of course. I grip the sofa cushion. Fabric tears between my fingers. Bad influences. It’s not your fault. And again, I remind myself that it’s not Jade’s fault either. She doesn’t know better. 

Thankfully, a bad influence can be corrected. Everything’s okay. Cinnia and I will have to have a discussion about her warden’s tongue. But first, I need to clear this up. “Sweetheart, I'm not really sure you—”

“It's a sex thing, isn't it?” You ask innocently. That’s a subject you’ve been meaning to bring up to Mom for a white now, ever since you first learned about it. It seems fun! But it’s strange, as soon as the words leave your mouth, Mom’s eyes flash bright, so bright that you have to squint a little, and your face heats up. You feel her leaves shake all around you as she leans in oh so close. Sweet breath tickles your skin. 

There is an ache somewhere deep in my core. My voice shakes as I ask, “how do you know about that?” The answer is obvious, but I need to hear it.

You shrug a little. Mom’s acting kind of strange. You can’t place how; it's just different. But also familiar? You’re not sure from when. Hazy impressions slip and slide through your mind like half,remembered dreams. Down in the depths of your brain, your smothered amygdala stirs in its verdant bonds: pure, animal fear. It’s been years, more than you could ever know. Cold, tingly feelings skitter down your spine.

Gosh, Mom is so pretty. 

Your lips form into a timid pout, and a fit of sheepish giggles overtakes you. “Jade texted me about it, so I looked it up,” You answer, absentmindedly fidgeting with your skirt. 

It takes great effort, but I manage to force something resembling composure. Nodding, I trace soothing strokes down your cheek. So soft. So fragile. “Oh sweetness,” I smile wide as I can, face straining as my mouth stretches and stretches. I must not give you the wrong idea. This is not your fault. You are not in trouble. Mommy could never be mad at you. “I’m very sorry. That must have all sounded so confusing and strange to you.”

You huff, and roll your eyes. An amused little titter bursts from your lips. You feel a little mean, but you can’t help it. Mom’s just a bit naive, is all. “Come on,” you say. “Maybe like, a couple years ago, but I get it! It sounds fun! Jade’s been sending me some pictures of herself and she’s um… she’s really pretty.” 

Mom’s smile gets wider than you think you’ve ever seen before. Then you hear a sharp splitting noise, and a crack appears down the middle of Her face. When she speaks, her voice cracks in much the same way, “Is that so… petal?” 

You reply, I think. But I don’t hear you. I’m being devoured from the inside. Vines and stems and branches gnash and clench and constrict against one another: chewing and spitting themselves out. 

It is my job to teach you these things. It is my job to decide if you learn them at all. 

A trembling hand dips into my chest cavity, withdrawing my tablet, already dialing Cinnia. Thorns pluck at my vocal cords as I speak. Saccarine. It must be saccharine as possible. I musn’t scare you, after all. You are innocent in this, little one. And Mommy will make it all better soon. “Give me just one moment, okay sweetheart?”

Mom’s voice sounds wrong. Nice, but wrong. You give a quick nod, unable to shake the sense that something is very, very off. But the more you focus on it, the fuzzier your thoughts get, until you’re just gazing up at Mom, brain full of buzzy feel-good chemicals, meeting Her crooked smile with one of your own. Through Her tablet, you think you hear Miss Cinnia’s voice. When Mom speaks, She does so in that singsong language you don't understand. “Cinnia,” and “Jade,” are the only words you recognize. After a brief back and forth, Mom stows her tablet. 

There’s another crack, Mom’s face snaps itself back together, and Her smile goes mostly back to normal.  “Melly dear?” She calls. “I’ve got some bad news, but also some good news.” 

You cannot shake the feeling you’ve just seen something you were never meant to. But then you do. 

“Bad first?” you ask, smiling innocently. The smile of someone who’s never heard truly bad news in her life. Seeing it helps. I feel a little better already. After all, you’re still okay, still my sweet, precious, happy girl. Nothing has happened that can’t or won’t be undone. That hasn’t been undone before.

I need to hold you. I need to feel you against me: your body, your skin, your squishy tummy and adorable little legs. I need to see them kick in giddy, innocent joy. I need to squeeze you and pet you in all my favorite places and yours. I need to know and to have you know that I am here, that I have you, that you are mine, that you are okay.

Vines creep in, surrounding you on all sides. They cling to you, snake up your arms and legs, entwine between your fingers and toes. You think nothing of it. It’s okay, sweetness. It’s okay. 

Holding you calms me. I should not have lost my temper so. I have nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine. I have seen to it. I press a kiss to your cheek, and speak .“Unfortunately, Jade will need a raincheck on your date.”

A flash of disappointment. You try to hide it behind a quick smile. But then, your face falls again. I ache, but soon things will be better. 

“Oh,” you say.

“It’s okay,” I assure you. “How about we do our Mommy daughter date then?” 

You sway back and forth, a shy smile on your face. There’s no helping it. You know that isn’t how She means it, but whenever She talks about taking you on a date, all those embarrassing fluttery schoolgirl crush feelings start up in your chest. Not that you have a crush on Her, or anything. “Yeah,” you answer. “That sounds fun. But why did Jade cancel?” you ask.

“Why, that's the good news of course! She’s just asked Cinnia to adopt her.”

Any lingering traces of disappointment are gone in an instant. You’re  so excited for her. It’s about time, really.

Chapter Text

Hands trembling, your eyes scan the words once again. Then again. And again. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be right. You keep expecting to blink, and open your eyes to something else. But no, it’s still there:

>>> PolishedPoint — Hey, Cinnia’s acting really weird and scary. 

>>> PolishedPoint — I don’t feel safe right now. 

>>> PolishedPoint — Can I come over?”

You thought it was a joke at first. You even sent Jade a reply asking if it was. But this isn’t the kind of thing she’d joke about. So what could it mean? That question bounces around inside your head, but you have no answer, no conception of what Jade could possibly be afraid of. 

There is a strange tightness in your throat. So many unfamiliar feelings. Your heart hammers in your chest; a bead of cool sweat rolls down your spine, electrifying nerves wherever it touches; you find yourself fighting the urge to bury yourself away someplace small and safe and hidden. A foreign, frightful idea occurs to you: something bad could happen. 

And then, from somewhere behind you, a creaking sound. You yelp, whirling around to face a threat that, until only moments ago, you had never once conceived. 

Oh. 

Relief floods your senses. You breathe a heavy sigh, exhaling the burden with it, and laugh a little. That all seems so ridiculous now. 

Mom approaches, and a smile breaks out upon your face. It occurs to you that should probably tell Her about the text Jade sent you. Whatever Cinnia did to upset Jade, you’re sure Mom can work it out, make sure everyone is safe and okay. You hold out your tablet, and She’s reaching toward you now, too. Does She want a hug? 

You lean happily into Her touch.

Chapter Text

Jubilant cries ring through the air as you and Jade tumble about on Cinnia’s oversized couch. Coming to a halt atop Jade, you pin her by the shoulders, and stare, triumphant, at your captive. The upper hand is yours now, so you take a few seconds to catch your breath, to wipe the sweat from your brow, to just stop and appreciate the moment.

