I'm nothing more than a doll, but the beautiful blonde girl who takes me home from the shop sparks something to life in me as she holds my hand.

When we cross the threshold into her warm and sunlit home, she releases her grip, leaving me bereft. I want nothing more than for her to touch me again. Holding up my empty hands, I'm struck with new awareness that I exist.

"You'll stay in my room, okay? I have a space just for you. You can model for me, and I'll paint you." She smiles while she leans forward with her hands behind her back and inspects me for any flaws.

I nod. I'm the sort of doll who can nod and walk around but speaking and wanting are foreign, yet I long to do both when I look at her. Is this what love feels like? Or is it just being alive?

"Is something wrong?" She cups my cheeks with her sacred hands, and I'm embarrassed that she noticed my unrest so quickly. "You're very handsome... or pretty, maybe? Please don't look sad. Will you smile for me?"

I try. She beams at the change in my face and then I can't control the spark of new emotions in my chest, so the urge to kiss her becomes irresistible. I find her lips sweet and golden, just like her shining hair.

"Violette, I need you," I whisper, though I don't know how I formed the words, nor why I know her name.

"Oh, I didn't realize, I'm sorry. Come to bed with me," she says, and she grasps both my hands this time.

Her bedroom is just as luminescent as her, the two open windows framed by gauzy curtains revealing a beautiful private garden full of butterflies and birds. Some twinge in me warns that undressing with her in front of the windows should be frowned upon, but I don't care and follow suit with the buttons of my shirt when she pulls her white dress over her head.

"I'm glad you have the parts," she says with a giggle that makes the parts in question throb. Why do I have them, anyway?

"So you can put them inside me," she answers as she tugs me onto her bed. Did I say that aloud?

Not that it matters, because I'm wrapped up in that word. Inside. I'm not sure what she means, until a moment later. Then, I understand it's the most natural thing in the world, because there's a hole between her legs that needs filling.

"Keep going until I tell you to cum, okay?"

I don't know what she means, but I climb on top of her anyway to figure out how our bodies fit together.

"That's right, now thrust in and out," she encourages with a little gasp as I find the right position. Now that I'm inside, leaving her warmth for even a second sounds like a punishment. Nevertheless, I obey her. I quickly learn the joys of friction.

Keep going. Keep going.

My body starts to shake with effort, as though continuing may break me in some way, but she hasn't told me to stop yet. I look at her with wide eyes and try to remember how to speak.

"Please?" I manage to ask with clumsy lips. She giggles and pulls me closer, leading me to ask it again and again, hoping that she will hold onto me even tighter. Love, or life, whichever one I'm feeling, is good.

"Faster," she says against the skin of my neck, much to my dismay. It's so hard to hold down the shaking feeling inside me while continuing to move, but I don't want to disappoint her.

When she squeals underneath me, I'm afraid that I've done worse, I've hurt her, but then she grabs the curled hair at the base of my neck and tells me to cum. That's something entirely out of my control, and I can't hold anything back anymore.

* * *

There's nothing annoying about Violette. Every day spent with her is a blessing, and not just because I would be dead without her. Sincerely. I love her so much.

On the other hand, she could really cool it on sending me mind-bending erotic dreams even when I have a final exam in the morning that she knows about. I'd like to wake up refreshed and rested rather than sweaty and gasping. I'm twenty, not a teen anymore. Leaving frequent wet dreams behind would be nice.

The memory of pistoning in and out of her like a machine remains for a few minutes, along with the vague feeling that I was her favorite doll, but it fades away as I untangle some of my hair with my fingers. Thankfully, the dreams aren't as intense and disruptive as they were when she started sending them to me. Her technique has improved, and I am glad she can get some relief without us sharing the same place, even if I'm a mess when I wake up.

I should have believed she was a succubus after the first time she unintentionally pulled me into a sex dream, right? Getting you while you sleep, that's a classic succubus thing.

The thing is, I still don't believe in anything demonic in the religious sense. Violette's mother was certainly evil, and the progenitor of a species that exists alongside humans, but that's not the same thing as a demon. She and all the power she had gathered by cannibalizing her own daughters was the problem, not the species themselves. They might have voracious sexual appetites, but most of them can't even compel someone like Violette can. I'm biased and think she should get whatever she wants, so that's fine.

