The Garden

The Garden
by Concordant Opposition

A man lost among infinite planes of existence meets a mysterious being.

(F/m; soft vore; soul absorption; reformation; gentle predator; fantasy)

-----

	Arton was lost. Completely and utterly lost. The silvery expanse that stretched out around him in all directions mocked him. Empty and featureless save for an occasional pool-like portal, it offered Arton no direction or landmark.

	When he first landed here he hoped that one of the portals might lead him back home. He'd traveled many, but each led to a uniquely terrible dimension. Swamps of blood-sucking leeches, rocky sun-blasted deserts, dark tunnels where cacophonous winds howled, and a half-dozen other horrible places. He had crossed brutal battlefields, toiled under infernal lords, and evaded creatures he could hardly describe, but all paths eventually returned to the void.

	Both thankfully and dreadfully, time did not seem to pass here in the silver expanse between worlds. Arton did not need to sleep, eat, or drink, but neither did he heal. He bore the cuts and bites and bruises of each world he survived, and they stung bitterly. Worse, though, was the boredom. Arton could not even occupy himself by walking, as travel in the void required only that he will himself to float along. He drifted, mind caught in a loop of thoughts.

	He couldn't float here forever – he would go insane. The only way to escape was to keep going through the portals. Eventually one of the portals would kill him, or he would find his way home. He just had to work up the courage to enter another portal. But which portal should he enter? Arton never liked to take risks. The possibility of death laying behind each seemingly-identical silver pool paralyzed him. So onward he drifted.

	For the hundredth time Arton thought back to how this had all happened. He needed to buy a remedy from the apothecary, something to soothe his daughter's fever. An old man was haggling with the shopkeeper, and Arton waited patiently behind him. Over to his left, a woman wearing armor was fiddling with the magical items on the shelf. Arton watched as she put a 'bag of holding' inside a 'portable hole'. Then a gaping portal sucked away half the room, including him. He woke up here in the void, alone, surrounded by scattered debris from the store.

	Arton shook his head in frustration, banishing the memory. The thought of being cast out into this horrible dimension by the mistake of some idiot adventurer filled him with impotent rage. What had he done to deserve this? Nothing. It was sheer dumb luck, and he was powerless to stop it.

	Tired of introspection, Arton did a slight twirl, examining his current surroundings. He was floating towards a portal. As he came beside it he waved his hands in an uncertain motion, bringing himself to rest. The silvery surface before him glistened and undulated, casting back a distorted reflection. As it drifted in and out of focus, Arton could make out his own features. His red hair was matted with dirt and blood, and his ragged clothes barely covered his emaciated body. He looked pitiful. He considered entering the portal, if only so he could curl up and let starvation claim him. No more fighting, no more clinging to life in an inhospitable universe. Death would end it all.

	He couldn't give up, though, because more than his suffering was at stake. His family needed him. There was no relative who could take in his wife and two daughters, they had no-one but him. Without him to run the farm, they would be beggars before winter. They would never even know what happened to him.

	Determination surged through Arton. He was ready to face the unknown once more. With a shuddering breath, he threw himself into the portal…

	...And landed on soft grass. He gasped, quickly scrambling to his feet to look for signs of danger. The assault on his senses made it hard to concentrate. Arton breathed in the fresh air greedily. Its sweet fragrance was a welcome change from the sulfurous wastes and stinking marshes he had grown used to.

	The grass beneath Arton's feet was damp and cool, while the distant sun cast gentle warmth across his back. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light, and he took in the scene around him. He was in a meadow. Colorful wildflowers and grass covered the open space, while near the edge two willow trees flanked a clear stream. A faint trail ran alongside, leading up a gentle slope into mist and dense trees. It was a natural scene, but impossibly picturesque.

	Arton had known lords who fancied molding their estates into visions of a primordial time that never was and never would be. This was far more perfect than that, and far more potent. The aimless nostalgia it evoked made him feel very foolish. He wanted to sit and rest and enjoy the sound of the stream, but curiosity turned him towards the path. Could it lead towards civilization? Surely it must, yet Arton couldn't shake the feeling he was still very far from home.