Flat on her back, Jade is red in the face and breathless. Her hair is a tangled mess, and her dress is only half on, having partly peeled itself away in the commotion. You make a note to fix that when you get the chance.

But not right now, not with Jade’s sweet face looking up at you like that. From head to toe, she oozes bubbly excitement: her smile, the twinkle in her eye, the way she squirms whenever you squeeze her, or tickle her, or pepper her with little kisses.

Speaking of, you reach your thumb out to brush a joyful tear from her cheek. She looks away coyly at the attention: burying her face in her shoulder, hugging herself and wiggling in place. Anything to get all that giddy energy out. Stars, she’s so adorable, but you know you can do better; you know you can get more out of her, if you push her buttons just right.

So you pounce, locking your legs around Jade’s waist and tickling her belly, eliciting shrieks of pure glee. You can’t help but join in.

From somewhere off behind you, you hear a coo, and perk up. I just couldn’t help myself. How could I when the two of you are that precious? You turn to face me, and I watch your curious expression melt into awestruck adoration, which you’re quick to try and hide.

“Oh, hey Mom,” you say, leaning back onto your hands, trying way too hard to look and sound as casual as possible. “I didn’t hear you get back.”

A pouty whimper sounds below you. “Melllyyyy,” Jade whines, reaching up to tug at your shirt.

“Just one second, sweetie,” you say, and reach forward to tap the girl’s nose, delighting her. “Is Miss Cinnia back as well?”

“She sure is!” I reply, crossing the room to stand over the two of you. “Hear that, little one?” I call, tickling Jade’s toes, watching her erupt into another fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Your Mommy’s here.”

Then, Jade does what little ones like her do best: take an unparalleled surplus of radiant, unalloyed joy—so much that the air itself seems thick with it—and multiply it a thousandfold in a heartbeat. She bolts upright, wriggling out of your grip and leaping from the sofa just in time to see Cinnia round the corner.

“Mommy!” She squeals, dashing across the room and throwing herself into Cinnia’s waiting vines.

“There’s my little girl!” Cinnia cries, catching Jade with ease, and spinning her about amid an incomprehensible cacophony of elation.

You’re not far after Jade, trotting after the girl, and coming to a stop at my side. I kneel, wrapping my arms around you from behind. Quiet, contented, you melt into my embrace, and watch the pair in front of us.

Jade is cradled in Miss Cinnia’s arms, babbling on about everything that you and she got up to while Miss Cinnia was gone. And Miss Cinnia’s just standing there, holding Jade close, gazing down with such love in her eyes. From time to time, she’ll laugh, or coo, or ask Jade some question about her day, or shower the girl in praise, or kisses, or tickles. Then there’s Jade, who you’re pretty sure in this moment, right here and right now, just might be the happiest girl in the whole universe, not to mention how absurdly precious she is.

Cinnia’s pulled Jade in closer now, nestling the girl into her chest and slipping a vine past Jade’s lips. In an instant, all that wiggly, excited energy dissolves. Jade’s eyes close, resting her cheek against her Mother’s breast, chewing and suckling the vine. Your chest tightens, and a soft sound, near inaudible, withers in your throat.

You hear someone say something, but the words don’t register. I give you a gentle poke, and you jump. “Wh-what?” you mumble. “Sorry I…”

“It’s okay, dear.” Cinnia gives a good-natured chuckle, and you realize her focus has shifted away from Jade, and on to you. “I was just asking if she behaved herself.”

“Oh,” you say. “Of course she did. She was an angel, as always.”

“Well thank you again for sitting her, especially so last minute,” Cinnia replies. “It’s so nice to have such a great sitter so close by. I know you two have some big plans tonight and so I do hope she didn’t tire you out.”

You puff up your chest with pride, and give her a quick shake of your head. “Not at all, Miss Cinnia. Little Jade is always a treat to sit for.”

“And little Jade is so adorable too, isn’t she?” My vines tighten around your waist, My grin widens, gleaming points dripping phytotoxin.

Gosh, Mom has such a pretty smile. “Absolutely,” you agree. “She’s the most precious little thing.”

“She really is.” Cinnia’s attention returns to Jade, now half asleep in her grasp.

“Well, we should probably get going,” I say. “Melly darling, would you like to say goodbye to Jade before we’re off?” I release you from my grasp, and prod you forward.

Cinnia kneels down to give you better access to Jade. I recognize the look on your face, it’s not all that unlike the one I get looking at you, though lacking that deep-seated caretaker’s urge we affini feel. Still, I wonder if, perhaps, you might like a little sister some day. It couldn’t be Jade though, not for a while, at least.

Reaching out, you tickle the girl’s cheek, and call out to her, “Jaaaade-y~,” you sing. Her lidded eyes peek open; a smile begins to form on Jade’s face, but then, she freezes. Her eyes widen. Her lips struggle in vain to form words as her hands fly to her face in a futile attempt to hide her reddening cheeks.

What a tantalizing sight. Cinnia is an artist when it comes to taming, twisting, weaponizing cognitive dissonance. So skillfully she folds a mind in on itself, ensuring it knows, and does not know at the same time. That is how she likes her littles ones: always a tiny nudge away from remembering just how much they have fallen, yet completely unable to understand what was lost.

And you don’t notice a thing. That’s what makes it all the more delicious. Oblivious, you tickle and tease Jade, showering the girl with chaste little kisses as she squirms and blushes and whines. Then, something snaps. Jade's composure melts away, and she burrows her face into Cinnia’s chest, whining for her Mommy, no doubt sinking deeper into the web of regression Cinnia has woven through her mind.

“Stars,” you coo, glancing up at Cinnia. “She’s so adorable.” With a little wave, you turn away, returning to my side. “Ready to go?” you ask, and I nod. We say our final goodbyes to Cinnia as I lead you from her hab; she and I exchange a meaningful look as we depart. You are too caught up in the way my dangling vine idly brushes your thigh to notice.

It’s just right there: hanging from Her side, grazing your exposed skin. Wherever it touches, you feel sparks of squirmy, fluttery sensation. You’ve tried to mention it a few times now, speak up, say something.

But what would even say? ‘Mom, you’re touching me?’ Obviously She is. She touches you all the time: hugs you, strokes your hair, visits doting little petal-kisses all up and down your body. It’s normal. What Moms do.

So what are you supposed to tell her exactly? That the way She’s touching your thigh right now is making you think about how much you want her to kiss you? Obviously not. That would be weird, inappropriate, and what if She—what if you told her, and She just kind of looked down at you and smiled, and She cupped your chin and pulled you in close as She leaned in and squeezed you into a big tight hug, lifting you up into the air, legs kicking as She swallowed your cries of protest, teasing your mouth open with her lower lip and—

“Is something the matter, sweetheart?” I ask. “You’re trembling.”

Every muscle in your body goes rigid. “N-no,” you blurt.

