It started quietly. She was splitting wood, a chore she did better than her older brother by dint of her unnatural heritage, when she first heard it. Soft whispers which she mistook for the breezes rustling the grasses and the leaves at first. That did not last long at all, for the whispers became more insistent, more encouraging. She paused, the heavy axe held in both hands, hunching over slightly, wary and alert. Her eyes scanned the tree-line, seeking out the glow of a sprite, the unnatural green of a serpent-persons scales, or a flicker of darkness not crated by sun and tree. The voices were too faint to be understood, and soon they faded. Standing tall, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Glittering eyes of soft, deep violet gazed up at the clouds. There would be no rain today, nor tomorrow. But the season was turning, and soon the forests would be bare of leaves rather than seeming to be afire with the colors of autumn. Autumn was a lovely time – the cool mists, the veiled sun, the quiet nights. She only tolerated the rain, though; lightning scared her. Not because it was loud, or shocking, but because her mind dreamed up fanciful monsters crushing trees and pounding at the door. “Locket! Papa's back!” Her little sister, a sweetheart with corn-silk hair and bright blue eyes that sparkled with laughter leaned out the back window of the log cabin. Locket smiled and waved at her, before she scrambled back inside and off of the bed. Her father was a woodsman in the employ of the Duke's Gamekeeper, though his duties entailed a larger number of things than merely hunting and patrolling for poachers. Her older brother was training to be part of the militia. She wasn't quite of age yet herself, though the time would come soon, so her duties were mostly the chores her brother would have done or her father would have done. Splitting the last two large chunks of firewood to more manageable pieces, Locket walked over to the well, and drew up a bucket of water. She set the bucket on the lip of the well and untied her hair, letting the long silk fall around her shoulders and back. It reached past her behind, and leaned forward to pour the cold well water over her head, washing out the dust and sweat. The shock made her gasp, but she persevered. Through the patter of water on the ground, she heard someone call her name, enticing. A woman. She stood up, her hair plastered along her pale, heart shaped face, her bare arms, and the vest she'd worn for her chores. Nothing. No one. Locket remained there for some time peering about, before she gave up and finished washing her hair, face and arms. Then she went inside to help dress dinner. ~*~ Locket looked nothing like her siblings. Or her father, for that matter. They were still her family; Geoff, her father, had made it very clear she was family, despite the fact that she'd been found in a basket on the porch, wailing softly in the darkest part of the night. Geoff had sandy colored hair, ruddy skin, and was lean and tough, though not particularly tall. Jeremiah, her older brother at sixteen and two years her senior, was equally sandy haired and lean, and while he was tough, he wasn't particularly meaty or strong. Little Periwinkle, at six, was a chubby, happy little blonde girl who eagerly helped out in every way she could. Their mother had died some years ago, and even she had taken in the strange child and considered her flesh and blood of their family. Locket was a slender, delicate girl of fourteen, with hair so dark the lord could have called for a dye tax on it. Her skin was pale, as opposed to the ruddy or peach of her siblings and adoptive father, almost milky and clear of blemish or birthmark. Her teeth were even and bright. She hadn't the slightest hair save on her head. Even her eyebrows were thin and sharp, arched high and long. Her violet eyes were her most striking feature....but it was her black, tough nails that she was most worried by. Not just her fingernails – her toenails too were tough and black, as though each digit had been smashed between two rocks or crushed by a hammer. Her father had no explanation for her. Rather, her father had no explanation he was willing to give her. Old Ironbeard, the dwarf who was the Duke's smithy, and her father had stayed up late many a night, the scent of rich tobacco from their pipes and the sharp taste of the evening's cider making her sleepy. But not quite sleepy enough that she didn't know that sometimes they spoke of her. Her and her mother. Unnamed, mysterious mother. She never pursued it, willing to give up on the woman who had given her up. Locket was family, and that was enough. Barth the Huntsman had taken her father for the evening, he and the other woodsmen hunting for gnoll spies or scouts that evening. They'd taken Jeremiah as well, and Peri was asleep in the bed she shared with Locket. Locket had just finished tending the fire, so the room was warm; a little too warm. So