	Eying the stream, Arton decided he could spare a minute to wash himself off. He wasn't sure when he would get another chance. He knelt down next to the stream, but hesitated. The water was so clear and pristine he almost didn't want to spoil it with his filth. Instead of climbing all the way in, he chose to merely splash a little water on himself, and so he dipped his hands in. The dirt that came off them spiraled downstream in little eddies, but the water remained clean.

	Arton rubbed his hands together to clean them, and then started to splash water on his face. When he sat up, the cool water ran down his chest and back. It seeped into his cuts and made them sting. Arton shuddered a bit, but forced himself to continue until he had gotten the worst of the dirt off himself.

	Now relatively clean, Arton got up and returned to the trail. It led away into the forest in both directions. Hoping to gain a better vantage point, he started in the uphill direction. Soon he left the clearing behind, and entered the misty forest canopy.

	Even among the trees, where it was shady and damp, it seemed tranquil here. Harmless, even. But every other portal had led Arton into danger, and he worried this place might be hiding something sinister after all.

	Distance was hard to judge in the mist, but after a few minutes, Arton noticed the trees thinning. The sounds of the woods faded behind him, replaced by music. He emerged into another, larger clearing. A great old oak tree sat in the center, the edge of its thin, ragged crown hanging nearly to the ground. Arton's eyes were drawn to the trunk. That's when he saw *her*.

	A beautiful woman, perched languidly on a low, flat rock. Her wavy hair cascaded down her torso like a shining mane. Her face was obscured, looking down towards the harp she cradled in her arms. From her back sprouted two feathery wings, and where her legs should have been there was a long, serpentine tail.

	Arton stopped dead in his tracks. She was like no creature he had ever seen, or ever imagined. The beings he'd met on his journey – the demons, devils, and other beasts – they never disguised their evilness. They were as twisted inside as their gnarled forms would suggest. She was different. But did her kindness match her beauty, or was she a demon in disguise?

	The woman was looking away, playing her harp. Against his better judgment, Arton took a careful step forward. As soon as he did, the music stopped. She set aside the harp, and sat up on the rock, meeting his gaze. Arton was petrified. He was a trespasser in this majestic place, surely he would be punished.

	“Hello, mortal,” she said, offering a slight smile. Her voice was as melodic as her music. For a moment, Arton was too stunned to respond. When he finally found his voice, he jumped right to his most urgent question.

	“All this – this garden – is yours, isn't it?”

	She lifted her eyebrows slightly and gave a muted note of assent. “Indeed it is.”

	Arton made another step forward, then stopped abruptly. With his question answered, he was unsure whether to stay or leave.

	After a moment the woman continued, “How did you come here? It's been a long time since I received a human guest.”

	Arton could see no risk in telling her the truth. He *wanted* to tell the truth, to share his lonely experience with someone else.

	“I'm lost,” he said, “I've seen many terrible lands. Here, though, it is… nice.”

	“I see,” she replied. She seemed to relax, and leaned back across the stone. “You have nothing to fear from me, then. Come,” she said, beckoning him with a graceful wave.

	Arton's heart was pounding. Could he trust her? Everything about this world was so different than those he visited before. He was torn between decrying it all as a sham, and rejoicing at the paradise he had found. His hope won out, at least momentarily. Slowly, he approached the tree.

	The closer Arton got, the more apparent the woman's otherworldly beauty became. His uncertainty mixed with awe. Was she a goddess? Was this the afterlife? As he ducked under a bough of the tree, the woman questioned him again.

	“What is your name, mortal?” she asked.

	“Arton,” he replied. His name sounded crude and simple, unfit for the splendor of this place. He looked away out of shame. “I have no titles. I am only a commoner.”

	The woman's lips curled up in a subtle smirk. “Do not worry about that – human titles mean little here,” she assured him, “You may call me Luciana.”