“Oh, silly me, must be that over-protective mother’s instinct of mine.” Mom glances down at you, Her big pretty eyes twinkling with so much love. It’s a warm spring day, but you’re shivering all the same. Gaze sharpening, She slows, kneeling before you. “Oh, darling, you have a little spot of something on your face.” Her tone is chiding, but gently so, there is no hint of anger or disappointment. She grasps your chin, reaching out with her finger to wipe the corner of your mouth.

Suddenly, you can’t shake the sense that all eyes are on you. You scrunch your face, recoiling “I—I got it,” you insist. But as you reach up to wipe it away, her grip tightens. A vine coils around your wrist, then the other. She pins your arms behind your back, grasping you by the nape with her free hand, then She binds your waist, your legs, your neck.

You’re roasting, a baked potato wrapped in viney foil, cooked by searing humiliation. And it’s only getting worse. Wherever She touches, you start to feel this buzz of simmering, tingly… something. You don’t know, the same feeling that makes you really want to kiss her. And it bursts and pops and skips and ripples all over. Hot and cold, chilling you to the bone just to melt you inside and out. And She just… keeps going like nothing.

Her gaze is set in concentration. She reaches up with her index finger, and wipes the corner of your mouth. You gasp, knees nearly giving out. “Oh, don’t squirm, Melly,” She giggles. “I know it's embarrassing to have your Mom fuss over you in public but the sooner you just hold still and let me get it, the faster this will be over.”

Any hope of a coherent response is gone. Nevertheless, you open your mouth to protest further, at which point Mom’s thumb pivots up from cupping your chin, and pops inside. Then She pins your tongue in place, and keeps wiping. The motion was so casual, almost instinctive. If any part of Her pays it any mind, Her face gives nothing away.

This is a nightmare. You can hear people walking by, feel them staring; their eyes are sticky on your skin. Wait, no, that’s just Mom’s nectar, She’s leaking it all over you. As if this couldn’t get worse. You strain against her grip, then moan as all your skin lights up with all these incredible feelings.

Doesn’t She see how much you hate this? Your toes curl. Your eyelids flutter. Between heavy breaths, your lips close around her thumb and begin to suck. You’re not a little girl anymore! You don’t need your Mom to do this stuff for you and it’s so embarrassing and lame that she’s doing it in public and not even asking if it's okay and stars you want to kiss her so bad.

Even as your insides dissolve, Mom remains calm, unwavering, focused on whatever little spot you have on the corner of your mouth.

Her finger pulls away, granting but a moment of sweet mercy. Her eyes narrow. “Hmm,” She huffs. “It’s still there.” She retracts Her hand, wetting Her finger in Her mouth, then redoubles Her efforts. “Hold still, Melly.”

As if you can move at all. Again, She wipes the corner of your mouth, you feel Her saliva wet on your face. It sears onto your skin, burning pleasure fueling your ever accelerating desperation. It’s no use, you stretch and strain against Her grip, but that only accelerates the overwhelming feelings. You’re so hot, so needy, so desperate and you don’t even know what for and it’s all too much, like your whole body is just shutting down and—

Oh. Oh dear. I see. Clawing hunger stirs deep in my core. Not yet. But soon.

I pull away, examining your face. You have suffered enough, we can say the ‘spot’ is gone. I make a show of exhaling a satisfied noise, and release you. “Silly girl,” I say, mussing your hair. “I’ll have to teach you to wash your face all over again.”

As I rise to my full height, you remain still, limp, eyes blown-out, mouth agape and panting. Pollen coats you head to toe. You are red in the face, and you are trembling. Words form on your lips, but it takes a moment for any sound to escape. “M-Mom?” you whimper.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Stammering, shaking, near tears yet still bursting with desires you cannot understand, you force the words from your lips. “I th-think I wet myself a little.” You gaze up at me, lips trembling and eyes full of confused longing. Is it already starting? Maybe, your implant has been known to jump the gun from time to time. I could check, but where’s the fun in that? I’ll make however long we have left extra special.

Everbloom, would that I could live in this moment, spend years dissecting it, savoring every delectable facet. But I have eternity to make more just like it. I give a patient smile. “I see that, sweetness, but it’s okay. We’ll get you home and into some new clothes, okay?”

Wordless, you nod, and I scoop you up into my arms. I feel a moment of tension, and wonder if you’re about to complain, but then feel you relax. My poor, sweet daughter, perhaps I went too hard on you. I can sometimes get carried away. This is always my favorite part, after all, when I can pull out all the stops, throw caution and subtly to the wind, and tease you to my heart’s content in preparation for the grand finale. I clutch you tight to my chest, and watch you settle in.

“Did you have fun with little Jade, darling?” I ask.

You know Mom is just trying to distract you from all this, but you’re not above letting her. “Yeah,” you say. “She’s very sweet.”

There’s that smile of yours. Even now, with her so much littler than you, I can still sense deep fondness for her. Perhaps Cinnia and I should discuss making you pinnates. But not yet, there are a few configurations we’ll need to assess, relationship structures to test, variables to tweak and compare before making such a big, permanent change to both your lives and ours. We’ll give it another hundred years or so, maybe two.

“She is,” I agree. “And so adorable, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “She has quite the imagination, that one. Kept telling me I was her girlfriend, and that when I sat her last Friday, that was actually our ‘first date,’ and that when she grew up we were gonna get married.”

“That’s so sweet,” I croon. And so delicious. “You know, I keep thinking about her all wrapped up in Cinnia’s arms like that. The way she looked up at Cinnia, just pure love, not a care in the world.” I tap your nose. “It made me think of you. How I used to hold you just like that, just like this.”

Mom squeezes you tighter, and you're suddenly very aware of how close your face is to Her breasts. She’s wearing another low-cut dress today, and stars you… if you didn’t know any better you’d say they looked even bigger than normal. Not that you pay much attention to how big your Mom’s breasts are, or anything. But now you are. Now you’re full-on staring, staring deep into Her bountiful cleavage.

And you’re pretty sure Mom is still talking, prattling about when you were little, but you can’t hear a word she’s saying. You’re getting lost: lost in how soft they look, in the way they jiggle whenever She takes a step, the way they look so soft, so warm, so inviting, like you could just curl up against Her and—

“And you would just curl right up against me and suckle for hours and hours and hours, then… sweetheart?”

This implacable sense of importance closes around your thoughts, grabbing your focus and pulling it back up to Her. “S-sorry, what was that?” You asked, dazed. Oh stars, were you really just openly staring at your Mom’s chest? Fantasizing about—

“I was saying that it took me forever to wean you off breastfeeding. You were about Jade’s age, fully capable of carrying on a conversation, and still whenever I held you like how Cinnia was holding Jade earlier—like how I’m holding you now—you’d inevitably start to just longingly gaze at my chest, then if I didn’t catch on you’d start whining, or pawing at me, until I finally gave in and you’d start suckling away.” Beneath the surface of this human facsimile, vines claw at the walls, desperate to escape, to grasp you, shower you in affection, swaddle you, swallow you.

I smile.

“Honestly, I was starting to worry you’d be in High School, and I’d still need to stop by every day for lunch.”

