Eighteen months ago: 

The air rising up in front of Cerise’s face was sweltering, too hot to comfortably breathe. She held the air in her lungs where it was, not taking any in or letting any out as she gripped the heavy iron tongs through thick gloves. She was a third of the way through her supply, she recalled, and the weight of the cooling gray liquid metal pulling at her tongs reminded her that her remaining forty pounds worth didn’t translate to very much. 

“What’s the stuff on the surface?” Kelly asked.

“Don’t interrupt me. It’s liquid lead.” Cerise retorted, trying to keep her voice as level as her hands were.

“Okay, sorry.” The kernel of impatience in Kelly’s tone hadn’t disappeared.

“Move, don’t stand downwind.” Cerise said, and slowly tipped the tongs, molten metal pouring in through a funnel and into a hole in a block of plaster. She righted the crucible, sweating from the planet’s harsh white sunlight and from the rising hot air both. 

“That stuff on the surface,” Cerise said, gently moving tongs back and forth with both arms to indicate the residue left behind, “is a layer of oxides and other junk called dross. It forms ‘cause the hot metal’s so reactive, the actual air around it attacks it.”

Kelly nodded, eyes screwed shut from the heat. She hadn’t moved from her spot. 

“It’s really, really bad for the environment, so you can’t just throw it away. We’ve been putting it in this big metal trash bin thing in the corner of the yard.”

Kelly walked over. “That’s a lot in there. What’re you gonna do with it?” she wrinkled her nose.

“I dunno. It’ll be a while before it fills up, but…”

“The plants wouldn’t like it.”

“The Affini won’t like it, but I don’t think it’s illegal as long as it’s safely contained, and the nontoxic, low melting point stuff they give hobbyists isn’t the same.

“Damn. All that for figurines, huh?”

Cerise put the crucible back on the fire, which was probably riskier to own than the lead scrap was, and turned towards Kelly, hands free.

“I dunno about that implication. All that for figurines, Kelly?”

“I don’t know!” she gestured with her hands. “Didn’t you used to sing?”

“When I was an egg, yes, Kelly. My voice doesn’t really do that anymore, at least not in a way that doesn’t make me want to crawl out of my skin when I listen to it again.” Cerise sighed, hard. “I used to write songs, too. I still would, if there were anyone willing to sing them.”

“So… you make the figurines.” Kelly stated.

“If I can’t make something, I feel like I’ll rot, and you guys actually play with these sometimes. Or at least put them on the game table.” The sun was getting in Cerise’s eyes, and her legs were hurting again. Where did she put the folding chair?

“I get it, I understand. Still wish you didn’t have to feel so defensive when I mention your past…”

“Is this still about the singing, Kelly?”

“But I don’t have a problem with the lead figurines. They just look dangerous. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble, or stars forbid domesticated, and I know that you wouldn’t want to have another thing on your conscience if someone got hurt.” 

A few seconds of silence hung in the air, suspended as if against gravity.

“Oh.” Cerise said, with the most disappointed tone she could muster. “I think I’m gonna take a break from casting right now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am too, Kelly.”

Present day, Cerise:

The feelings that flowed through Cerise’s body were somewhere adjacent to sleep. Her mind drifted softly downward through sensations of rain and the smell of the dry white dust that used to pervade the skies on Edifice between cloud-seedings. Her body, in its stillness, forgot that it had to toss and turn and move at all, or maybe that was the drugs, but in place of the restlessness that usually filled her was a deep sense of being full of something, like her legs and her arms and her stomach and chest were kept fixed and unstirring by something occupying all the space within her, leaving no room for flesh or blood or anything beneath the skin but this ever-present pressure. As sleep gradually took flight from her mind, something in her body didn’t get the memo, and drowsiness still made its home there, keeping Cerise locked in a strange state of semi-consciousness for a length of time she didn’t bother to keep track of. 

Cerise’s efforts to open her eyes finally held enough force behind them, and the source of the pressure in Cerise’s body greeted her back. A layer of vines, thin and uniform in width, crosshatched the bed above her comforter, seeming to loop down beneath the bed and provide a constant, heavy pressure to hold Cerise down as she slept. She tried to squirm her way out from under them, and– Ah, yeah, right. 

Instead, as if in response to her continued lack of movement, the laughably unnecessary bed of vines unraveled, leaving her exactly as immobile as she was before. Not hungry, or very thirsty, at least. None of the urges she usually expected, besides a kind of light, electric fog within her skin, A constant suspension from reality that could only really be relieved by physical touch. Ah, that was the xenodrugs, then. None of the shaking, begging neediness she had seen from other florets, but-

A vine tracing its way across her forehead washed away any thoughts she’d been having in a torrent of warm liquid gold, a feeling which spread through her head and rushed down her neck and into her solar plexus where it settled. Any peace or lack of desire to move evaporated as Cerise’s brain told her to lean into the touch, to twist away from it, a dozen conflicting feelings that all added up to complete frozen stillness and a sharp breath inward, no words following.