	As Arton closed the last few steps towards Luciana, he tried to bow to her. Before he could, she gently took hold of his arm, and pulled him up beside her on the rock. Arton was startled to suddenly be so close to her, but the combination of restful sitting and soft physical contact relaxed him somewhat. It was becoming harder and harder for him to imagine this woman meant him harm, but he was still awed by her presence.

	Now face-to-face, the two studied each other for a moment. Despite her strange wings and monstrous tail, Luciana was radiant. Wavy golden hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her angelic face. Her human torso was unmistakably feminine, and very well endowed, but also leanly muscled. She wore no clothing, save for a belt around her waist that held a few pockets and pouches. The scales of her serpentine half were deep green; her feathered wings a brilliant white. Finally, her eyes – human eyes with silvery irises – which were set directly on him.

	The sudden eye contact brought Arton out of his daze. Both he and Luciana opened their mouths to speak at the same time, but Arton stopped himself, fearful of speaking out of turn. Luciana gave him a reassuring grin. “Speak,” she said gently.

	“Did I die? Is that why I'm here?” Arton blurted out.

	“No,” Luciana replied, “Although the dead come here when they die. That is why you are lost.”

	Arton didn't know what to think of that. He didn't belong here, yet he could not return home. Was that not worse than death? His posture crumpled and he looked away from Luciana despondently.

	Luciana wrapped an arm around his waist, and scooted him closer to her side. She placed a hand on Arton's chin and gently turned his face back towards her, breaking his contemplation.

	“I think that's enough questions for now,” she said softly, “I can't stand to see you covered in those terrible wounds any longer.”

	Luciana held out Arton's arm, inspecting it. He gave her a questioning look, but did not resist. Whispering in an arcane tongue, she traced a glowing finger along a particularly nasty cut on his shoulder. He shuddered as his flesh knit back together. When she finished there was barely a scar. Arton ran his fingers over the new flesh in amazement. Luciana tried to turn him around and work on his back, but he pulled away.

	“Please, I can't repay you for this,” he said, blushing with embarrassment. He wasn't used to being treated like this. “I don't-,” he began, but Luciana's laughter cut him off.

	“Did I ask for payment?” she asked in a patronizing tone.

	Arton blushed harder, momentarily at a loss for words.

	“I trespass on your land, bother you with foolish questions, and receive your healing and you want nothing in return?” he said, “I don't even feel fit to bathe here, I can't understand why you're being so kind to me.”

	“Perhaps it amuses me?” she asked. “Although,” she paused, tapping her chin in thought, “If you *must* give me something, I have a few ideas in mind,” she said, grinning wickedly. “Let's start with a story. Tell me about your journey.”

	Something about her smile sent a chill down Arton's spine, but he agreed to her request. It was only fair, especially after he made a point of whining about her hospitality. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he started his tale at the Apothecary's shop.

	As Arton talked, he grew more comfortable with Luciana's presence. His storytelling became animated, and at times Luciana had to hold him still so she could continue mending his wounds. She listened intently, lending explanation to the planar phenomena Arton described when she was able.

	Reaching the end of his story, Arton told Luciana how he entered the portal and came here. Recounting his experience made him weary, reminding him just how far he had traveled, and how far he still was from home. The feelings of despair and longing that Luciana had distracted him from earlier came rushing back.

	“I'm lucky I ended up here with you, where it's safe,” Arton choked out, “But I'm still lost. I'm afraid I won't make it home, but I have to try.”

	Tears began to form in his eyes. Ashamed by his display of weakness, Arton tried to pull away from Luciana, but she held him tight, wrapping him up in her arms and her coils. After a moment, he quelled his pride, and allowed himself to relax in her embrace. While he cried softly on her chest, she rubbed his back and ran a hand through his hair to comfort him.

	After a minute, Luciana spoke, “I could take you home, Arton. But you must trust me.”

	Arton looked up at her. “Y-you w-would do that for me?” he asked.