Your hands fly to your face. “Mooom,” you groan. “That’s weird. And… gross and…”

She laughs, giving you an adoring squeeze. Your cheek presses directly into her breast. You feel her soft flesh yield against yours, and shudder. On no, you’re staring again. A soft whimper stirs in your throat.

If Mom heard you, She doesn’t show it. “Come on, sweetheart, it was just a joke. I know you’re at that age now when your Mom is embarrassing and uncool and—”

And pretty, and kissable, and curvy and smells so good and—you bite your lip, the sudden sting pulling you back to reality.

You should probably change the subject. It doesn’t matter what to, just something, anything else. But before you can come up with anything, Mom comes to a halt. Glancing about, you realize you’re already home.

“Well,” I say. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, dressed in something nice. After that I’ve a bit of getting ready of my own to do. I have a date with the prettiest young lady in town tonight, after all.” And it’s going to be a very special evening.

Chapter Text

The camera shutter clicks. We unfreeze, cheesy smiles fading into something more natural as we break away from our pose. One more for the scrapbook. I take the polaroid, and tuck it away by my core for safekeeping, then get on with our date.

We talk a lot. Some of it is idle chit chat, some of it is not. You tell me about your week, about school, your friends, interests, hobbies, all of it. Jade comes up too, of course. You have so much to say, so much to reveal, so much for me to learn from. The mild disinhibitor I slipped into your drink helps, no doubt. And I engage you, ask you questions, give my own insights and observations and anecdotes .But, one of the great many advantages to being affini is our ability to compartmentalize the mind. So I shunt away a little corner of my consciousness, not for conversation, or notes, but to simply take in the moment.

From across the table, I watch you, rosy cheeked and fidgeting. You’ve tried to keep your head high this evening, wear the very special dress I picked for you with pride, but it’s hard, isn’t it? You’ve never worn something so revealing, so… grown up before. Not in public. Not that you can remember. My own unyielding gaze is of no help either, I would imagine. It weighs heavy on you, the way it traces up and down your body, drinking in your figure, relishing the magic of this moment: my little girl, all grown up. Grown as I allow, anyway.

You’re laughing now. A sweet, tinkling sound, among the most beautiful in all the universe. I feel each and every vibration. Your seat is formed entirely of my vines, after all. They hug your frame, fit you perfectly. For the sake of your poor little heart, I have rendered you incapable of noticing.

Our eyes meet, and you glance away, staring instead at the flickering candle between us. That leaping flame has captured your gaze many times tonight. Somewhere out of sight, a violist plays a familiar song: our song, though you do not recognize it so. Once, we danced to it, slow and intimate. It conjures no such memories now, only calm, relaxation, idle happiness.

That is the goal of all this, the candle, the seat, the music. This restaurant, this table, this meal, I have meticulously prepared every facet. Each serves to lull you, to remind you that you are safe, that you are mine, that what is to come is good and right and necessary.

Between sips of your drink, you curl a lock of hair between two fingers. There is hope in your eyes, though I’m not sure even you fully realize what you’re hoping for. “It looks lovely tonight, dearest,” I say. “Your hair, I mean.”

And you blush, and you stammer a little, wiggling from head to toe, before managing a tiny “thanks, Mom.” Our eyes meet, and your heart skips a beat. For a moment, even if it’s brief, you feel like Mom wasn’t just complementing you. You feel, for the first time, like maybe she really is starting to notice you, how much you’ve grown, how pretty you are. You are very pretty, after all, Mom has told you a million times, but is she finally starting to really, truly notice? It’s a silly idea, one you shouldn’t be so quick to indulge in.

Mothers compliment their daughters all the time, after all. Especially on Mommy daughter dates, especially while their vines stroke and coil up their daughters’ legs, especially after dressing them up in fancy cocktail dresses that show off their bodies and treating them to candle-lit dinners. Right? Of course. You’re being ridiculous. You shouldn’t ruin the evening fixating on some dumb schoolgirl crush which you definitely don’t have.

But what if? A silly thought occurs to you. You probably shouldn’t, but the words are already spilling from your lips. “Hey Mom um… I was just wondering. Have you ever thought about like, dating someone? Getting a girlfriend? Is there… anyone you’re interested in like that?”

“Who me?” Mom giggles, and suddenly you’re sitting around at lunch, gossiping about crushes with a friend. “Well, I suppose there’s maybe one person I’ve been noticing a lot recently. But she probably isn’t interested. I’ve known her for a long time, and I can’t imagine her ever seeing me that way. She’d probably think I was weird and creepy for even thinking of her that way. Nevermind that I’m probably way too old for her.”

“W-well you never know,” you blurt. “She might really like you. I mean, you’re really… pretty. I can’t imagine anyone being, y’know, grossed out or anything.”

“Awww, sweetheart,” Mom coos. “I can’t believe the most beautiful girl in the whole universe is calling me pretty.”

Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it. “I mean, it’s true…” you offer weakly, internally clawing for every last shred of disintegrating composure.

“Oh darling,” I grin. “I know, but it’s lovely to hear you say so. Either way I couldn’t. What kind of mother would I be, taking time away from my dear daughter to date someone else?” You shift in my vines. My grip tightens, just a gentle squeeze. “And what about you, my dear girl? Is there nobody you’ve been noticing, nobody you’ve been wondering about?”

Something about the way Mom is looking at you, you feel so exposed. Like Her eyes have pinned you in place, pried you open, labeled, categorized each and every part of you. Does She know? Your breathing hitches, no, no that’s ridiculous. “Can we um, maybe change the subject?”

A thousand tiny tendrils grasp and stroke all along your body, massaging you, relaxing you, subduing you. I caress you from head to toe, savor this, savor you. But perhaps it’s time for a change of scenery. You sink back, exhaling a soft sigh as I envelope you. “Of course, dearest one.”

* * *

A sound rouses you from your studies. Footsteps, a creaking floorboard: you follow the sound, and through the sheer silk of your bedcurtains, glimpse a figure. In this dark, you see little more than a faded outline, and glowing eyes. Who could it be? A servant? No, not at this hour. An intruder? You shudder. A bead of sweat trickles down your spine. Lips trembling, you call out. “Who goes there?”

“‘Tis only I, my lady,” the figure replies.

Relief, excitement, dread, you recognize this voice. The one which curls your toes and sets your heart alight, stirs longing deep in your belly. But no, this cannot be allowed. “You must not be here,” you call. “Not at this hour, not at any.”

“So send me away,” She replies. Her hand reaches through the curtains, coming to rest on your leg. You yelp, shudder, whimper, retreating further into the safety of your bed. This cannot be allowed to continue.

“It is forbidden,” you hiss.

“And yet, it is what you desire, is it not?” Of course it isn’t. “Does your longing not torment you day and night? Does it not stew in the pit of your loins, tug at your heart, commandeer your every thought?”

“You are mistaken.” Your voice trembles, utterly unconvincing.