she unbuckled her leather belt and shed the breeches that had once been Jeremiah's, and popped the hooks on the vest, leaving her in a simple cotton loincloth, folded and snugly tied at her waist on either side. A momentary curiosity struck her and she glanced at the door, listening intently. None of the men were returning, and Peri was asleep – she double checked – so she undid the knots at the side and slipped the loincloth free. Seeing it still unmarred by any hint of her menses, she sighed, and then looked down, studying the small swell of her breasts. Very small; compared to several of the other village girls, she may as well have been flat. Then again they were nobles' children, not worked nearly as hard and eating a great deal more heartily. She cupped them, letting her fingers trace the pale pink of her nipples, making them rise and giving her a tiny shock that seemed to travel deep inside. Smiling at the rather pleasant sensation, she looked down, her fingers traveling over the pale mound of her crux. Equally unmarred by the slightest wisp of darkness, she was as bare there as Peri was. She shivered, recalling the feel of her hand cupping that place in the dark, with none awake to know. A dream, a strange, lovely dream of strange girl-creatures playing in caves, in mountain streams, in woods. An elf-dream, her father had called it, and he then gently admonished her not to waken anyone by indulging the feelings it engendered. Locket was well aware of what her crux was for, as well as her brother's or her father's staff. There had been dreams of that too, except there had been other, stranger parts of the dream, being a wild animal and eating him. But it had still felt like an elf-dream, rather than a nightmare. It had made her feel strangely conflicted, and warm inside. Her legs too were bare of the light down that she had noted on some of the other girls when they had been bathing before a feast at the castle one winter. No down upon her arms, legs or her crux. Locket hadn't been alone in that at the time, but by now there should have been SOME sign of it, she thought. Perhaps she was not eating enough of the liver her father often prepared for her. That and kidney pie seemed to strengthen her, and she felt a greed for the rich flesh that was deemed unnatural and off-putting by any of the other children. With a soft sigh she walked over to the wardrobe and took out her cotton nightdress and placed it over the back of a chair. Running her hands down her firm breasts once more – eliciting another pleasant shock – she murmured an admonishment not to have any more elf dreams about her brother. Or the nymphs. She was supposed to like other boys. And definitely not eat her brother. Especially not after that. Locket. She whirled around, snatching her dress off the chair and holding it against her breasts, covering herself. It had come from the window, that voice. Locket darted over and lifted the latch, pushing the shutters open so forcefully they banged against the wall outside. She leaned out, glancing around, her eyes wide. With a cry she stumbled back, alarmed at what she'd seen. Locket. The slight girl drew deep, quick breaths, the hardwood of the floor cool against her backside, the fire-lit room warm and golden, protective. Slowly getting back to her feet, Locket clutched the nightdress to her body like a protective charm. She stared out at the window, and her breathing quickened, her heart ponding in terror. The world outside was a ghost world, made of moonlight and silver and grey stone. She could see the edges of the forest, some many yards off, and deeper. Eyes wide and frightened, she could see the grass clearly, the well over at the side, painted in monochromatic spirit colors. There was a jumping mouse over there, and she could see the owl swoop out of the night to catch it, appearing like a ghost from above the trees and swooping silently upon the tiny creature. Black blood spilled, and the owl ate its meal there, silent in whites and greys even though she knew the true colors of a horned owl were no such colors. Come home, Locket. The voice, a whisper just in her ear, from an empty room prompted a shout. “NO!” She yanked the shutters closed, dropping her gown on the floor, and latched them, then ran to her father's bed, leaping into it and gathering the covers to herself. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and her head was pounding. She nearly screamed when her sister's voice floated though the fire-lit room. “Locket?” Collecting her wits, the terrified girl spoke soothingly. “It's nothing, Periwinkle. Go back to sleep. Just the wind.” “M'kaaayyyyy.” The covers rustled a bit, and then the room was quiet save for Locket's terrified panting and the crackling flames. “Just the wind.” She couldn't even pretend to believe the lie. ~**~ “Locket? What's wrong, girl?” The hand on her shoulder shook her awake gently, but Locket could hardly stir. Her head was filled with cotton and the wind was rushing through the house, the sounds of the leaves blowing together making her head pound. “What happened?” Geoff looked down at her with concerned eyes, his hand firm on her shoulder. Jeremiah was nearby, holding her nightdress bundled up. The fire was going strong, but the shutters were edged in darkness; it was still night outside. Slowly she sat up, heedless of her nudity. Locket pulled her hair from her face, careful not to scratch herself with her nails. She could hear someone singing a lullaby, like the ones Camille used to sing for her and Peri, but it wasn't in words she knew. And it wasn't Camille's voice. “Who's singing?” she asked thickly, her eyes unfocused. Jeremiah looked around in confusion, and Geoff's expression became serious. “What are you hearing, Locket? Someone singing?” She nodded slowly, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. Jeremiah moved closer, staring at his sister's breasts, but Geoff shook her again, gently. “Tell me, girl, what are you hearing.” 'Lul....lullabye....some woman's singing Liu Khet a lullabye.” She dropped her hands, and looked up at her father. “Who's Liu Khet, Papa?” Geoff's eyes widened as she asked. “Did you bring a widow home?” It would be nice for him to have a wife again. Peri needed a mama. Jeremiah glanced around. “I don't hear anything, Pa. What's she goin' on about?” Her brother sounded more confused, and Locket dropped her head, shaking it. One hand coming up to cover an ear while she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand again. “It's all windy....” Locket looked up at her father, and Jeremiah gasped. “Who's she singing to, Papa?” She lowered her hands to the covers, the rushing noise and song in her head making her feel logy and weak. Jeremiah gasped, and recoiled, while Geoff's expression became determined, almost stony. “Son, you take the horse, ride to the castle. Tell the gate guard you have a message for Ironbeard, and you give them this to let you through.” He stood up and gave his son a shining yellow coin. “Don't stop for aught, and you tell Ironbeard that we need the chains right away. He'll come himself.” “Pa, her eyes...!” Geoff shoved his son away. “You hurry, boy, ride hard! Don't spare the horse!” he turned back to his adopted daughter and gently pushed her hair from her face. “And you, you just rest easy, Locket. Just lay back, and sleep. It'll pass soon.” She let him lay her back, and her eyes closed, her head pounding and the wind and voices rushing through her head. He let an uneasy breath slip free, and went to get a cloth for his daughter's face, so he could wipe clean the blood that had started to drip from eyes brimming with crimson. ~***~ By the time Ironbeard and Jeremiah returned, Geoff had a stool next to the bed, a bucket of murky looking water, and Peri was dragging another bucket across the room. The thick, powerful dwarf was gone to grey, but he strode confidently and powerfully across the room, a bundle of chains and manacles hung over the back of his neck. “Started, has it?” His beady brown eyes were sharp and he shook his head. “Early yet, but not that early. You, boy, open up the cellar.” Peri looked up at the stocky dwarf, and set the bucket down. “Master Beard, sir, my sis is gone really sick.” The surly look vanished and Ironbeard went to one knee, looking down at the gentle girl. “Yes, little one, your sister's gone sick. But we'll make her all well.” He ruffled her hair in one massive hand, and she smiled uncertainly. Jeremiah was clearing things out of the way for her father, and Ironbeard stepped over. Geoff had dressed her in a thin shift, but her eyes were bandaged; the bandage was already soaked through over each eye, and crimson stains marked the feather pillow. The woodsman looked at the chains, and frowned. “You think those will do? They aren't the ones you planned for....” Jeremiah stared at the heavy steel chains. They looked fit for oxen. “They'll do, but it's the manacles that really matter anyhow. Iron for iron.” He set the chains down, and Geoff tossed back the covers, baring his daughter. She started murmuring in her fitful sleep, but when Geoff reached for her the dwarven smith grabbed his hand. “No, you'd best allow me.” He took her hand and she started squirming, pulling away, and murmuring more loudly. The manacle clicked shut over her wrist and she calmed a little, but her voice became more clear. “....moir gubbaghey baccey....baccey mish....gubbaghey my yei....” she stirred a little more as he fastened another cuff about her slender wrist. Despite how small they were, the cuffs were clearly made with her in mind, oblong in cross section, rather than circular, and meant to hold her delicate wrists. Along with her ankles apparently. She continued muttering as Geoff applied cuffs to her ankles as well. “....irree....irree ass....moir....” Leaning close, Jeremiah looked at his feverish sister. “What....what is