In the months since I got the memories of my old life back, Violette's told me a lot about her half sisters. She's tuned into their mental network in the way her mom was now, though she says it's too dizzying to try to walk in their minds for long. If I could access them, I'd probably make better use of the connection than she ever would. That's okay. Her lack of power-hunger is part of what makes her so charming. Her abilities and her control of them are way beyond what they used to be, but all she wants to do is play with me and her dad and anyone else attractive who wanders into our orbit. (Sorry, Uncle Jett.)

Another thing she's gained is the ability to recognize her own kind, even the diluted ones. Plenty of the girls Lily didn't graft over throughout the centuries found human partners and had hybrid kids. They're normal enough, but some of the vibes are still there, I guess? As I've helped her acclimatize to going on actual dates, she's spotted a handful and pointed them out to me. She's too shy to talk to them, and what would she even say, but I can tell she feels less alone now.

Before you wonder, no, I didn't turn out to be Violette's real-life cousin twice removed. Just like Eric and Jett, some humans have mental powers without any of Lily's blood in our veins. I'm relieved that mind reading seems rare, which echoes something Lily said about it demonstrating impressive abilities back in that faded motel.

Eurgh. It'd be nice to not remember the sound of her words pouring like ice water down my back.

Time for hot water instead. I get up to shower, glad that she's gone and my final won't actually be that big a deal, unruly dreams or not. I studied.

After that, I go through my morning routine, tending to my hair, brushing my teeth, putting on eyeliner because it feels like an eyeliner day, etcetera. With one hand, I check my phone for the various notifications I received during my restless dreams.

I smile at the messages, wondering for the hundredth time if I should give up living with my parents and move in with her already. She expected me to want to straight away, and part of me did, but another part wanted to enjoy the differences between my life and the old me's. I'm still hanging on to that. This time around, I have a couple friends! Living parents that are deeply embarrassing but good nonetheless! Won't what I bring to our relationship be richer if I embrace what's different? What she changed?

I'm wrestling with that thought for the nth time when a fresh text from someone else pops up on my screen.

Okay, I'm not that different. It's funny, knowing the trouble it caused last time, but Violette was as delighted about having a sexy half sister as I hoped she would be. We hashed out the whole situation with her mom and how awful it was, and she told me off about eighty times for lying, but then she said turning sweet Chrysanthemum into a slut again would help make it up to her.

It was more fun than I ever imagined it could be, at least in this lifetime. Though it felt strange at first, I tapped into those old memories and started planting ideas inside her. I made sure she started by wanting attention from others before me; Tinder or bar hookups, that sort of thing. Once she warmed herself up, I directed her thoughts back to flirting with me. Things played out similarly from there: she blossomed properly after a few sessions, and when she started getting overwhelmed by new feelings, Violette stepped in to soothe her and set some ground rules to keep her from getting fired. Since then, people have definitely noticed her wardrobe and manner shift less conservative, but it's not so dramatic that they're suspicious.

Still, when she's not putting on her serious face, she's as much like a horny teenager as she was during our last encounter.

I am teasing her, but there's some truth to it. Prepping for our big trip to Shanghai is eating up a lot of our time, like how I'm studying Mandarin whenever I have a spare moment. Even Eric's starting to get anxious about the wedding, which is how you know it's bad. It won't be Crazy Rich Asians or Indian wedding levels of over the top, but I've heard something that seems silly to me like the importance of serving crab has caused some intense internal strife in Eric's family. It'll be an event.

Violette and I are going over early with the lucky (unlucky?) couple. I'm not officially her partner to her overseas family, but even they know she clings to me like a security blanket these days, so they paid for me to fly with her to help keep her calm, no mental tricks necessary.

We did have to do some massaging to my parents that first night, so they wouldn't question why I hooked up with my uncle's fiancé's daughter in the blink of an eye, but that's ancient history! Everyone stateside in our immediate family knows that Violette and I are perfect, meant to be, blameless, and cute about it as the cherry on top.

Except Jett.

Did you think my uncle would ever behave himself? One look at the two of us together and his stupid brain started reminding him of all sorts of unnecessary memories. Of course, we kept him quiet, though he squirmed like he always does. His annoying reaction was a blessing in some ways. It made reinstating our sexually charged, antagonistic dynamic easier. With her encouragement, it wasn't too hard. I want to keep my princess happy, and she does love breaking taboos.

Speaking of, I shouldn't leave her hanging.

