Chapter 8 : The longest day of my life (How do you call yourself ?)

 

The Thompson’s home, Forest Hill, Queens, 25th of January, 03:33

 

It took me a while to climb back down from the fluffy cloud castle of unabashed joy, sheer disbelief and manic-like giddiness my mind had decided to spend its holidays in. I spent a too short time that felt like an eternity, if that even makes sense, marveling at my curves, feeling every (decent) nook of my body, playing with my hair and being overjoyed at my facial expressions while posing like a muse for a nude.

 

One moment I was a shy maiden, the next one a sultry temptress, then a bossy dom ravishing you with her eyes and ‘you-just-know-it’.

 

I couldn’t really savor my new voice though, since everybody else was still asleep and I already made enough of a mess by confessing my eternal love to my blood-sister. She was kindly staying put, radiating happiness and relief that I was beyond satisfied and didn’t begrudge her for some technicalities.

 

I didn’t care.

 

I had boobies again, after all.

 

“Am I more vain ? I feel like I am,” I start pondering aloud, “I don’t remember being this narcissistic before, but I’m pretty sure that if I could, I’d make out with myself right now. It’s so bizarre.”

 

“[Hesitation, uncertainty] : It is possible that your life-code is influencing your emotional state,” My sister unexpectedly answers my rhetorical question, “While your new body is stable, the brain cells that triggered that cascade of events are still getting there.”

 

I blink.

 

“Am I still mutating ?” I ask her to confirm on the mind-link.

 

“[Confidence] : Don’t worry, the segment of the X-gene that went awry got properly stripped off, but your vocal center seems to cannibalize parts of your telepathic potential.” She answers with the clinical analysis of an expert.

 

“What’s your take on it ?” I ask her after a beat.

 

“[Hesitation, interrogation] : I’m not sure ? To me, it looks like you are losing power, but not range nor versatility with it. I think it won’t impact what you do to yourself either.”

 

I hmm at that, thinking.

 

“How long and how much ?”

 

“[Hesitation] : I would bet on less than 24 hours, give or take, and you’ll have to forget things like mind-wiping, mind-control and anything more potent than weak suggestions.”

 

I start rubbing my temples, thinking.

 

“Tell me that I won’t lose the ability to have ranged communication, create mind-link, replicate knowledge, share memory and induce soul-journey trips, pretty please ?” I ask her.

 

“[Confidence] : I am 99% positive that those won’t be impaired. I’m on the fence about you still being able to make others self-reflect, but since it relies on the strength of the targeted mind to confront itself more than on your ability, it should be ok. A lot of things will be limited to touch range only, though.” My sister answers after a tense moment.

 

I exhale in relief.

 

“Ok, I can totally work with that.” I answer under my breath.

 

That’s when it finally dawns on me that I’m not the only one dealing with unforeseen results.

 

“Oh my god, what about you ?” I start to blabber with bulging eyes.

 

“[Awkwardness, determination] : I think it is better if I show you.”

 

As my blood-sister starts to ooze out of my back, her arms snaking in front of my torso in her trademark hug that I love, I can tell that she severely downplayed how rocky things got while I was under if anything else.

 

We now share a color together, since her ‘body’ is now as white as my hair, like the purest, freshest snow of winter. Without sense nor reason, little white feathers blossom regularly, moving and flowing over her like they have a mind of their own.

 

And when her face finally settles on my shoulder, her head touching cheeks with mine, I see that her ‘eyes’ and ‘mouth’ are now one of the prettiest shades of lilac I’ve ever seen. There’s even little purple dots trailing upwards her slanted eyes, like some sort of make-up.

 

We stay like that for a while, looking at our reflection, my mouth agape in wonder.

 

I feel her hug getting tenser and her side of the mind-link getting agitated because I’m saying nothing.

 

“You’re beautiful.” I finally blurt out, a little louder than I expected.

 

She smiles softly, feathers dancing along her arms as her grip unwinds.

 

We hear a snort and a snore from Rosie and Harrison’s room.

 

She put one of her digits on my mouth to remind me to stay quiet, closing it in passing delicately, then kiss me on my cheek with heartfelt gratitude.

