The Garden - Rough Draft

The Garden
by Concordant Opposition

	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 had hope 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.

	Both thankfully and dreadfully, time did not seem to pass 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 had survived, and they stung. 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. He knew that 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 was never a gambling man. The possibility of death laying behind each seemingly-identical silver pool paralyzed him. So onward he drifted.

	For the dozenth time Arton thought back to how this had all happened. He needed to buy something from the apothecary. Some fool of an adventurer was in the shop fiddling around with the magical items. She tried putting a bag of holding inside a portable hole, and the whole place imploded. He woke up here.

	Arton shook his head in frustration, banishing the memory. The thought of being cast out into this horrible void by the mistake of some idiot wizard still rubbed him the wrong way.

	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. The knot clenched tight in Arton's stomach. His libs grew stiff. Death or salvation? Death or salvation? Did it really matter anymore?

	With a shuddering breath, Arton cast 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, however. His lungs breathed real air, clean air. It was painfully bright, and vivid with color. The grass beneath his feet was damp and cool. The distant sun cast gentle warmth across his back. Slowly, his eyes adjusted. He took in the scene around him – colorful wildflowers mixed among luscious ferns, two willow trees flanking a clear stream. Ahead, a faint trail leading up a gentle slope, its destination obscured by mist and dense trees. 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. There had to be something on top of this hill, he knew.

	As he wandered along the trail, Arton felt time catch up with his body. He was hungry, and his muscles ached from fatigue. Stopping for rest seemed even more appealing now, but curiosity and a growing feeling of unease drove him onwards. Even among the trees, where it was shady and damp, this place seemed tranquil. Harmless. But every other portal had led him into danger, and he worried that 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. After clambering over a fallen tree, he decided to pick up the pace. The trail had become steeper – there was even a switchback up ahead – and he felt he was nearing its end. A minute later he was trudging up the last slope, to emerge once more into a sunlit clearing. The  sounds of the woods faded behind him, replaced by music. The clearing was dominated by a great old oak tree. The edge of its thin, ragged crown hung 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. He thought she must be a demon. But what demon could be so beautiful, or live in a garden so pleasant?

	Despite a growing feeling of unease, Arton was driven by his curiosity. The woman was looking away, playing her harp. 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, in that musical tone of hers, “How did you come here? It's been a long time since I received a human guest.”

	Arton could see no risk in telling 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 a graceful wave.

	Arton's heart was pounding. Every instinct told him to get away from this strange woman, but in his weary state the promise of human contact overrode self-preservation. Slowly, he approached the tree.

	The closer Arton got, the more apparent the woman's otherworldly beauty became. His fear mixed with awe. Was she a goddess? Was he finally dead? 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 was 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 human 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 – 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 smile. “Speak,” she said gently.

	“Am I dead?” Arton blurted out.

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

	Arton looked away from her, unable to keep the pain from showing on his face. He was so tired. Since discovering the garden, he had considered the possibility of reaching some kind of afterlife a hopeful one, even if it meant he was dead. It was not to be. He didn't belong here, yet he could not return home. Was that not worse than death?

	Arton felt Luciana grip him. Wrapping one arm around his waist, she scooted him closer to her side. With the other arm she turned his face back towards her, breaking his contemplation.

	“It's been a while since I've had company,” Luciana said, “I can only imagine how lonely you've been. Tell me about your journey.”

	It took Arton a moment to shake off his despair and begin his tale. Once he started, though, the words poured forth, along with every suffering, and fear, and worry he had. Luciana listened intently, lending explanation to the planar phenomena Arton described when she was able. She comforted him, too, drawing him into a gentle embrace with her arms and tail.

	When Arton finally finished, he relaxed, exhausted both by his ordeal and the telling of it. Luciana held him against her bosom with a hand behind his head. Her angelic wings were wrapped around both of them. The close physical contact didn't seem so strange to Arton after he had bared all his emotions to her.

	Luciana ran her fingers through Arton's hair and leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

	“Do you trust me, Arton?”

	The question took Arton by surprise. He was suspicious of her initially, but her beauty and kindness drew him in. Her tone was deathly serious, and it made him consider exactly what he was doing in the arms of this strange woman. It occurred to him that the way Luciana was holding him, he could do nothing to resist her. He shifted a bit to untangle himself, and look up at her, but she pulled him tighter.

	“Relax, dear,” Luciana soothed, “Relax, and answer the question.”

	Arton stopped trying to fight her grip. 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, but his mouth was covered, pushed tight against the skin-like wall. He felt his own breath rush past his face, and he struggled to inhale again.

	Unable to breathe, 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. She traded grips – holding his arms with her own, and his torso with her mighty tail.

	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 last three seconds suddenly made sense to Arton.

	Luciana was eating him.