It shouldn't have surprised me when Violette declared herself the official big sister of all her half sisters upon meeting Christy. For her part, Christy doesn't seem to mind deferring to her, despite the age reversal. They did some sort of mind meld when they first met just by holding hands, so they're on the same wavelength. Lily probably could have connected like that with Violette if she wasn't so malevolent.

It almost makes me want to track down the rest of them. There can't be that many direct descendants of her mom alive, right? Even if Lily popped out a new daughter at an absurd rate, say every ten months, that means there's sixty or less of them under fifty, right? Wouldn't it be nice to let them know the new head of the family is just a sweet sparkly gumdrops who will never menace them? The ones who even know there's a family they're part of beyond the one they grew up with. Not sure how many that is.

Too complicated to worry about today, but Violette won't think about it without me to prompt her, so I filed it away. I take my role as head-full advisor to her head-empty queen seriously.

Once I'm dressed (nothing exciting, just a few warm layers since it's a dreary December day), I go to scavenge breakfast. Leftovers, probably, since eating whatever cuisine mash-up my mom or dad cooked for dinner is something I never take for granted these days.

To my surprise, my dad, the one who works from home, is not the parent on the couch in the living room. Instead, my mom is there with a book in her hands and the TV turned on to a video of an aquarium with jazz playing over it. Relaxing on a surprise day off?

"Hey mom," I say, starting off in English so she knows to follow my lead. My head's too full for Japanese today. "No work? What, did all the rats band together and bust out?"

She lifts her head from her book and rolls her eyes. Her thoughts aren't like my dad's, I can hear them, but they're usually in ultra-fast, disjointed Japanese, so I can tune them out if I try. I do try, for both our sakes.

"Morning Oran," she says, in the even and slightly accented way she always speaks English. "One of the manure containers exploded. Nothing too bad, but I'm not going in to the lab until they clean it up."

"Wow, so it's even grosser than usual?" I lean over the back of the couch and hug around her shoulders. She laughs softly and returns the gesture by raising her hand to my arm. Out of the two of them, my mom's not the affectionate one, but that sometimes makes me want to hug her way more than my clown-ass dad.

Compartmentalizing really is an amazing thing. I thought I understood it before, the way a human heart can build a border between love and cruelty, but I had no idea.

I squeeze a fraction tighter, then release her.

"Want breakfast?" she asks.

"Nah, I'll find something. I've got a loaded day. Seeing Violette today and tomorrow. Might stay over tonight."

She pauses, and a second before she speaks, I pick up a sense of mild embarrassment behind her thoughts. "You're still safe with her, aren't you?"

"Nah, you know we got really into juggling knives while making out," I shoot back. The caring parents bit really is humbling sometimes. Don't think about me having sex with Violette! She'd like it too much.

"Protection is important, and I'm obligated to keep checking," she says, dodging my counterattack effortlessly. A woman who married my dad has to know how to ignore bullshit or perfectly parry it. She's dangerous.

With a groan, I offer her sincerity instead. "We're using birth control and protection. Nobody wants her to get sick or teen pregnant less than me." Birth control and protection called Violette's fantastical body, but she doesn't need to know the details.

"It would make the eventual wedding more complicated."

"Mom!" I nudge her shoulder and am glad we're having this conversation with her turned away from me so she can't see my ears go red. "We haven't... I haven't proposed, that's for sure. It's not that serious. Calm down!"

"Mother's intuition comes from an intimate knowledge of the child. Do not discount it as a myth," she says, enunciating each word carefully, in her most smug 'I am PhD level smart in two languages' voice.

I wave her off and call "Whatever!" as I head for the kitchen. She's lucky I know what life is like without her, because otherwise... god.

* * *

When I finally make it through the day's gauntlet of testing and essay-finishing, Violette's waiting at the front door of her home to wrap me up in her soft arms. For real this time, not just a vision.

"Jeez, miss me much?" I ask into her neck, though I'm hugging her just as fiercely as she's hugging me.

"Yes." She draws out of the hug to inspect me, then puts her hands on my cheeks. "Yes."

Nothing like the full intensity of her gaze to make me weak in the knees. I try not to show it, turn my head so I can kiss one of her palms instead. My pride demands I grapple to stay on equal footing with her, even now, when the power gap between us is wider than ever.

"So, wardrobe planning?" I take hold of her wrist and encourage her to spin like a lady at a ball. Obligingly, she twirls for me, her white skirt rising around her like a cloud, as dainty as a debutante. When she stops, she bites her lip.