she sayin', m'lord? That's not a language I ever heard.” Geoff picked up the chains while Ironbeard gently pushed the youth away from the bed. “Her mother-tongue. She knew it before she could speak. And you best stay back, or you're liable to lose an eye, or worse.” When Jeremiah asked what she was saying, Ironbeard sighed and picked the girl up, placing her over his shoulder. “It is giant-speak. She's calling on her mother. Asking her mother to save her from us.” He fixed the boy with one coppery eye, and frowned. “Telling me to leave her alone.” Locket started to struggle and the dwarf walked to the cellar door. Jeremiah followed, and asked one last question. “Who or what's Liu Khet, sir?” The dwarf half turned and started edging down the narrow stairs to the cellar, where the sounds of pounding drifted up from. Periwinkle moved to hold onto her brother's leg, her eyes tearful and frightened. The youth laid his hand on her shoulder. Ironbeard paused long enough to look directly at the young man. “Gut eater. Means gut eater. That'd be her name, boy. And if we can't cure her and keep her, it's what she'll become.” Jeremiah stared as the dwarf slowly sank out of sight, and only stopped when Peri began to cry. ~****~ The first three days were not so bad. Periwinkle was taken to a neighbor's house to stay, while her father, Ironbeard, and Jeremiah worked to keep Locket calm and restrained. She remained in a delirium, muttering in that strange language, her sclera gone deep red and crimson tears dripping from her eyes as though she were too full of blood. Wet cloths kept her from soiling the straw filled mattress she was laying on with the blood, and the flow slowed to a trickle over the course of days. Her skin was more pale than normal, and in the darkened cellar, with only oil lamps to light it, her eyes shone like those of a cat, or a wolf. She only had to be cleaned up like a small child for the first two days; after that there was nothing in her to clean up from. The manacles on her ankles were chained to two stout beams that held up the flooring, and those on her wrists were chained to beams set against the wall, fastened to the flooring above, but like the others also set deep in the ground. Jeremiah was shocked to discover that his father and Ironbeard had planned for this since Geoff and Camille had adopted the changeling girl. “Inevitable, boy. I've seen a few such, and not all children of humankind. Seen a dwarf child like her once. Her family didn't know as much, and she broke free, killed them all, and escaped to the surface. Been haunting that clan's dreams ever since. Don't look like she did, not no more, but it's her all right.” “What is she?” Jeremiah sat on the canvas covered floor next to the heavy stool Ironbeard was sitting on. Ironbeard was smoking his pipe, as they waited for Geoff to return to relieve them. “I mean, you know...what is her mother?” Ironbeard sighed and looked at the moaning figure with pity. “Hag's daughter. Changelings are born of hags who manage to trick or rape a man.” Jeremiah's quick, indrawn breath was telling. “Don't get me wrong, boy, she ain't a hag herself. Nor is she a witch. She might become, if her mother gets hold of her. Make her eat man's flesh, make her drink witch's brew, and turn her into one of them. There's an annis hag not too far off. Iron hag, boy. Man eaters. Could tell by her nails and how strong she was.” Puffing on his pipe, the dwarf rekindled it. “This ain't the worst of it though, not by far. She'll seem to have her mind back, but her soul will still be asleep. That's when she's the most dangerous. She'll try and trick us, try and make us let her go. We do that, though, she'll kill us or run away.” He glanced at the youth, and frowned. “You'll have t be extra careful then. Your dad too. She was a good girl, but right now she's not herself.” Jeremiah nodded, looking at the delirious girl on the bed. His sister, despite their lack of blood ties. Footsteps on the 'ceiling' made Jeremiah scramble to his feet, alarmed. “It's just Geoff, boy. No worries there.” Ironbeard stood up and tapped his pipe out into the small tin set aside for him. “You take that cask up, and send your father down. I suspect we've got to talk serious.” Jeremiah nodded and took the cask the dwarf had brought – empty now from how light it was – and hefted it onto his shoulder. “And Jeremiah.” Startled the tow-headed youth looked up at the heavyset dwarf. “You mind what I say: she loves you, and she's your kin, but right now she's possessed, and until the hag lets go of her, she's more liable to bite your throat out than kiss you.” Jeremiah nodded, shaken, and went up to greet his father. ~*****~ “....water....” the soft, raspy voice was rough with disuse, but it was clearly Locket's. Jeremiah warily rose from the stool, and got a clean, soft rag, dipping it into the bucket of cold water he'd brought down. Jeremiah, Geoff and Ironbeard traded off watches, never