	With that horrifying realization, Arton started fighting harder. He strained with every muscle to free himself, but Luciana didn't budge. The advance of her lips over his neck and shoulders was inexorable.

	In 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.

	Finally exhaustion and despair caught up with Arton, and he fell limp, resigned to his fate. He felt Luciana's grip weaken, 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 rub, before releasing him from her tail entirely.

	Arton felt gravity shrift 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 took a deep breath before he was thrust through another sphincter.

	As Arton slid deeper into Luciana's guts he thought of how hopeful he had been when he arrived here. He had desperately wanted to believe that Luciana was as kind as she was beautiful, and that his long exile had finally come to a peaceful end. She had preyed on those exact desires, toyed with his emotions, and betrayed him when he was most vulnerable. It was almost too cruel for Arton to comprehend.

	Even as his body twisted through Luciana's bowels, Arton could still feel his feet exposed to the cool air. She was busy gulping down his calves, every swallow inching him 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 writhed, uncomfortable with her touch, but that only amused her more. Her giggles reverberated around him. Deep inside her, his face burned with shame.

	Finally, mercifully, she used her hand to push his foot into her mouth, and took the final swallow. At about the same time, Arton's head entered a large stomach. The acrid smell of bile assaulted his senses. He took a gasping breath. The air burned his throat, but it was still breathable. He would not have the mercy of suffocation.

	The betrayal, the humiliation, and the realization that he would die screaming in agony was too much for Arton. His face contorted, and his jaw clenched painfully as he began to sob.

-----

	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.

	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. He seemed to be 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. I'm sorry it scared you, but it was the only way,” Luciana replied.

	“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.”

	Luciana 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 imagined 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, he felt something touch 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.

	Arton lost all 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 sleep 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 was filtering 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 was reminded of 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.

	She could do all this, but the thought of such cruelty disgusted her. She would let Arton sleep. There was no hurry, and after all he had been through, he deserved the rest.

	Shifting and shuffling her coils, Luciana made herself comfortable on the rock. She relaxed, enjoying the warm sun, the humming presence of Arton's precious soul, and the heavy fullness in her tail.

-----

	Arton awoke as if from death. He was disoriented and confused. He felt 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 needed only think clearly to form a response, but his thoughts were too jumbled and messy. 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 Arton, but he could do little to resist.

	After a moment, he felt Luciana chuckle mischievously.

	“Mmm, I didn't know you thought I was so beautiful, Arton,” she purred sarcastically, “You should have said something sooner.”

	Arton was overcome with embarrassment. Thankfully, Luciana didn't linger on those thoughts. She searched deeper, and seemed to arrive at what she wanted – his unvoiced words.

	“I'm glad to hear you feel rested. While your body has been digested, I held on to your soul,” she paused, as if thinking, then added, “Don't worry – that's really not as bad as it sounds. I'm not possessive.”

	It took some time for Arton to process this new information. The sensation (or lack thereof) of having no physical body 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.”

	Arton felt numbness, real, physical numbness. The sensation of warm air on skin came back gradually. He could sense muffled sound, and some light, but it was indistinct. He was just starting to grasp that Luciana had kept his soul safe. These new sensations confused him, but it was nice to have some physical form.

	Then he felt it. A silky smooth pad rubbing up his side. The feeling dominated his consciousness, forcing aside everything else. It felt so good. 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.

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

	Luciana cupped her breasts in her palms, and teased her nipples with her fingers. Arton almost lost consciousness from the sensory overload.

	“I'm not sure how I'm going to fly with these, actually,” she continued, matter-of-factly.

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

	There was a pause. Arton could hardly think outside of what he felt and what Luciana said.

	Luciana sighed happily, “I've had my fun now, dear. I imagine you're ready to get home, hmm?”

	Luciana 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 only wanted Luciana to touch him again.

	“I'm flattered you want to stay with me, Arton,” Luciana said, “But there's some nice people who miss you very much. Don't you remember them?”

	Arton's world of fleshy touch was ripped away by Luciana. It gave way to familiar sights and sounds – his memories, which Luciana was remembering for him. He saw his little cottage, his two bright-eyed daughters, the green, gentle fields. 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 moment, the memories fadded. 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 now, and he could bear it.

	“There's as many planes as stars in the sky, Arton. Finding yours will 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 prime material plane, she still came prepared, with her longbow, enchanted blade, and (now rather ill-fitting) light armor.

	If Arton's memory served, this was his home plane, just outside of his village, the evening after the accident.

	Luciana curled up in the shade underneath the trees. She would hear most humans coming long before they saw her, but Arton was convinced she would be left alone here.

	At long last, she 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 place instantly. He used to come here and play as a child. But why was he asleep? The sun seemed to be setting, and he 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 low light, 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 the realization that he was finally home came on stronger. It forced him to his knees. As he 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.