“So send me away.” A brief pause, you remain silent, She continues. “Think of me not as an intrusion, think of me not as impermissible, think of me instead as your salvation, as the one who has come to relieve you of all burdens, to abscond with you away from rules and social pressures and inhibition. Let me take you, let me wed you, let me seal our love with a kiss.”

Your heart has never beat faster. A soft whimper breaks the silence, and then, “please.”

Her hand reaches out to part the curtain. Pale moonlight plays upon Her face. For the first time, you gaze upon Her beauty and—no, no no no this can’t be. Your world ignites with blazing shame. It leaps up all around you even as the very sight of Her stokes the flames of passion in your delicate heart. No, stop, this isn’t how it’s meant to go, you can’t you won’t you don’t you never ever ever—Her hand cups your chin. You cannot look away. “M-Mom?”

“What is it, dear one?”

You bolt upright, wide eyed and short of breath. And there She is, breathtaking beauty in full bloom. She looms over you, Her eyes full of so much love and care, and all of it for you. It's enough to stop, then start your heart all over again, to fill your heart to burst with liquid joy and belonging. With every quickened beat, those feelings only grow, spreading all through your body. Your legs kick; your hands grasp at nothing; your lips tingle at the mere sight of Hers. In this moment, there's no denying it: you're head over heels for your Mom.

“Sweetness?” She asks. Oh stars, you were staring, weren't you? You need to calm down. Just relax. That's it. Look into my eyes, little one. Mommy is here. Mommy has you. You're safe. This is where you belong.

“I—I uhm, it's nothing,” you manage.

“Have a silly dream?" I ask. “You drifted off right in the middle of our movie. We'll have to watch it again sometime. The ending was so very romantic, the young lady and her suitor riding off together, their forbidden love finally free to blossom, unbound by social expectations and judging eyes.”

I lean in close to plant a kiss upon your cheek, and again, you are spellbound. Eyes wide and lips parted, your longing is palpable. It’s nearly time.

The imprint of Her lips is still warm on your cheek, or perhaps that heat comes from within. Either way, you cannot stop staring. For as long as you can remember, you have looked up at that face, and thought it was the most beautiful thing in the whole universe. It was only these past few years that you started to understand the full extent of that awe.

You reach a trembling hand to grasp Hers, Petals brush your skin as She pulls you in closer. Such pretty flowers, all of them. Sunny pinks and golds peek from between Her leaves. Some sport grand, billowing petals, others pucker into tiny rosebud kisses. Speckles of purple dot one, another bears streaks of red, more still are colored in spiraling gradients which draw your gaze further, deeper.

Each is dazzling as the last. And you are so very proud to bear your own, so very proud to match. They cluster around your neck, dot your skin, sprout from your hair. You often wonder when your vines and leaves will come in, then you’ll be just like Mom. Soon, you hope.

A single massive finger comes to rest on your forehead, I draw it downward in a slow stroke, tracing your face, your neck, your chest, the contours of your waist and hips. “My perfect girl, you’ve blossomed so wonderfully under my care, grown so beautifully.”

“Mooom,” you whine, in a hopeless attempt to mask your longing.

“Poor thing,” I croon. Stray vines reach out to take a wine glass, and fill it. I cup the back of your head in my palm, propping you up and leaning in closer. Your hair cascades between my fingers, so soft and lovely. I’ll brush it each and every morning for the next few years and not grow at all tired of the feeling.

Inches separate my face and yours now. I feel you struggling to look away. You cannot. “You know, sweetness. There’s nobody in the whole universe who will ever know you better than I do. I can look right into those pretty little eyes of yours, and see every thought, every feeling.”

And just what is that supposed to mean? You swallow hard. She probably means something else, right?

Then, She delivers the killing blow. “Don;t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been looking at me lately, Mellybelly.”

Everything feels so tight, so itchy, so hot. You need to leave. You can’t. Vines are wrapped tight around your limbs. Since when? “Mom?” you stammer. Is that hope you’re feeling? “What do you mean? What is this?”

“Such a beautiful young lady,” I purr, touching, stroking, squeezing. No restrain now. Take every liberty, savor every inch, every moment. Let it all out. It will be some time before I get to do this again, after all. “But I think you’re keeping a secret from me.”

Feelings you don’t understand, you can’t understand swell in your tummy, curl like teasing fingers ‘round your deepest, most hidden places. Again and again, you try to form words, but your tongue flails uselessly with each attempt, releasing only a string of nonsensical babbles. She smiles down at you. It’s different now. You’ve seen this sort of look before, though, you’re sure of it. Where?

“Melly dear,” my voice is gentle, but commanding; it demands your attention, and you give it. I lean closer still, my lips tickle your ear as I whisper. “Do you have a crush on your Mom?”

The world has opened up and swallowed you. Only these walls are not of sheer rock. It is vines, flowers, leaves, roots that devour you. Somehow, you manage speech, sort of. “I—I—uhm… m-maybe?” you whimper.

A low, rumbling giggle sounds in my throat. “Oh, sweetheart. That must be so very embarrassing for you. Aren't there any girls your own age you're interested in?” I ask, eliciting the most delicious squirming fit. With every little movement, a million tiny feelers glide across your flesh, soaking me to my core in sensory delight. I can only begin to imagine how it feels for you, soft bristles bending and buckling as they brush along your most sensitive places. The dam breaking, unleashing over a decade of pent up desire, all of it crashing into you at once.

“Though I suppose it makes sense,” I.muse. “It's natural for a daughter to love her mother. How could you not fall for the very first person you ever knew, ever loved, the one who raised you, cherished you, taught you the ways of the world?”

You feel it now, her radiant love shining its light on every corner of your heart, your mind, your soul. She knows, knows you're a silly girl with a big stupid crush on her Mom. Shame glows bright in the deepest depths of your very being. But you don't mind. Il feels like Her.

“Don't think I haven’t noticed the way your brain turns to gooey lovey mush whenever I smile at you. Just like that. How could you do anything but fall in love when the sight of me drowns you in awestruck adoration?”

I sweep a lock of hair from your eyes. You lean into my touch. You're ready. “If you think about it, it would be strange for a daughter not to fall in love with her Mother, don't you agree?” I nod your head for you. Then, once again, I drop to a whisper.

“Don't worry sweetheart. I won't tell your friends. Though I suppose they're bound to find out eventually. It's hard to hide the fact that your girlfriend is your Mom.”

Oh stars they'll find out. They'll find out and you'll die of embarrassment as all your friends and all the other pretty, pretty girls at school gather around to make fun of you for having a big stupid schoolgirl crush on your Mom. Did she say girlfriend? Your gut clenches.

“M-Mom, did you say—”

“Shh—shh—shh—shh.” A leafy tendril presses to your lips. Even that slight touch scatters pinprick tingles all across them. Am itch with only one remedy. Far above, Mom takes her wine glass in hand,swirling it about as she speaks in a husky murmur. ‘Do you want to be my girlfriend, Mellybelly?”

She downs it in a single gulp as you lay stunned. This can't be real, can it? Your lips part in a hopeless attempt to form words.