leaving the girl alone for an instant. Each one brought food and water down, though the men often brought a small cask of ale or ladled off a mug of beer from the keg. Ironbeard had instructed the men of the household very thoroughly on how they were to deal with the girl. Locket was spread eagled upon the mattress, the manacles and chains only long enough to let her move any given limb a few feet in any given direction, and her eyes were covered with a thick bandage at the moment. “I'm here. Open your mouth, sis.” Jeremiah squeezed the water into her mouth, and she let him drip water into her mouth and swallowed when he paused. She opened her mouth again and he gave her another swallow. He had to go back twice more before she shook her head. “Why....why can't I see?” Jeremiah hadn't been told that he couldn't take off the bandage, though her eyes were terrifying to look at. 'Here, let me take this....there.” Her scleras were not as dark, the red a brighter color, and only a small trickle fell from one eye along her nearly white face. She looked up at him and he swallowed. Her eyes had changed color. Where before they had been a soft, dark violet that was still human though rare, now they were a glistening, deep wine color, glowing faintly in the badly lit cellar. Her eyes caught the lamplight and her pupils glowed golden, the way a cat's eyes did. He didn't recoil immediately, but he did swallow, looking at her soft, pale face and those beautiful if bizarrely colored eyes. She blinked up at him and started to reach for him, but the chain stopped her with a jerk. He scrambled back as Locket looked around, seeing herself chained in the cellar. She started to pull, to jerk on the chains. That's when the shrieking began. In town there would be no chance of keeping the incredible racket down. She would have woken up every neighbor and then some, and the watch would have stormed the place. Living out in the woods as they did, Geoff's family was safe from prying eyes – though not the hideous screaming torrent of invective she was filling the air with. Not merely in the local tongue, but in that thick, alien tongue she'd been muttering in for several days. And she fought. Gods above how she fought! Yanking and pulling on those chains so hard Jeremiah was positive she's break her wrists and ankles. She fought and screamed and shook and raged. Not for minutes. For hours. She was still fighting and raging and trying to escape the chains when Geoff arrived. Jeremiah had stuffed his ears with candle wax to deaden the sound, and was watching her, fascinated, when Geoff laid a hand on his shoulder. Startled the boy stood up and pulled the earplugs out. Geoff nodded solemnly and showed his son the ones he held in his hand to soften them some before he put them in. When Locket noticed him, her invective and ranting screams became focused on him, hurtful, wicked accusations, cruel and impossible lies, and vitriol a lifetime couldn't garner. Geoff shook his head sadly and put th earplugs in, sitting down on the stool and pouring a generous mug of cider to start the evening watch with. Jeremiah had to put the plugs back in as he went upstairs....and sighed, regretting that it was too cold to sleep in the barn tonight. Locket kept that up for two more days, before she became quiet. ~******~ Ironbeard had warned them that when she became quiet was the worst. If madness and rage couldn't get her free, cunning might, and that was what came last. The next two days were filled with soft conversation, petty, painful little cruelties, accusations, tearful pleading and piteous crying. The tears that fell were still blood, though cleaner, brighter blood than before. Ironbeard was stoic and unmoved by it all, while Geoff was often moved to tears but steadfast. Jeremiah was able to resist as well, until the third day of it. She'd been entirely quiet for several hours in a row now, seemingly resigned to her fate. Ironbeard patted Jeremiah on the shoulder and left, intending to go back to the Duke's mansion. Geoff was out hunting, and Jeremiah was glad his sister had finally decided to be silent for once. He'd had a couple of mugs of cider today, and while it hadn't made him drunk, he was definitely feeling more self assured than he had in the past week. He was finishing a ladle of beer when Locket spoke softly. “May I have some water, please?” Jeremiah nearly spilled it over himself, and looked at Locket. She was lying still, eyes closed, relaxed. Taking the ladle to the cool water he'd brought down fresh, he filled the dipper, and walked over to his sister, kneeling beside her. She pushed herself up on her elbows, careful not to pull her long hair, and sipped from the ladle, her eyes closed. She finished and opened her unnatural eyes to look at him. “Thank you, brother.” She settled back, lying as comfortably as he could. Jeremiah glanced at the wooden beams the chains were bolted to. He'd once asked Ironbeard if