 

“[Joy, happiness, shyness] : Thank you. I liked it too, but I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

 

I slowly rub her arm with my right hand, relishing in the strange contrast between the softness of the feathers and the silkiness of her body.

 

Feeling that this moment is important for my blood-sister, I gently coax her to elaborate.

 

“I’d never. But tell me, what do you like about this change ?”

 

“[Confusion] : I’m not so sure…” She starts, then seems to think better of it.

 

Her hug gets tighter, face nuzzling in my neck and my mess of curly gorgeousness.

 

I just wait and say nothing, left hand absentmindedly playing with her little tentacle thingies that she always fashions atop her head now.

 

Her head rises and she looks at me in the eyes through the mirror.

 

“[Confidence] : I think I like it because this way I do not look like him anymore.”

 

I hmm at that, hands still patting her.

 

“[Confidence, shyness, happiness] : And I think I like it because we share a color too, now.” She says, softly smiling as one of her hands wander through my curls, doing little scritchy-scratchy things on my skull.

 

I’m this close to begin purring in delight like a lazy pampered cat.

 

I center myself back on the conversation.

 

“You were always your own person, you know that, right ?” I tell her gently.

 

She wordlessly nods.

 

“And now, look at you, you’re getting surer of yourself, your confidence blooming like the beautiful flower that you are.” I add.

 

“[Shyness, joy, interrogation] : A flower ?”

 

I softly smile as her gaze travels back to mine through the mirror.

 

“[Joy, interrogation] : What kind of flower ?”

 

I blink.

 

Wasn’t really expecting that question, uh.

 

“I don’t know, with your skin tones, I’d say maybe an orchid, or an iris.” I answer after giving it some thought.

 

She perks up.

 

“[Exitation, awkwardness, interrogation] : Like the name ?” She precipitously asks.

 

“Yes, like the name.” I archingly confirm.

 

Through the mirror, I watch her eyes grow to a comically large size.

 

Oh.

 

Giving me the strongest puppy-eyes look an alien symbiotic life form ever pointed at its host, she asks the question.

 

“[Exitation, decisiveness, plea, awkwardness, joy] : Can I call myself Iris ?”

 

I take her ‘head’ into my hands, forcing her to really look at me, confusion radiating through the mind-link as she lets me do so.

 

Once we are face to face, her ‘torso’ now sprouting from my belly and her hands on the back of my neck, I give her the most genuine and happy smile I can.

 

“Sister, you can call yourself any names you want.” I declare to her aloud in my caramel voice.

 

I’m instantly pulled into a hug, her head nuzzling atop my collarbone and into the crook of my neck.

 

I feel her shivers a little, a gesture I’m almost certain she’s only emulating to better convey her feelings, feathers behaving eratically on her whole ‘body’, her grasp getting tighter.

 

“Then, I really want Iris to be my name.” She softly confesses, her crystalline and alien voice slightly muffled by my curly grandioseness.

 

I tighten my own hug on her as my legs leave the grounds and we start to slowly drift in the bathroom under the influence of my telekinesis, the both of us molding into each other like a cocoon of sisterly love and care.

 

“I think it’s a wonderful name, Iris.” I simply whisper to her as our little ball simply floats, unimpened.

 

***

 

The Thompson’s home, Forest Hill, Queens, the same day, 03:43

 

“And you ?” Iris ends up softly asking under her breath, “How do you want to be called ?”

 

I arch an eyebrow at her while she shifts her position slightly to look at me better.

 

“Well,” I whisper, remembering how I look now, “I don’t really look like a Rachel anymore, do I ?”

 

I alight us softly on the bath mat once more, facing the mirror again.

 

I consider my mostly exotic look, white hair curling everywhere over spotless matte golden skin, just shy of the uncanny valley by its obsessive and symmetrical perfection.

 

I remember my voice, this rich alto that would’ve made me swoon one lifetime ago if someone had told me sweet nothings with it.

 

A singsong voice, round and one-of-a-kind.

 

An unique voice.

 

A singing voice.

 

“Aria,” I answer, a little louder this time, as if I was convincing myself that it was the only obvious choice, “I think I’ll go with Aria from now on.”