Mom crashes into you. You gasp at her sudden intrusion; a pointed tooth grazes your upper lip, and that gasp becomes a moan. She grips your chin, pulling you deeper into the kiss. And as your mind reels between shock, shame, and excitement, Her tongue slips inside.

On instinct, you try to pull away, but where? She has you pinned to the couch, flat on your back, ensnared in her tightening grasp. There’s nowhere to run. You have no choice but to lay helpless as Her tongue explores the inside of your mouth. It pulses, swells, probes deeper with every wet smack of her lips. That’s when you taste it: a sour and fruity liquid, with just a hint of sweetness, leaking from Her probiscus-like tongue.

It rests on your tongue for a moment, burning oh so slightly as the sharp flavor coats your tastebuds. Then Her tongue begins to pump, flooding your mouth ‘til you have no choice but swallow. It burns the whole way down, leaving your flesh tender, crackling with raw ecstasy.

An inexplicable craving hijacks your animal brain: more. You don’t recall thinking it tasted especially great, but all of a sudden, you cannot imagine anything more delicious. Another little spurt leaks onto your tongue. You shiver in elation, but the relief is fleeting. That little trickle only stokes the fires of your need.

Realization strikes, strips your soul bare. You know how to sate this thirst. You can’t believe you’re even considering it. That’s your Mom. But you need more. More of Her, more of this kiss, more of that wonderful ambrosia.

Your lips purse ‘round her tongue, and give a tentative suck. A generous gulp fills your mouth, and you swallow, then suckle again, greedily this time. You grasp at her torso, legs encircling Her waist as instinct takes over, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of that bright, heady flavor.

“Such a good girl,” I sing, awash in the feeling of your lips finally wrapped around me once again. It’s been too long. You drink every last drop without further hesitation. It comes natural, after all.

I bear down upon you, squeezing everything and anything I can get hold of. Unrestrained bliss contorts your sweet, darling face. Emotions, sensations, urges you cannot fully understand overwhelm your precious mind. Cries of wanton pleasure ring in your throat as I touch you in all the ways you need to be touched, kiss you in all the ways you need to be kissed, adore you in all the ways you need to be adored. It is a rapturous experience each and every time, for both of us.

For so long, I have held myself back. For so long, I have denied us both this perfect moment. But I do not mourn its ephemeral nature. Every day with you is full of perfect moments, this one is special as the others were, and will be.

My injectors hiss as they pierce your skin, glide through supple tissue. I feel them burrow into your muscles; tender meat parts like willing clay. I squeeze. Pressure, then release: viscous fluids ooze through thin needles. Each hollowed point hums indulgent gratification, revels the chance to pierce perfection, to return to their rightful homes within your warmth.

A deluge of bonding chemicals overwhelm your mind. Any pain you may have felt dissolves; thick, sticky love smothers every last neuron in that pretty little brain of yours. I break the kiss, just to take in your expression. Lidded eyes stare into mine. Your mouth hangs half open; your breathing comes ragged; your cheeks glow the loveliest shade of pink.

I pause to savor the moment: your breath warm upon my face, my pollen caking your skin, the pure, animal desperation clouding your every thought. Our faces hang mere millimeters apart. Our lips brush together as I speak.

“Mommy is here, sweetheart,” I murmur. Another kiss, this one brief, and sweet, like those you once gave on long forgotten lazy mornings. Shudders coarse through you at the sound of my words, the touch of my lips.

My mouth hovers over yours; our lips hang parted, ready to collide again at any moment. I trace my thumb along your cheek, then guide you into another sloppy half-kiss, before continuing. “You would make a wonderful girlfriend, my sweet Melly. But it’s not what you want, deep down. Not what you need.”

My words seem to part the fluffy cotton candy love clouds. Your eyes focus. “What?” you pant, confusion readily apparent in your voice.

I glide a finger along your neck, charting little patterns, coaxing shivers and moans and eyelid flutters. “These desires you have, they’re confused, misguided. You’re blossoming into a young lady, and with that comes new feelings, new urges, ones you’re not really ready to understand.”

Your mouth, hot and empty, surges forward in search of mine. You find what you seek, and we meet Passion flares, and fleets. I giggle, and tap your forehead. “What you’re feeling for me, it’s not romantic love, Mellybelly, not really. It’s adolescent infatuation, colliding with a yearning for your Mother. You long to feel my love the way you used to, to love me the way you used to.”

You flinch. “Mom, I don’t—”

I silence your protest with another kiss. “Hush, little one,” I whisper. “The grown up is talking.” The most adorable little whimper warbles in your throat, then falters. “As I was saying, what you long for, is to go back. To forget all these confusing, awkward, embarrassing feelings, and return to the pure, uncomplicated love and joy of being my sweet, innocent little girl. My perfect daughter. That’s all your little crush is, sweet one. Deep-seated yearning to be the darling little girl you really are deep down, colliding with newer, more mature feelings you’re not ready to process.”

“That’s not—”

My thumb presses upon your tongue. Your lips close instinctively around it. “What did I say about interrupting Mommy, sweetness?” I ask.

You whine in response, overwhelmed by confusion and something else, something deep in the pit of your tummy struggling to break free.

“Think about all that shame you feel, darling, the embarrassment of knowing you have a crush on your own Mother. Wouldn’t you like that to go away? Wouldn’t you like to be free to love me in the purest way you can? Remember how simple and happy things were when you were little? We’d spend every day together, playing games, telling stories, eating yummy treats, cuddling up on the couch.” My fingers card through your hair, stroking, soothing. It won’t be long now.

“If you wanted to nuzzle up against my chest, you wouldn’t blush at the thought of touching my breasts. If you were feeling needy or uncertain, no part of you wondered if you were too old to rely on Mommy for everything. You can have that again, precious. You will. Your birthday may have only been a couple weeks ago, but because of your date with Jade, we missed our anniversary, so I still have one gift left to give.” I pop my thumb from your mouth.

Bewildered, your eyes dart about the room, half expecting some kind of punchline or big reveal. When no such thing appears, you look back to me. “What—what are you talking about?” Your voice comes in an exasperated hiss. “What do you mean?”

With a little hum, I lean back, and reach a slender vine across the room to retrieve my most prized possession, besides you, of course. I free your hands, and place the scrapbook in your grasp. “Go ahead and take a look through that, Melly, would you?”

“I… uhm… okay…” you mutter. Something about this book is familiar to you. Not just the appearance, but the feel of it. The weight, the material, the act of opening the cover, and turning to the first page, it all evokes these hazy impressions. And yet, you don’t remember ever seeing it before today, let alone handling it. You banish the thought from your mind. Something weird is happening. Mom is being weird. Best worry more about that than a case of deja vu.

A familiar photo waits on the first page. You and Mom are sitting together, smiling at the camera. You’re wearing a cocktail dress. Behind the two of you is your table at the restaurant. It’s from today. Despite how strange Mom is acting, the memory puts a smile on your face. You turn the page.

