A pondering from Jacquelyn on the nature of Jess and her gray-scale demony-ness. I'm not allowed to say too much on this, lest I give spoilers of some sort and Betsy-sama has to punish me, but it's a beautiful story, so read it, I command you!


by Jacquelyn

It was a photo to be proud of. It caught one of those rare moments when, with enough imagination, she could imagine he was smiling. At her. Out of all the photos, drawings, bits of hair that could possibly be his, this piece of him was her favorite. Because, he was smiling. At her.

"Why do you waste your time on that boy?" The last word was nearly hissed, a direct contrast to the otherwise soft purr.

"Heís Naim." As if that explained it all.

"He," the menacing purr paused, "is not her."

Now she came close to pouting. "But heís Naim!"

"Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten. Come here.."

She stole a glance at the mirror, knowing already what she would see. Well, that wasnít entirely true. Sometimes it just looked like she had lost her color. Today there were hints of color, and that almost made it worse. Those red eyes were always frightening.

"Please, I donít want to."

"Come," infinite softness. Promise of unending pain if she did not obey.

Eyes cast downward, she pushed through her fear until she was little more than a breath away from the reflective glass. The purr is what scared her. Something had upset the other, and that always made visits less pleasant.

"Thatís my girl."

Even knowing it was coming, the caress along her cheek made her jump. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she kept the belief this was all a bad dream. Hallucination from Hell. Possibly quite literally.

It was hard to keep believing when the phantom could touch.

"Relax," the purr continued. A whispered kiss brushing her ear. "Have I ever hurt you?"

A light tremor ran through her as a tail grazed her leg. A hand on her chest gently pushed her back, the tail easing up to wrap around her waist.

"Open your eyes, Jess. Look at me."

She had closed them? Swallowing, blue irises peered through slit lids.

"Good girl. Good, good girl. Letís ease your fear away, yes?"

Jess gasped as a hand slid under her shirt. Fingers waltzing over her abdomen. She couldnít help her whimpered plea.

Lips nibbled gently at her neck. "What was that?"

"Please," she wanted to say more. Beg for it to stop, but she was never so lucky.

"Shh, Iíll take care of you."

It didnít take long before she quit wanting it to stop. That would have been the worst part; admitting to herself she actually liked it was hard. But the most difficult admission was when she had stopped imagining. When the hands gliding along her sides ceased to be Naimís.

He wasnít the one making her breath hitch. The hair tickling her stomach paired with the tongue teasing her navel was not his. Eventually, she even quit calling out his name. Ultimately her ability to form words ceased all together. Quiet moans, whimpers with no connection to fear or pain, were all she could manage.

Every once in a while turned to common occurrence, which increased to nightly. She still thought of Naim. Always would. She still believed he would be more for her than stolen moments at school, but as she lay down in bed every evening she would be unable to sleep if the arm that wasnít Naimís was not holding her against a bosom too busty to be male.

The End


All characters and images on this site are © Betsy Jorgensen & Jena Lombardi (except in the case of fanworks were specified). No takies, or we bring out the ninja-wombats.   You were warned.