they could make her more comfortable, and Ironbeard's response was to take Geoff and Jeremiah to one of the beams that her leg was chained to. The bolt, which was set all the way through the beam, had been indented by almost an inch into the wood in her struggles – and there was nothing but a slight reddening along her ankles and wrists despite her struggles. He'd told them she was tougher and stronger than she looked now, even more so than she had been before she heard her mother's call, but that brought the point home as nothing else could. “Are you looking up my dress?” The question shocked and made Jeremiah blush. “No of course not!” The soft, gentle way it was asked was nothing at all like the monster that had been hissing and growling and wheedling the past few days. “I'm your brother, Locket, don't be that way with me!” Of course, he had looked up her dress, several times. In fact, he was doing it now, but only because she'd asked. He tore his eyes away from the sight of his sister's clean delicate places. Still not a wisp of down upon them, not like any other girl Jeremiah had seen that was old enough. Her dress had ridden up her hips some. “That's good.” His stomach fluttered and he felt a distinct heat at his root. “I'm not your sister though. Well, I am, but not really. You know?” Her gentle voice sounded kind of wistful. “Well, yeah, but you are to me.” His voice sounded louder than he'd intended and Jeremiah flushed. Silence reigned for a few moments. “Do you wanna?” Confused, he responded brilliantly. “Huh?” “Do you wanna. You know.” “You mean....” He was staring at her, lying there, helpless, chained, soft and pretty. Strange, and beautiful. Really strange, but really beautiful. Looking not at all like his sister. “Yeah.” “N....no, you're trying to trick me.” Jeremiah got up and filled his much with the dark brown beer from the keg, and drained half of it. Trying to ignore what she'd said. “M'kay.” Locket went silent again, and Jeremiah drained the other half of the mug quickly, his cheeks and ears burning. “I just wanna, you know....before they burn me up.” Jeremiah choked and turned around, staring at his supine sister. “What in the Hells are you talking about?” “I'm a witch. They're gonna burn me. That what they do, right?” Her voice was soft and forlorn, but neither wheedling or vicious. “They just gotta wait until I'm all weak, and then they can tie me up and burn me.” She shifted a little on the mattress, a wink of coral pinkness gleaming between her legs. Jeremiah flushed and looked away. “N....no, they ain't gonna....they're not gonna burn you. We just gotta wait. Then this will all pass and you'll be fine. Ironbeard said so.” He wished he felt as sure as he sounded. After all Ironbeard did work for the Duke, and she was right. Wizards and sorcerers were all right, they could be trusted to defend the Duke's lands and even a sorcerer's blood, while impure, could be spilled easily. Witches....witches were bad news. Even dead you couldn't be sure, you had to burn them. They'd all seen it happen. “I just wanted....you know. Not to be....well. Yeah.” She shifted on the bed again and sighed softly. Returning to the stool, Jeremiah sat down. But he couldn't help glancing at Locket. Her small, firm breasts. The secret between her legs, exposed and clean and soft. He felt his blood pounding harder, and licked his lips. “Did you ever?” Locket's voice was curious, even hopeful. “Huh? I mean....well, me and Sherrie, a little. Not, you know, that, but....” Jeremiah flushed, the idea of talking to his sister about this embarrassing....and exciting. “Touching....kissing.” Locket was silent for a moment, then: “I like Sherrie. She's sweet. You could do worse.” Jeremiah felt proud, was warmed by her approval. He got up and walked over. She looked up at him, a few stray lines of blood marking her temples. The contrast of her pale face pillowed by her black hair was shocking, startling. He could see the swell of one small breast half exposed by the low cut of the night shirt. “I've never.” Jeremiah licked his lips; they'd gone dry and his heart was pounding. “Yeah?” The girl who was and was not his sister looked away, smiling shyly. “Yeah. So....” she shifted slightly her hips moving. He glanced down at her crux, her secret places. “I wanna, before....” She looked up at him, her eyes soft and liquid. Jeremiah licked his lips slowly, and glanced at the chains binding Locket's arms. Then he placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, and leaned close, eyes closing. He recalled Ironbeard's warning, and opened his eyes suddenly starting to pull away. Her lips were soft, and warm. She kissed gently, carefully. Her head fell back and she smiled up at her brother calmly. Staring at her, he leaned in again. He kissed her, firmly, forcefully. She made a soft, muffled sound, and then opened to him, allowing him to taste more deeply of the kiss. She squirmed on the bed as they