	“I would,” she replied, “But you must trust me.”

	Her tone was flat and deathly serious, not the playful, melodic voice he'd grown used to. His confidence wilted under the command.

	“Do you trust me?” she asked.

	Did he really trust this strange woman he'd met a few hours before, who had an angel's wings and a serpent's tail? He wanted to, but he couldn't surrender himself to her whims completely. After so much time living in danger, it was hard to accept vulnerability. Nevertheless, Luciana already had plenty of opportunities to harm him, and she was his best chance of getting home. With that in mind, Arton decided to fake it, and take a gamble. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He managed to relax his muscles, but his heart was pounding.

	Arton screwed his eyes shut and said quietly, “I trust you.”

	“Good,” Luciana replied, then chuckled, “Now try not to squirm too much.”

	Arton was confident he could handle whatever Luciana had planned for him, which made it all the more surprising when she gripped his sides and thrust him upwards into a warm, moist sack. The shock caused him to gasp. He felt his breath rush past his face, but he struggled to inhale again as the elastic flesh suctioned to his mouth, and his nostrils clogged with viscous liquid.

	With his breathing restrained, Arton started to panic. He threw his arms up, to try and pull his head free, but Luciana pulled them away with terrifying strength and speed. Now holding him by the wrists with her hands, her tail rippled up his legs to support his waist.

	As Luciana did this, Arton heard her voice. It was distorted and deep, seeming to come from all around his head. It sounded like she was tutting at him with her mouth full. Then a slimy, bumpy muscle jabbed him in the eye, before snaking across his face, slathering it in fluid. The sack squeezed him tightly, and he slid further into it. Part of his clothing snagged on the small bony protrusions around the opening. They were almost like teeth. At the same time, a tight ring gripped his head, before expanding to engulf it completely, like a throat.

	Arton finally put the pieces together. Luciana was eating him.

	His illusion of trust broken, Arton started fighting harder. He strained with every muscle to free his arms from Luciana, but she was far stronger. His arms quivered with exertion, but her grip did not budge. The advance of her lips over his neck and shoulders was inexorable.

	After a few swallows, she had his arms pinned by the sides of her mouth. She used her freed hands to rip away what clothing Arton had left outside her, tearing his tunic in two in the process. Arton's whimper of humiliation was lost among the sounds of Luciana's body, and his squirm of discomfort crushed by her coils.

	The lack of air quickly exhausted Arton. His muscles ached, and slowly he fell limp, resigned to his fate. As he did, Luciana's grip loosened, and she moaned something unintelligible around him. Arton imagined she must be pleased with his surrender, or perhaps she was taunting him. She gave his back a gentle pat, before releasing him from her tail entirely.

	Arton's world spun as Luciana reared back, and swung him over her head. Now he slid into her gullet much quicker, and soon only his legs were outside. Arton's head emerged into a small chamber, and he managed to cough up saliva and take a deep breath before she swallowed again, thrusting him through another sphincter.

	As he slid deeper into Luciana's guts, Arton couldn't help but writhe and shudder. He'd given up resisting, but the hot, sticky flesh encasing more and more of his body was uncomfortable and violating. Soon only his feet were exposed to the relatively cool outside air.

	Luciana gulped down his calves ravenously, every swallow inching Arton closer to doom. Her tongue licked capriciously up his shins, then at his feet, then through his toes. She was tasting him. Playing with her food. He fidgeted and squirmed, uncomfortable with her touch, but that only amused her more. Her laughter reverberated around him. Deep inside her, his face burned with humiliation.

	Finally, mercifully, she pushed his feet into her mouth, and took the last swallow. At about the same time, Arton's head entered a large stomach. The acrid smell of bile assaulted his nose. He took a gasping breath. The air burned his throat, but it was still breathable. As more of his body entered the stomach, he slid into it deeper, coming to rest in a shallow bath of acid. The stomach was only a bit larger than he was, but much more comfortable than Luciana's throat or mouth.