"Um, clothes second, sex first," she says, dispelling the air of refinement she'd summoned for a moment. When I Iaugh, she narrows her eyes. "What? I said I missed you!"

"I know. I would never deprive you."

"Good." She takes both my hands in a way that echoes the golden light of this morning. "I want to do it like in that dream."

"Hold up, do we have to do something that embarrassing again? I didn't even know what sex was!"

A smile flickers like dragonfly wings across her face. So thin and swift you could almost miss it. "Then I'll be the toy this time. I don't mind."

What an invitation. I lean in and kiss her as thanks.

"You sure?" I ask, while our faces are still nice and close.

"Yeah. Upstairs, your old room?"

"You read my mind."

* * *

Now that I've seen inside Violette, I realize my own expectations must influence how I experience someone's thoughts--I don't know how else to explain why her bright and adorable inner workings are just as I imagined them.

Every time she grants me access, her mind spreads in front of me like a pastel-colored candy factory constructed out of the very materials it produces, with pink walls and panels of sticky knobs and levers lining rainbow-painted consoles. Yes, some parts of the factory move slowly or strangely, there are corners that store piles of bitter, salty thoughts like salmiakki, and she does contain areas of mature, dark chocolatey depth, but mostly the smell of cotton candy overwhelms everything else.

I can't help but smile whenever I visit.

There's one place I focus on, a central machine covered in heart-shaped buttons that shine like the saccharine gem of a ring pop. I can play with these to make her think all sorts of things, or press the large red one at the far end to make her orgasm. (That's my favorite.)

Though I do trace my fingers over it and enjoy the faint sound of her gasp outside this vision, I restrain myself. Instead, I follow my instincts and flick switches, turn knobs, and press buttons like I'm programming a special treat to go into production. One innocent doll, but there was a mix-up during manufacturing, and they made her less-than-innocent on the inside. Someone will have to take care of her.

* * *

When I open my eyes for the first time, I'm not sure what to expect. I only know that I exist to be taken care of, brushed, posed, dressed up, and played with, and the thought that someone will do that soon fills me with happiness.

Um, I think it's happiness. It's a very tingly feeling. I look up into the dark, smiling face watching over me and wonder if they will tell me.

"Hello, cutie. How do you feel?"

Oh no! They've asked me what the feeling is. The corners of my eyes sting as they widen too far, so I shut them instinctively. I don't know! It's warm! I don't know how to say it. My mouth opens but no sounds come out.

"Settle down," they say, "take it one step at a time."

That's helpful advice. I'm more careful next time, reopen my eyes just enough, run my tongue over my lips to wet them, then try to speak.

"Ah," I manage to say. Ohhh, that's not a word at all. I squint and try to focus while the smiling face laughs softly above me. "G. Good?"

"Good? That makes sense. Since you're a good girl, after all." They stroke my hair as a shudder of tingly happiness runs through me again.

Yes, that's the type of doll I am, a good girl. The sort that sits at tea parties and knows how to curtsy nice and low for the princess. However, I don't see any of those around here, only the handsome person who's touching my jaw, which makes me throb in my... in my heart? That must be what's throbbing.

"Are you a sorcerer?" I ask, then touch my own mouth, surprised by how many words came out. It was easier this time.

"A sorcerer," they repeat, one of their eyebrows rising up while the other stays down. That's what doubt or a question looks like, I think? I'm glad I was created with some helpful information, like words and expressions, so I can talk to this handsome person. The sound of their voice is like a velvet tablecloth at a particularly fancy tea party.

"Um, like the princess's sorcerer," I try, hoping they will understand. There's supposed to be a princess, I'm sure of it.

They chuckle, in a way that doesn't sound like the innocent laughter of a little girl, which is what I'm most programmed to deal with. Instead, it's a liquid sound that makes my stomach burn and my... heart...(?) twitch.

"Sure, you could say that. I do serve a princess. But she's not here right now, and I'm going to play with you in the meantime.

I nod. They're the one who woke me up, so that seems only natural.

"Will you dress me up?" I ask. The idea of them touching me, straightening my layers of petticoats and other garments, makes me shiver, but I'm not sure I'm supposed to shiver at that.

"You're already dressed," they say, and disappointment floods me as I realize that's true. There's no need for their hands to... to...

Without meaning to, I whimper. If the twitchy tingly feeling is happiness, why does the thought they won't touch me make it hurt?