You and Mom are sitting together, smiling at the camera. You’re wearing a cocktail dress. Behind the two of you is your table at the restaurant. Did Mom take two pictures? You thought it was only one. You must be misremembering. Then you see it: your hair is different in this photo. Instead of flowing loose down to your mid back, here, your hair just barely grazes your shoulders. You furrow your eyebrows, and shoot a quick glance up to Mom. She gestures for you to continue. You turn the page.

You and Mom are sitting together, smiling at the camera. You’re wearing a cocktail dress. Behind the two of you is your table at the restaurant. Your hair is done up in a bun. Your smile is slightly different this time too, not quite as wide. Sedimentary flecks of something resembling fear begin to coalesce in the pit of your stomach. You turn the page.

You and Mom are sitting together, smiling at the camera. You’re wearing a cocktail dress. Behind the two of you is your table at the restaurant. Your hair is dyed blue. You turn the page. Another. Another. Another. Each one slightly different from the last. The page-turning grows frantic now. How many photos are there? Dozens, at least. And the scrap book is thick.

“Careful, little one,” Mom chides. Vines gently pry the book from your shaking hands. She replaces it with one final item, the picture frame she got you for your birthday. You and Mom are sitting together, smiling at the camera. You’re wearing a cocktail dress. Behind the two of you is your table at the restaurant. No flowers sprout from your neck. Your hair is tied into a long braid.

“Wh-what is this?” you ask, lips quivering.

“Memories,” I answer. “Mementos. Today will be the happiest day of your life. And one of the happiest of mine. In spite of that, we both lose something today. Something I wish to never, ever forget.” I descend upon you once more, bringing my lips to yours. Despite everything, your mouth opens on instinct, eager to lose yourself in yet another kiss.

We part. A trail of saliva mixed with sweet nectar stretches between my tongue and yours. It hangs in the air for a moment, shimmering like golden thread, before breaking. “I don’t understand,” you whimper.

Poor thing. “Let me ask you something,” My voice drops low and rhythmic. You do not recognize the tone, but your brain does. Each word drips suggestion, primes you, massages your thoughts. “Melly dear. Do you remember your last day of school at Marigold Elementary for Terran Girls?”

Your eyes narrow. “I mean… kind of. Like, I’m in high school now that was ages ago.”

I giggle, shaking my head. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?” My index finger presses down on your forehead. Your mind divots like a soft grape. “It was only yesterday,” I whisper. I release my finger, and you spring back.

Your ears pop. Thoughts skid in place. In the deep recesses of your hindbrain, you feel a plummeting sensation. Invisible walls close in around your consciousness. Cold pinprick sensations skitter across the inside of your skill. Your eyes flutter. As your blurred vision clears, the world seems different. Larger. “Mommy what did you… that’s not true I…” your voice comes out smaller, higher.

You remember it. It was yesterday. You walked across the stage and your teacher, Miss Daphodalia, handed you your certificate. And she smiled at you so big and so proud. Not all your classmates got this far, after all. Some of them weren’t ready and got held back. Others even got sent back to lower grades. But not you. You did so well for your teacher and for Mommy and—no, that’s not true! You were older!

But… you can’t remember. It’s gone. And when you think about the idea of High School, it sounds so far away. So overwhelming and so complicated and what were those feelings you were having for Mommy again? The ones that made you feel all silly and giggly and blushy? You want them back! Because… because this isn’t who you are and—and—”Mooommyyy,” you whine. You strain your thoughts, struggling to remember the knowledge she took from you, the maturity, the funny feelings. How old were you, even?

All those thoughts bubble up, reach and stretch and push against something fluffy and thick like maple syrup inside your head. And the more you reach, the more your head starts to feel funny. Like, fuzzy thoughts that just melt away into sweet sticky goop. You giggle a little, wiggling your toes at the fizzy bubbles tingling in your head. It’s so adorable. I’ve missed this dearly.

Somewhere above you, you hear Mommy’s voice. She made a little “aww” noise at you, and you feel warm gooey love splash inside your chest and paint your insides all sorts of pretty lovey colors. You look up at Her, and all that rainbow love starts to flutter and dance. Your feet kick and you smile the biggest smile you’ve ever smiled up at Mommy. You love Her so much. And it’s different now, different than before when you were older. But whenever you try to think about how it’s different, you start to feel all funny again.

The bubbles in your head are back. And they’re growing now. More and more, they’re rising and pressing and Mommy starts to say something, but you don’t hear it. And then—pop.

You draw a sharp intake of breath, bolting upright. “What did you just do to me?” you shudder.

“Hey, hey hey,” Mom pulls you into a hug. “It’s alright. Calm down. You’re safe.” It shouldn’t work. It does. “I just needed to show you. To help you understand.”

“Understand what?” you whimper.

“It’s simple,” I say, tapping you on the nose. “I decide how old you are.”

Reality and impossibility collide. In the face of it all, you choose to rationalize what cannot be rationalized. “That’s not possible!” You shout.

“Oh Melly dear, you have no idea what’s possible. No idea just how completely the wool has been pulled over your eyes.” I pull you in for a tight hug, pressing your face to my chest. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to just let it all go? To forget what you’ve learned, what you’ve seen, before you’re forced to realize just how little you understand about yourself, your past, the rules of the world you inhabit?”

“No!” You’re not used to yelling and arguing like this. It’s overwhelming. It’s difficult. It hurts. You hate feeling angry, especially at Mom. You just want to feel okay again. But… not like that.

I sigh, unsure how much more of this I can take. Seeing you upset breaks my heart. But I made a promise to myself that this time I would not force you to accept it. Just like I did last time, and the time before that. This time, though, I am not going to break that promise. Not for the third time in a row. I will remain stalwart.

I will study what it takes for you to realize that you need this. It will hurt now, for both of us. But in the long run it will help me understand how to make you happiest. I grip the sofa cushion, tearing at it in frustration. I can do this.

“I am sorry, little one. This is happening. You’re going to be my little girl. And then I’m going to raise you all over again. It’s what’s right for you. It always has been. It always will be.”

That seems to grab your attention. Behind your eyes, I see thoughts racing, realizations crystallizing. “Wait,” you glance toward the coffee table in search of the scrapbook. It’s gone. “Those pictures. I don’t remember them being taken and…” Your voice begins to quiver. “Mom… have you done this to me before? How… how many times have we had this conversation?”

“You don’t need to know that, sweetheart.” The truth never goes over well. It begs far more questions than it answers. “All you need to know is that everytime, I find ways to make you just a little bit happier, to make your life just a little more perfect. Today is the best day of your life so far. And tomorrow will be even better. Aren’t you excited?”

You shake your head. Memories from just moments ago race back to you, how it felt to be… smaller, the way everything seemed so light, so easy. But it’s not what you want. You catch your gaze lingering on Mom’s chest again. That doesn’t mean anything. “P-please don’t do this.”

She shakes Her head. “I’m sorry, sweetness. It’s already started.”

You feel cold. Your body, your mind, everything suddenly feels foreign. Threat lurks behind every itch, every tingle, every wayward impulse. “W-what do you mean?” You ask.