	Alone in the darkness of Luciana's belly, Arton had nothing left to do but think. He thought of his family, and how he failed them, and how they would suffer for it. He thought of Luciana, and how she toyed with his emotions, and how she betrayed him when he was most vulnerable. And he thought of the acid sloshing across his body, and how long it would burn him before he finally died. It was too much for Arton. The dam holding back his emotions burst altogether. His face contorted, and his jaw clenched painfully, and he sobbed freely.

-----

	Luciana traced the last of Arton's body down her neck. She felt him come to rest in her tail, and sighed, enjoying the sensation of fullness. Her kind did not need to eat, but live meals were something of a guilty pleasure for Luciana. She found humans and other mortal races especially delicious, but she rarely had a good reason to devour them. The need to keep Arton safe on the journey home served nicely.

	Luciana glanced over at the bulge in her tail. Arton hadn't moved much since entering her stomach. She knew that not all mortals reacted well to being devoured, and decided she should probably check on him. Slowly she coiled herself up on the rock, until she could lay her torso over the bulge in her tail where Arton was.

	Putting her ear against the scales, Luciana heard the industrious gurgling of her stomach, but also another sound – Arton's quiet whimpering. She felt a pang of sympathy for the man, and began to rub her tail in an attempt to comfort him.

	“Shh, shh, don't cry, Arton,” she soothed.

	“I don't want t-to die like this,” he mumbled between sobs.

	“You're not going to die,” she replied, firmly.

	“You *ate* me, after, after…,” Arton trailed off in exasperation.

	 “This is the best way to get you home,” she replied, “Now dry your tears, relax, and let my body work.”

	“Why should I believe you?” Arton questioned, “You're just playing with your food.”

	“You know how much stronger I am than you. What need do I have for deception?"

	“You're a demon. It amuses you.”

	“And yet, in the moment of betrayal, I comfort instead of taunt. I am no demon, Arton.”

	Luciana felt the bulge rise and fall as Arton took a few deep breaths. Hopefully that got through to him, and he was calming down.

	“You could have asked me first,” Arton said plaintively.

	“If I told you what I was going to do, would you have agreed to do it?”

	Silence.

	“No,” Arton finally admitted.

	“Exactly,” Luciana replied, “I'm sorry it scared you, but it was the only way.”

	“You enjoyed it,” he responded indignantly.

	Luciana smirked a bit at his attitude.

	“I *did* enjoy it quite a bit, but not because you were suffering,” she said, pausing a moment before finishing her thought, “I enjoyed it because you were delicious.”

	Inside her tail, Arton stiffened up, and gasped, but he did not reply. Luciana chuckled, and patted her bulge. His embarrassment was adorable.

	Both of them were silent for some time. Luciana made herself comfortable, cuddling up to her tail, and closed her eyes. She didn't need to sleep, but with a full belly she felt some meditation was warranted.

	“L-luciana?” Arton spoke up meekly.

	“Hmm?” she purred, without opening her eyes.

	“Am I going to be digested?”

	“You are,” Luciana said cautiously, “But don't worry. Rest. I will take care of everything.”

	Arton squirmed uncomfortably underneath her. “I *want* to trust you,” he said, “But I'm scared.”

	“There's nothing wrong with that,” Luciana replied, “If it becomes too much, remember that I'm here with you, and focus on the sound of my voice.”

	Then she began to hum a simple song.

-----


	Even muffled by skin and gastric noises, Luciana's singing was beautiful. Arton could easily lose himself in her melodies, but the strange sensations of being digested kept pulling him back.

	First, his skin tingled. It started in his fingers and toes, but spread everywhere. He expected the acid would be more painful, but it was merely uncomfortable. Sometimes he couldn't help but twitch and struggle. When he did, Luciana's singing would lower to a hush, and she would comfort him by rubbing him through her tail.