They seem to sense my confusion and put their hands on my shoulders in a way that calms me. "If you want it that much, I can. But I'll have to undress you first."

The idea of being undressed by the princess's sorcerer makes the burning worse, but I don't dare to say a word when they start to unbutton, unlace, and unfasten my clothing. I don't want them to stop.

"Good, you're suppressing it well," they murmur as they pull my skirt down past my hips and over my bare legs. What does that mean? Their eyes are bright, and I want to see what they're looking at, so I sit up to examine my body for myself. It's softer than I expected, but pointy in parts too. I touch the dusty pink tips on my chest curiously, only to find the skin is hot, right as they--I should find out their name--pull my knees apart with both hands.

I squeak. Etiquette says a lady should keep her legs together, not wide open. When they did that, my insides wobbled. Is that allowed? Are they mad about the strange feelings moving underneath my skin?

"Is it... wrong?" I ask, afraid of the way they're staring at the pink place they revealed. I don't think this feeling is happiness anymore. There's an itchy awful ache to it that won't go away, and that doesn't seem right.

"I don't know about wrong," they say, and the smile on their face widens in a way I don't understand. "You're just a little needier than a doll usually is. But you still want to be played with, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, please play with me!" One thing is certain, getting played with is what I was made for!

"Like this?" they ask. They draw surprisingly close to me. I'm wondering if they want to braid my hair when they place their hand against the hot place in between my thighs that they revealed and push one of their fingers... inside of me? Did I get made with a hole in the middle? Then they push another finger in and start moving them together. My eyes widen at how it doesn't stop the ache but makes it wigglier, nicer, like I should encourage it by moving too.

I try to ask what they're doing, but all it sounds like is, "Mwee?"

"I thought you'd like that. Why don't you lay back down, sweetheart? Just keep your legs apart so I can get nice and deep." Their smooth voice practically cradles me and lowers me against the bed's pillows. As the sensation of their fingers moving intensifies, my eyes close, and I give in to the desire to move too. Little questioning sounds start to rise from my throat. Am I doing it right? I like it, I hope they keep going, but is this really "playing"?

Suddenly, they pull their fingers out of my hole, and I stop wanting to question it. "Put them back," I plead.

"Roll on your side," they say, startling me with the demanding tone of it, but I obey quickly. Once I do that, they start taking off their own clothing. I watch with wide eyes as each layer comes off, but cover my face before they're as naked as I am. A quick peek tells me they're not the same as me down there, but I'm too shy to stare directly.

"Raise your leg up," they order next, but they catch me as I start to push my leg that's on top forward. "No, silly, like this."

They take hold of my leg and, still kneeling, push up against me. My leg goes up over their shoulder, and something thicker than their fingers pushes up against me, then inside me.

I can't help but yelp as they do it. It doesn't hurt, but it feels so good it reminds me of pain. The sound of them thrusting into me is so wet and sloppy, I can hardly believe my body is making it. Should a doll have so much liquid inside?

"Ah, um, ah, b, but, ahhhh!" I say, not sure what I'm trying to tell them. I give up and close my mouth before more gasps can come out. It's scarier than earlier because the idea that it either might stop too soon or might continue until I can't do anything else seems very real.

I lose track of time as they play with me, or use me, something like that. My whole body becomes hotter than it should, surely. Maybe I'll melt? I only snap out of it somewhat when they take my hand and place it below my stomach, right at the top of the pink place.

"Try, try touching here," they say with a hiss of hot breath as they guide my fingers down to the slippery part of my skin. "Here."

"Oh!" I jolt as I reach a swollen spot that pokes out of the folds of skin. When I stroke at it as they're entering me, shocks fizzle like sodapop up my spine. "Ohhh?"

"Good girl, pretty, pretty girl," they whisper. "Keep going."

I rub harder at the spot, mewling as it makes the aching, so, so much sweeter. Instead of the spiraling ache threatening to go on forever, an ending seems possible. Like the tightness of my own nerves can only go on for a little bit longer.

It must be the same for them, because they speed up too, until something changes--they shiver like I did earlier, but harder. Hot liquid pours inside of me, or out of me? I can't follow the direction of anything as my body twists and shudders against them.

It's only when we've both stopped breathing so hard that they remind me of my name. The me that I really am.

"You did so well, Violette," they say as they drop behind me and loop an arm over my waist.

That's right! I'm not a doll or a toy, I'm Violette. The princess who was missing from the occasion was me all along. What a nice thing to remember.