kissed, prompting him to caress her chest, slip his hand under the shirt and over her firm, sensitive breast. That prompted a startled noise from her and to break the kiss. “Gentle! They ache a lot!” Jeremiah laughed, “Yeah, they get better though. And bigger. Sherrie said that too.” He pulled her nightshirt aside to expose the slightly smaller than apple-sized breast, and kissed the taut, hard nipple. At her encouraging moan, he ran his tongue along the hot flesh, cooling it. He suckled – gently – and ran his tongue-tip along her nipple, making her squirm harder, the chains rattling softly. He pulled away, making her groan, and then pushed the nightshirt up, with her lifting her back to help him. Her breaths were quick, eager, and her cheeks flushed; he was hard, very hard, and he ran his fingers along her breasts, feeling the softness of her body. “I thought it would be harder, or tougher, or something.” She blushed and looked shy. “I mean, because....” She nodded and looked up at him. “It feels good. You feel good. It's....it's better than nice.” Locket gasped when his fingers pulled lightly at her other nipple, and trembled. “Ohhh....” He laughed again and lowered his face to her chest, and teased and sucked at each of her small breasts eagerly, making her whimper and squirm harder. Then she arched as his fingers found the slick, burning heat between her legs, started to explore her. “Oh, oh Jer!” Her hips rolled and thrust as his fingers found her open, wet. Touching the hard little nub hidden at the apex caused her to squeal loudly and then burst into giggles, that quickly became sighs as he slipped one finger into her tight sheath. With his sister being a horse rider and tree climber, it didn't surprise her that her maidenhead had been broken. It never occurred to him that she might never have had such a thing. Regardless, she was very tight, and he could feel her bear down on his finger. “Uhhh....come on Jer, put it in me....I want THAT....please, pretty please....” Her soft, demanding voice was sweet and gentle, his sisters voice, and he pulled away from her nipple and breast, suckling hard enough to make it pop and her cry out in pleasure-pain. He stood up and pulled his tunic and breeches down, then his loincloth. “Oh....that's....that's awfully big, Jeremiah....” she looked almost fearful, but her eyes glittered boldly and she licked her lips. Flushed with pride at her compliment, he smiled and moved between her trapped legs, his hands sliding around her waist. “It'll fit....it'll feel real nice, I promise.” She looked down her body at him, her hands gripping the chains, lifting her up so she could see. He lifted her hips, and pushed, gently, pushing against her nether lips until he spread them, split her sex open. She gasped, and bit her lip, her crimson eyes gazing at his cock as he pushed inside her slowly. Locket yelped a little as the head slipped inside her, then he was gliding into her heat, sinking himself into her body. She was tight, so very tight, and so very wet. Her brother looked at her and smiled, and she smiled back....then gasped loudly as he started to fuck her in earnest. When he moved a little too deep, he felt her inside, and she gave an anguished, almost chirping squeak as he bumped her depths. He blushed and apologized and she shook her head. “Do it again!” Obediently he pumped deep, hitting her inside, and she cried out, squirming and rolling her hips, using the chains to pull herself against him. When she bore down, it was his turn to cry out, and then she was pulsing, gripping his length inside as she gave a series of short, sharp cries of pleasure and looked like she was in pain. He kept at it, and she groaned. He felt himself tighten inside, felt the pleasure peaking, when he heard the heavy boots of their father above. “Finally....now they HAVE to let her free....” Locket said softly. Confused, Jeremiah looked at his sister – and screamed. Her tears were flowing freely, bright crimson arterial blood spilling from her eyes. Her grin was a rictus of hate and glee, and her hair....her hair was alive in the air, flowing, floating. It exploded around him tangling about his arms and legs, his throat and his waist. He choked on a scream as she forced him to continue his motions, his fucking of her He couldn't even say it was his sister he was fucking. She was a monster, possessed, as Ironbeard had warned him. Her hair tightened about his throat and he was greying out, even as his balls emptied into her virgin cunt. Geoff shouted, pausing on the stairs, horrified at the tableau before him. She laughed, horrid, high pitched, keening laughter as she raped his son, her hair a living, threatening cloud of witchery-laden death. Geoff ran down the stairs and paused only when a shout from Ironbeard caught up to him. “Use th' knife I made ye!” His accent thick with alarm, the dwarf thundered down the stairs as Geoff dropped the hunting knife he'd pulled and yanked out a