“Sleep is a strange thing, in terrans.” a soft, sweet voice trickled in through Cerise’s ears. 

“The brain keeps the body still, during sleep, a measure ensuring that dreams do not pilot you into danger, when your mind is elsewhere.”

A softer silence hung.

“And sometimes, the mind wakes up before the body has a chance to. Is that not strange? A phenomenon where the mind is locked in a dream, aware and awake but at the same time seeing things– frightful things– which could never be real. Seeing things that the body’s paralysis denies them any escape from. Thankfully, wakefulness follows soon after, for most.”

The feeling of a shiver ran through Cerise, with no real shiver to accompany it.

“Welcome to the morning, dearest. To the next day of every day you’ve given me. This morning–” Cerise blinked, and there was no sleep in her eyes. “–a friend will be visiting, but first we must go over expectations. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Apostasia, I understand.”

“I am going to move you into a position that will better help you pay attention. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Apostasia.”

“Yes?” The word flowed out sweet and cold.

“Yes, Miss Apostasia, I understand.”

A vine grazed Cerise’s cheek again, and her eyes hung half-open in pleasure.

“Here we go.” Apostasia said, and Cerise’s body began to move. Legs drawn out from under covers, arms beneath her as support, her body stepped out and off the bed. On the floor, sitting atop translucent glass tiles, was a soft white pad, something rectangular and just big enough to kneel on. Her body set her down on the pad in a kneeling position, straight-backed, arms extended up above her head. She remained that way for a moment, before Apostasia sat herself in front of her. A deep in-breath that her raising arms had provoked was released, slowly. 

Cerise’s neck craned upward to look at Apostasia’s sitting form, face still multiple feet above hers. Petals upon petals, configured so perfectly that the seams evoked the contours of a beautiful, somewhat-mature human’s, exaggerated in such a way that her beauty became more than a visual quality, but a force that emanated from her, whether she could see the affini or not. And her eyes. Five of them, white and glowing with complexities that made each one compete for her focus. Had there always been that many? Four vast fractals neatly set into the general spaces a human’s eyes would go, and one more, above the four and in the center of the forehead, smaller and less complex but emitting a light that made Cerise woozy. Still, her eyes roved between them, cataloging the differences between each one.

“Avert your eyes, doll.” The voice cut through Cerise’s reverie and through the floating quivering feelings that had begun filling her body both. She looked off to the side, unfocusing until Apostasia’s face was only light. 

“That is my first expectation. Eye contact will only be made on my terms, with my permission. The state my eyes put you into is a reward to be sought, and I trust you to seek it.”

Cerise’s head nodded without her permission. 

“My second expectation: Those parts of you that you can control will be as poised and composed as those you cannot. Your facial expression will be placid and content, your breathing will be slow and regular, and you will be an example of politeness to those you meet. This means refinement, etiquette, decorum. Your body will change to match your temperament, and your temperament will change to match your body.”

And slowly, gently, vines lifted Cerise’s companion dress off of her body as Apostasia’s arms unspooled. Each arm like a double helix, gaps between individual clusters of vines began to widen at the shoulders and unravel down towards the hands, which split into myriad small vines and retreated back into the affini’s body. More vines, different ones, came down to replace them, weaving into four hands on four arms, each now the size of the original two. 

“Much better. Ah, let’s see. Beautiful skin, it’s taken to the Lace wonderfully.”

Hands with thin vines coming off them brushed Cerise’s arms from her wrists to her shoulders, and then continued down her sides. She gasped. 

“An exquisite bone structure. And as we see here, at the collar, a simply adorable quickening of the pulse. Ninety eight point one… Ninety nine point four…”

How was she getting these numbers? Cerise breathed in, and–

“Ah.” the affini said, traces of disappointment sticking to her tone. “Breathing is too erratic. We’ll have to remedy that, eventually. Now, this form already has wonderful contours to it,” she traced vines down Cerise’s stomach, applying pressure. 

A soft moan was cut off just as quickly as it had started. “Why do you need to know my heart rate?”

“And that brings us to our third expectation.” she said, her voice sweet and cutting. “You do not speak unless you have been spoken to first, or unless I have otherwise permitted you. If you must speak otherwise, you will ask permission before you do. And if I ask you a question, Cerise, you will answer truthfully, and you will answer, as any silence will be taken as an answer in and of itself. This will apply indefinitely to you, Cerise, and it starts at this moment. Do you understand?”

Cerise started to tear up again, and she internally cursed herself for losing control of her emotions. She attempted to keep her face level and unaffected, and almost succeeded.

“Yes. Yes, Miss Apostasia, I understand.”

“I knew you would,” Apostasia said with unprecedented softness. “Now that this is understood, sit still for me, and let me wipe away these tears. We have friends coming over, and I am confident you will grow to love them.”

With each tear cleared away, sweet, dripping pleasure traveled through Cerise in a shockwave, flattening thought in its path and dissipating further down in her body. Her mouth opened up in a smile despite herself, and she breathed deeply as if trying to catch some of that feeling within her and store it as long as she could.

“Thank you. May I ask you a question, Miss Apostasia?”