“The wine I gave you wasn’t really wine, sweetheart,” I explain, gently as I can. “It was a special drug, one I synthesized from my own flowers, created just for you.” Vines stroke your hair. On instinct, you nestle in closer to my chest. “It’s had plenty of time to settle in. The effects should start to kick in for real any second now, so it’s too late to do anything. This is an inevitability."

No. No no no. Please.

Even as you struggle, I feel your body relaxing into me. I continue, speaking as sweetly, and soothingly, as I possibly can. “I know it’s scary, but when it's over, you won’t remember any of this. You never do, so it won’t matter. You’ll just be back to that simpler time, when you could be nothing more than my happy, innocent, carefree little girl. When every day was the best day of your life. And don’t worry, I won’t take everything. You’ll be like Jade. You two are going to grow up together. Maybe you’ll even get to be girlfriends for real this time.”

“What?” None of this makes any sense. What is Mom talking about? And… why does getting to grow up alongside Jade sound so nice? Some sharp, prickling part of you recoils at the thought. You can’t let Her do this. “Please don’t,” you choke.

“Sweetheart, were you not listening?” I ask. Sometimes it can be hard for these things to really sink in. “I already have. You can’t stop it. So you can flail and kick and scream, or you can just accept it.”

A rickety sob bursts from deep in your chest. “But I don’t want this. I’m scared. I don’t wanna forget everything.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” I rock you in my arms, shushing you gently. “But you’ll get to make new memories. You’ll get to learn all the things you’ve forgotten. You’ll get to meet and befriend all your friends again. You’ll get to play all your favorite games and watch all your favorite shows for the first time. And there will always be parts of the you that you are right now. You’ll carry them with you. Every time you get to grow up again, you’re a little different. But every time, you’re you. My Mellybelly. Trust me, I know you better than anyone. You’re going to love it.”

You do trust Her. Does that mean you believe Her too? It would be easier. It would be nicer. “And I… I will get to grow up again, right? It’s not just a trick?”

“Of course you will. I’m going to raise you into such a fine, happy, beautiful young lady.” I hug you tighter, whispering directly into your ear, “I can’t wait to do it all over again.” I press a quick kiss to your cheek. “And again.” Now another on the forehead. “And again.” The other cheek. “And again.” I keep going, punctuating each repetition with another doting smooch. “And again and again and again and again. After all, I love raising you, so why would I ever stop?”

You're really crying now. Fat tears flow freely down your cheeks. But Mom is holding you, and despite everything, you feel so safe and comfortable in Her arms. You wish you could spend every day like this.

Mom grasps your chin, and looks into your eyes. There's so much love there. You fight a smile, and lose.

“There's my beautiful daughter,” She sings, and you blush, smiling and wiggling in place. “Would you like one last kiss before the feelings go away?”

I watch your warring emotions run a little merry-go-round in your head. Fear, embarrassment, desire. You want to kiss me. Even now, you cannot deny it. And you cannot help but nod.

It is brief, and our lips barely part. But it is tender, and I feel the sparks fly, and I feel your heart leap.

Mom pulls away. You stare at the floor, beet red and hiding a silly smile. Gosh, your first kiss. You can't believe it was with your Mom. Wasn’t it only yesterday you realized that was something you even kind of sort of maybe wanted? She's just really pretty, is all. And that's something you've been noticing more and more lately. But it's not like you have a crush or anything.

Anyway, you—wait. No, that can't be right. It isn't right. You… you were… older? Not were, are. You are older. And Mom might be trying to make you small again but it's not gonna work. You just have to think really hard about it and remember that you're not a little girl.

Which you aren't, obviously. You're in middle school now. Not like those dumb little girls still stuck in elementary school. They still have naptimes in class, and have to wear that lame cutesy uniform. The middle-school uniform is way better. Mom even said you looked pretty in it.

You puff out your chest a little with pride. Then a shivery hiccup of a sob sneaks up on you, and you remember you're upset. Upset and scared, but you don't remember why you feel so bad. You try to think really hard about why. But the more you think about it, the more your brain starts to feel all woozy-doozy and silly.

You giggle a little, and Mommy squeals. “Was that my dear, sweet princess I just heard?" She sounds so, so happy, and that makes you happy. You nod, and Mommy throws Her arms around you, covering you in so so many kisses. Each time she makes a “mwah” noise that sets you careening into fits of laughter and leg kicks.

Mommy picks you up, hoisting you high into the air and spinning about, tickling you head to toe as you whirl around the room. That's when you feel it: pure, simple joy. No shame, no complications. Just you and Mommy, playing, happy as can be.

The feeling grows. Your joy subsoo—subsuh—fills you up like a balloon. But instead of air, it’s cuddles with Mommy, and candy and cakes and kittens, and instead of a balloon you're the happiest girl in the whole universe. Because Mommy’s here, and I love you more than your precious little mind could ever understand. And you love me just as much.

Mommy sets you down; as you pant and wheeze trying to catch your breath from all the giggling, you think a funny thought. You're supposed to be mad. Mommy’s making you little. You used to be bigger.

But that's silly, ‘cause you're plenty big. Big enough that on the days Mommy has something really important going on, She lets you walk to school without Her, so long as you're with Jade.

You really like Jade. When you and Jade are bigger you're gonna take her out on dates and maybe even kiss her and get married. You already picked some flowers at school and gave them to her so she'd marry you. But Jade didn't seem to really get it. She just blushed really hard and looked away, chewing on her hand and crossing her legs funny.

It's probably because you're older than her so she doesn't get it. It stinks not being the same age as her. You wish you were. Then you could be in Miss Arachne's class instead of Miss Wira’s class. Miss Wira is nice and all but you miss all the songs and dances Miss Arachne does. Like when she puts her special shoes on each spider leg and tapdances.

Maybe she'll do that on Monday. You hope so. It always makes Jade laugh so much and you really like seeing her happy. You're so glad Miss Arachne chose you two to be partners at the beginning of the year. Now you're best friends.

Mommy kneels in front of you, and all thought of school is out the window. You leap into Her vines, and settle into a warm, happy cuddle.

Actually… maybe on Monday you won’t go to school. Maybe you'll ask Mommy to let you stay home. She did say you could stay home whenever you wanted and play with Her instead of go learn. And then after She can just use her magic to make you learn all the stuff they taught at school anyway.

You’ll do that, you think, stay home and play and cuddle with Mommy all day. And maybe you’ll do that some more days after too. You miss doing that kind of stuff with Mommy. Which is silly cause you do it all the time. But, for some reason it's like you and Mommy haven't spent all day together like that in forever. And you just really, really want to. Because you missed it so much and—you sniffle. You didn't notice you were crying. But it's not ‘cause you're sad. It’s ‘cause you’re happy. So, so, happy. You don't even know why, but you are. In fact, you think this is maybe the happiest day of your life.

But you’re also tired now. Thankfully, Mommy is already holding you so cozy and warm and nice. Your eyes flutter shut. It's not long before you're fast asleep. I lift you into the air, core aglow. I'm so proud of you, my darling girl. I carry you off to our bed, and lay us down together. My vines tighten around you, pulling your face into my chest. “Sleep tight, little princess," I whisper. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.