	Eventually the ticklish sensation gave way to numbness. When Arton realized he could no longer feel or move his limbs, he panicked. The stomach suddenly felt infinitely more tight and claustrophobic. Arton tried with all his might to work his dissolving muscles, screaming into nothing but his own mind in horror and exertion. He was stunned when through all the numbness, and the churning acid, something *touched* him. Not the mushy remnants of his body, but *him*, the mind that was screaming and crying within.

	It was Luciana's gentle caress. It calmed him somewhat, but also awakened a new fear. Her mind was vast and powerful and close in a way he almost couldn't imagine. He recoiled away from the intruding force. She did not follow, but she did not leave.

	Gradually, Arton lost track of time. His world consisted of his thoughts, the monolithic presence of Luciana's mind, and the vague sensations coming from his dying body. As numbness crept up his spine, and into his skull, Arton felt a new sensation. The cold grip of the void. It tugged subtly but incessantly, until a stomach contraction snuffed out the functioning remains of his body. Then it threatened to tear his mind apart. With no other choice, Arton cried out, and cast himself away from the cold, away from death, and towards Luciana.

	She plucked him up without hesitation, and not a moment too soon. Engulfed, Arton's mind retreated into unconsciousness.

-----

	Waking from her meditation, Luciana rose slowly and stretched. She murmured in satisfaction as she worked the tiredness from her lethargic muscles. She always felt warm and heavy after a big meal, and she loved it.

	Her stretches were interrupted by a dainty belch, which she did her best to stifle. Her cheeks puffed out, and when she finally exhaled, she blew a cloud of fine gray mist – the only waste left by her celestial digestive system.

	The morning sun filtered in through the leaves overhead. It took until late at night to digest Arton, and Luciana had comforted him the whole time. Only when his body was dead and his soul was safe inside her did she allow herself to truly rest.

	When her thoughts moved to Arton, Luciana remembered his presence inside her. She closed her eyes to focus on it – a point of light at once separate and one with her. The little kernel stirred, but did not awaken. She could wake Arton by force, if she pleased. She could do far more than that, in fact. He was utterly at her mercy, even more vulnerable than when she cradled him in her arms yesterday.

	With the barest effort she could annihilate his fragile soul, scattering his essence like so many grains of sand. She could wipe away his mind and absorb the formless energy that remained. She could delve through his memories, twist them against him, remake every aspect of his personality, and yet never give him the release of death.

	But Luciana could never be so cruel, not to an innocent like Arton, who had suffered so much already. She would let him sleep. There was no hurry, and after all he had been through, he deserved the rest.

	While she waited for Arton to wake, Luciana decided to continue her morning routine. She left her perch on the rock, and leisurely slithered down to the creek to bathe.

-----

	Arton awoke as if from death. He was disoriented and confused, aware of nothing except a godlike presence all around him. The presence spoke, and the memories rushed back.

	“Good morning, Arton. How did you sleep?” Luciana's voice spoke directly into his thoughts.

	Arton opened his mouth to respond, but he no longer had a mouth. He tried to think clearly and form a response, but his thoughts were too jumbled and messy. He was afraid he would lose himself at any moment to the vortex of Luciana's thoughts swirling all around him. His struggling did not go unnoticed.

	“Oh, you poor thing,” Luciana chided, “Let me help you.”

	Slowly, carefully, but implacably, Luciana reached into Arton's mind, sifting through his thoughts with surgical precision. It was uncomfortable for him, but he could do little to resist.

	Luckily for Arton, Luciana found what she was looking for quickly, before she reached some of his more embarrassing thoughts. His unvoiced words lay near the surface of his consciousness, straining to break through. She understood them easily.

	“I'm glad you feel rested,” Luciana replied, “While your body has been digested, I held on to your soul,” she paused, as if thinking, then added, “But don't worry, I'm not *possessive*.”

	It took some time for Arton to process this new information. The sensation (or lack thereof) of having no physical form was becoming unbearable. Arton tried as hard as he could to voice his concern, but Luciana picked up on it before he could.

	“Ah, yes, I imagine that would be strange. I'll make you a new body once I find your world,” she explained, “But until then, I can reacquaint you with your old body. I must warn you, though – you might not recognize it.”