slender silver blade from the front of his belt. Ironbeard followed suit, but the weapon he pulled was a slender stiletto, a woman's weapon, but made of silver as well. She screeched as Geoff hacked and split her fine dark hair, sheafs and clouds of it falling away as the naked youth was freed from Locket's uncanny grasp. She cried out as his cock slipped from her cunt, seed spilling from her. Ironbeard muttered a thanks to his own Gods that the hag-bairn were also barren. Geoff continued to slash at her soft, inky hair, and she started crying aloud, yelling in that alien tongue, begging for her mother to save her, to rescue her from this hell. Throwing the knife aside, Geoff wrestled the slight girl around, putting her n a headlock as she thrashed and fought. She was screaming, crying, begging for mercy, for their love. Ironbeard slowly walked up, the stiletto held delicately in his huge hand. “Hold her steady now, Geoff. We don't want her ending blind.” Geoff tightened his grip, choking off her cried, and she strained, her pale face red and her eyes terrified and wide. Slowly, Ironbeard crept closer, laying his thick finger against the pale creature's face, prying her eye open. Struggling for air, Locket could only watch as Ironbeard brought the slender silver needle-knife closer and closer, her eye wide held fast. She looked away at the last second, just before it would blind her, her breaths near to nonexistent. Ironbeard's hand jabbed, once, quick as lightning, and Locket went into spasm, her hands twisting, her back bowed. A freshet of indigo spilled from her eye, the crimson of her sclera seeming to drain as the impossible fluid spilled from her eye. The two men held her fast and repeated the process with her other eye, ignoring her struggles and terror. They both let her go and backed away from the bound woman-child as she took a deep breath and screamed.... “PAPA!” ~*******~ A month later, Liu Khet sat on a tree limb, overlooking the lake. Some of the other local children were swimming, and bathing. She was looking past them, though, far past them, at the islet in the center of the lake. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. She'd become quiet and shy after her ordeal. She still wore the manacles on her wrists, though there were no links or chains. There was room for her to grow into them a little more, but she would always be delicate; it was unlikely Locket would need them removed. Jeremiah walked up the the old oak she was sitting in and called up to her. “Hey!” Looking down, she slipped out of the tree, landing easily on her feet. “Hey.” She ran a hand through her thick, sort hair, brushing stray leaves from it as her brother smiled down at her. “You okay?” “Yeah.” She looked up at him with eyes the color of rich wine, violet red and jewel-clear. They had never changed back, and would never change again. “No more bad dreams?” “Just elf-dreams. Not about you though.” She smiled and leaned into him, giving him a one-armed hug. “Yeah? That's good. Gonna grow your hair out, Locket?” She shook her head. “That's okay too. Might get auntie to give you a trim, you look like a bobcat.” He ruffled her hair and smiled, a little sadly. “Maybe.” Locket shaded her eyes with one hand and gazed out at the lake, looking at nothing. “I'm gonna go to the Duke's. My turn at the militia.” She smiled faintly. “Not gonna be a warrior though. Lady Aseria gave me some scrolls. I can read them now.” “A wizard? Is that why you've been toting that snake about?” A week after her ordeal she'd brought home a slender viper, which was as calm as a kitten and as friendly, even to Peri. “Yeah. It'll be good.” She was still tough, tougher than most, but not so tough that it would be too noticeable. Locket was still stronger than many grown men though. She didn't show it, unless she had to. “Sherrie told me.” Jeremiah flushed and looked down. “It's good. You'll get married by the Duke?” He nodded, still blushing. “He'll be a healthy, strong boy.” Jeremiah gave her a weird look. “Yeah?” She nodded, then punched him in the gut lightly, nearly doubling him over. “Come on. I want to swim.” Slipping free of him she started traipsing towards the lake. Is what we are a wizard? No, but we can't tell. It's enough like a wizard no one will think about it. Yes, mistress. Can I hunt frogs? Yes, but stay well out of sight. The boys might hit you with a stick. Yes mistress. You should stop watching the faeries play. They might think you fey. Yes, you're right. The newborn witch pulled off her tunic and kicked off her breeches, and leaped into the water, to the shrieks of laughter and dismay of the other youth. Her familiar slipped out of the pocket she'd made for it, a slender golden-brown rope with a cream colored belly, hunting for secrets on the shore of the lake as his mistress played, ignoring the soft, whispered lullaby in the tongue of giants that streamed through the changeling's strange mind.... ~&~ ~XS~