 

Iris distances herself from me, joining me at the hip quite literally to share my view on both of our changed forms, one of her arms alighting on the opposite shoulder, head tilted.

 

Her other hand lands on my lower belly in quiet contemplation in a very intimate gesture.

 

I do not see her that way and neither does she, but sharing a body for two skews our perspective about boundaries tremendously.

 

We love each other above anything and anyone else, but until death part us, she is I and I am her.

 

She turns around and smiles at me. It is full of way too many sharp teeth, of predatory instincts hiding behind the calmest of masks, yet to me it is the most sincere validation in the world when she ends up just nodding.

 

Her tilted head comes to rest on my shoulder, returning back to her observation of our shared reflections.

 

“It suits you so well, blood-sister.”

 

“Why, thank you, sister.” I answer back, giggling.

 

We stay like that, grinning like loons, for a bit while her hand does little rubbing circling motions on my belly.

 

I finally shake my head after a while, pulling myself out of our shared daydream.

 

“Will you cloth me, Iris ?” I send over the mind-link.

 

“[Happiness, expectation] : Certainly, Aria.” The answer does not wait as she melts and flows around me.

 

Hearing my new name ringing on our shared-link makes my stomach do a little joyous flip-flop, and I silently acknowledge that blushing changes the color of my cheeks toward a mattish rose gold.

 

The outfit she settles on definitely doesn’t suit the exterior temperature at all, but I cannot help but like it.

 

From a sort of cross between a choker and a high collar flows a crop top which lets my arms and shoulders bare, showing a hint of my cleavage through an empty heart shaped motif. My midriff is completely bare, the crop top being more of a breast pocket than anything else, showing my toned stomach.

 

It is worth noting that Iris is the best push up bra I ever had. She is snug, comfy and my chest is majestic, and like everything else she clothes me in, I feel like I’m wearing nothing despite my brain telling me it’s not the case.

 

Next, she settles on a multi-layered short skirt, which is made from at least four or five layers of increasingly denser and opaque lace that reaches just shy of my knees.

 

I admit that when she covers my privates and my butt, the feeling of absence-yet-not is fucking weird. I feel like an exhibitionist as each of her movements and ripples end up creating air flows lapping up at my labia.

 

I’m definitely flushing up a bit at that, the shade of red gold on my cheeks getting more pronounced. Yet I do want to try wearing only her, because she’s warm, she’s my skin, my blood and my flesh and I love her.

 

To complete the look, she ends up making me wear high lacy stockings just shy of see through snuggling into plump platform heels. Those strikes a balance between round and boxy that I would dare a designer to reproduce accurately because I’ve no idea how she did it.

 

The colors of the whole outfit are in various shades of her, with the whole color palette of white to deep purple being represented.

 

When her show ends, I take a shuddering breath to wash away the fact that I’m definitely a little bit aroused, and raise an eyebrow while smirking at our reflection.

 

“Alternative dress wear, uh ?” I tease over the mind-link.

 

“[Joy, amusement, pride, provocation] : Remind me who was exhorting the style’s virtues two days ago, sister ?” She smugs back at me.

 

“Isn’t it a little chilly outside for that kind of clothes ?”

 

My sass is promptly rewarded with a lilac denim look-alike jacket with fury bits at its collar and cuffs.

 

I shake my head in amusement.

 

“[Hesitation] : I’m sorry but I can’t do much about the colors…” She reluctantly admits.

 

“That’s ok,” I say as I start to experiment with a thin layer of touch-telekinesis, “Remember when I spoke about touch TK and you being able to block harmful sound waves with it ?”

 

“[Curiosity] : I do, that’s the whole reason I included it into my life-code, what of it ?” She wonders.

 

“Well,” I answer back as the colors of my clothes and my body start to flicker, “Guess what is also, technically, sort of, a wavelength ?”

 

“[Annoyance, amusement] : Considering the lightshow you’re currently doing, I would say the light.”

 

I chuckle under my breath.

 

“Indeed, now let me just find the right trick of the light,” I giggle at my pun, “And we can get started.”

 

“[Curiosity, joy] : Started with what ?” My sister asks.

 

“To begin with, how about fixing a dysfunctional family ?” I quipp back.

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