	The maelstrom of Luciana's mind faded, replaced with tingling numbness all over Arton's body. His senses returned gradually. The air on his skin was warm, and he could hear water flowing, but it was muffled and indistinct. His sight was blurry, not much more than a gentle glow of light. He had no idea where or what he was, but it was nice to have a physical form again.

	Then he felt it. A silky smooth pad rubbing up his side. The relative absence of sight and sound heightened Arton's sense of touch, and the feeling dominated his senses, forcing aside everything else. And it felt *incredible*.

	The pad paused, made a few circles of the odd depression in his center, then continued up, where it stopped. Multiple pads started drumming there, almost like fingers. Fingers on, on…

	“I think a bit more of you stuck around than I'd like,” Luciana joked, “I've become rather large, for a Lillend.”

	Arton was still having trouble thinking straight, but the realization he had been reduced to nothing more than a thin layer of fat on Luciana's tummy was shocking and humiliating. He wanted to protest, but he had no muscles to flex. He only had his senses – just as helpless as before.

	 “That's not all you are,” Luciana teased, “There's definitely a bit here.”

	Luciana cupped her breasts in her palms, testing their weight. A fairly innocent action, but one that sent waves of mind-numbing pleasure across Arton. It was becoming harder for him to remain indignant.

	“I might have to get my armor refitted,” she continued, matter-of-factly, “But that's a problem for later.”

	She released her breasts, and they flopped back to their natural positions.

	“For now, I'm going to finish my bath,” Luciana said, “And after, we'll see about getting you home, hmm?”

	There was a pause. From the haze of pleasure, Arton managed to convey his agreement, but it wasn't easy.

	“Good,” Luciana sighed happily. She lowered herself deeper into the creek, until the water lapped at her breasts. The cold water shocked Arton at first, but he quickly found it refreshing. The heat from deeper in Luciana's body kept him from growing numb while he was immersed.

	After she finished polishing her scales, Luciana turned her attention to her human half, caressing and massaging all along her torso. The feeling of warm skin contact amidst the cool water was difficult for Arton to resist. Lost in Luciana's gentle ministrations, he slowly forgot his troubles, his goals, and even himself.

	Eventually, Luciana finished, and climbed out of the creek to dry off. Arton welcomed the warm air, but drops of water still clung to Luciana's skin, having fallen from her hair and her wings. These were quickly pulled away by magical force, and he was warm and dry once more.

	“Say, do you recall what your world was named?” Luciana asked, “Or, perhaps, the names of some countries or continents?”

	Arton didn't realize these questions were directed at him, until Luciana gave her tummy a few impatient pats.

	“Arton?” she asked again, and waited for a response.

	Arton did not have one coming. He was only mortal – his mind followed his form. Right now he was a layer of fat on a beautiful woman's body. He could hardly conceive of home. He just wanted Luciana to touch him again. Or at least stop slithering so her abdominal muscles wouldn't keep flexing him out of shape.

	Unsatisfied by his silence, Luciana delved into his mind again. He didn't resist her. The concept of privacy had left him as he came to accept existing as Luciana's fat. There weren't many thoughts left to scan, and she reached a conclusion quickly.

	“Ah. I see the problem, now. You don't *want* to leave. Excess weight never does,” Luciana said wryly, “I'm very flattered, Arton, but there's some nice people that miss you very much. Don't you remember them?”

	Suddenly Arton's world of fleshy touch was ripped away, replaced by familiar sights and sounds – his memories, which Luciana was remembering for him. He saw his lovely wife, beaming in her simple wedding gown. His little cottage, the day he finally finished building it. His two bright-eyed daughters, playing tag in the town square last harvest festival. And finally his youngest, little Nella, laying in bed with a fever – just as he left her that fateful morning. He had never seen these memories so vivid. They gave his existence perspective again. As the images flashed by, he realized he no longer felt lost.

	After a moment, the memories faded. Luciana gave him a moment to think, and he did. His mind was clear now. His strange, formless existence irked him, but he had purpose again, and he could bear it.

	“There's as many planes as stars in the sky, Arton. Finding yours could be tricky, even for me. Will you help me?” Luciana asked.

	For the first time since leaving his body, Arton gave his thoughts voice.

	“I will,” he replied.

-----

	Luciana emerged from a portal into the cloudy sky. Her wings caught the air, and she glided down to land behind a copse of trees. Although she expected little danger on this plane, she still came prepared, with her longbow, enchanted blade, and (now rather ill-fitting) light armor.

	After getting key information from Arton, and talking to a few of her more knowledgeable friends, Luciana narrowed down that this was his home plane. And with any luck, they were just outside his village, on the morning of the accident.

	It hadn't been the hardest task, but at a few different points in her plane-hopping, she was glad Arton was safely within her, and not in his flimsy mortal body.

	Quietly, Luciana curled up in the shade underneath the trees, hidden from view. Arton was convinced she would be left alone here, giving her plenty of time to complete the ritual.

	At long last, Luciana closed her eyes, clasped her hands together, and began a slow chant – channeling magic in the rites of reincarnation.

-----

	Arton blinked his eyes open. He was laying underneath some trees. He sat up and looked around, recognizing the location instantly. He used to come here and play as a child. But why was he asleep? The sun was setting, and he still needed to go to the apothecary–

	Arton's trail of thought cut off as it crashed into the wall of memories surrounding that event.

	He couldn't believe any of it was real. He stood up, checked his pockets. Nothing. No pockets. He was naked. Looking down at his body, he noticed the old scar on his leg was gone.  He spun, desperately trying to get a look at his back. Even in the lowlight, he could tell – the brown birthmark on his lower back was gone. In its place, flawless smooth skin.

	The realization that this body – his body – was not the one he was born with sent a chill up his spine, but he shook it off. He needed to get home. He peeked out from under the trees to see that no-one was around, and took off along the backwoods trail that led to his house.

	After a few minutes of running, failing to avoid roots and rocks on the dark trail, and cursing, Arton emerged from the brush to see the familiar fields of his homestead. He vaulted the rock wall, and dashed across the fields right up to his doorstep. He tried the latch frantically, but it was locked. He fumbled in the darkness to find the key he hid, until he heard the door open. His wife peeked out, a small lantern in hand.

	“Verna! Verna! By the heavens I'm so glad to see you!”

	He practically tackled her, forcing open the door in the process. She must have recognized him, because she didn't resist, but she was surprised. He embraced her like she would float away if he let go. It took a moment, but she put the lantern down and hugged him back.

	“I'm glad to see you too, dear,” she eked out, “But where are your clothes?”

	Arton finally unhooked himself from her. “My clothes?” he gasped, “Where's Cass? Where's Nella? Is she alright?” he asked frantically.

	“Cass went over to the Torsten's house this afternoon, and Nella's asleep in her bed. She's feeling much better now. A cleric came by on mission, treated her for free.” Verna explained, “Now what are you so worked up about? Does this have something to do with that explosion Marie told me about?”

	Arton had a bizarre feeling in the pit of his stomach. “A cleric?” he asked blankly, completely ignoring Verna's questions.

	“Yes,” she replied, growing slightly annoyed, “Beautiful woman. Why she'd take the vows with looks like that is anyone's guess.”

	“W-what was h-her name?” Arton stammered out.

	“Luciana.”

	Arton's knees went weak. He tried to catch himself on the table, but crashed to the ground, bawling. It was finally over, and all thanks to her. He couldn't understand how it was all possible, but she had done it.

	“Honey, what's wrong?” Verna gasped as her husband practically swooned.

	As Arton cried tears of pure cathartic joy, one thought was on his mind. He wanted desperately to thank Luciana. To see her and speak to her with a clear mind in the safety of his world and thank her, but she was gone. He would wonder his whole life if she knew how grateful he was.