In lieu of a response, the affini smiled at Cerise, and walked out the door.

"Warning. A new sophont is entering the habitation unit."

The accented, androgynous voice jarred open Cerise's eyes. Where was she? She instinctively glanced down, and her body was beneath her. 

"There's an AI?" Cerise let slip, and then wished she could use her hands to cover her mouth in regret. Nope, still raised high in the air, without any of the pain that arms kept raised for who knew how long would usually experience. 

"Unauthorized attempt at speech logged and sent. More remaining."

More remaining? More what, exactly?

"Hab AI, may I speak?" 

"Nominatory Error. Expected designation, got 'Hab AI'. " it said, repeating the last phrase back in a recording of her own voice. 

Did it sound… smug? 

"Warning. A new sophont is entering the habitation unit." it said again, unnecessarily. This time, though the doors swished open and oh-stars-she-had-no-clothes-on-oh. Oh. It was an affini, and one she recognized. 

"I see you've been treated to the full experience, hm?" 

The affini from which the voice came was shorter than Apostasia, and broader across the shoulders, with the distinctive spiked dragon's tail extending from their lower back. In place of broad foliage, small, plump succulent leaves were arranged into tight spirals that drew the eye. Each spiral curled into the next, and if she unfocused her eyes, new spirals appeared in their midst, making- 

"The full experience. Charming, how you put that. Yes, her story and song are underway. And I see that your little story of metamorphosis is following not too far behind?" her affini's voice dashed the spirals forming in her mind's eye. 

Apostasia flowed into the hab behind the other affini, and indicated them with two of her four arms. 

"Monanthes Dracaena, Third Bloom, I use they/them. And you are?" 

It took a beat for Cerise to react. "Ah, I'm Cerise Merinoi, 20th. She/her. Owned by Miss Apostasia, here, um, of course. Excuse me for my… position."

"Nothing needs to be excused." the voice flowed through the room. A sound of falling pebbles or hailstones, stopping and starting abruptly, flowed in with it. 

"Now," Monanthes said to fill the gap in words, "I've been told that you will benefit from getting to meet my lovely little myriapod that I so ardently adore, and it has been squirming to meet you."

"Myriapod? Like a type of bug?" Cerise asked.

"Not a type of bug, no," Monanthes replied, tone shifting slightly. The sound of falling pebbles got momentarily more intense. "Not descended from arthropods at all, actually. Here, I will let it speak." 

"Warning: A new sophont is entering the habitation unit." the hab AI repeated. 

The sound of falling pebbles continued to rise, a waterfall of small stones on hard ground, and Cerise realized each pebble was a leg, thousands of tiny limbs hitting the floor in waves, under the glistening blue and black body of what looked like a millipede– a massive millipede xeno three feet across and longer than her body would be laying down, rearing its front end up before it. And that front end was shaped in a way that made it almost resemble a human from the waist up. A torso with six segmented praying mantis arms ending in scythelike blades, all clad in gleaming black chitin. 

The xeno’s long-haired head was equally unnerving at first glance, wide blueish-black compound eyes in two rows of two, much like Apostasia’s, with three smaller, simpler eyes arranged above them. The creature lacked a nose entirely, and in place of a mouth were two pairs of reaching black mandibles on either side, moving rhythmically. Cerise watched immobile as something spilled out between them– a tentacle– no, a tongue the length of Cerise’s forearm uncoiled from inside its mouth. Round, pitch black and glistening, it undulated into an upwards-hooking “U” shape of unknown meaning, its slightly tapered tip flicking as it did. 

She couldn’t move. Her arms had gone back down from their upward position some time in the past few minutes, she only now noticed, but she continued to kneel, immobile, as this thing came towards her. 

“Permission to ask a question?” she asked, frantically. No response. 

“Permission to ask a question?” 

An odd chittering sound emanated from the xeno as an answer, its hair writhing along with the strange, halting sounds it made. Writhing? Cerise focused on the tips of each errant strand. Each one was its own little millipede, short legs tightly packed together on each one’s underside, moving and writhing and dancing to a slow, spiraling song that Cerise couldn't sense. An Arthropoid Medusa, millipede hair moving on its own accord as the xeno stood over Cerise as if inspecting her, cocking its head curiously. 

“Hi,” it said in a voice that was oddly understandable, coming from deep inside it. “I’m Imago Dracaena, Second Floret. You’re cute!”

It took a while for Cerise to process that. “I’m cute?”

“Yeah, duh.” it said, voice with an inhuman edge to it. 

“Is this, like, a humans and rinans deal, where xenos sometimes just find each other adorable for no real reason?”

“No, of course not!” it said, and made that strange chittering sound again. Was that laughing? “No, you’re like, legitimately, just really cute. That green stuff on you controls your body, right? Have you had a good look at it?”

“Um, no, not really.” 

“You’ll have to soon, whenever your mistress lets you. My Mistress put mirrors in our room so I can always see what I look like. It’s really cool.”

Something here wasn’t clicking. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what kind of xeno are you? What star system are you from?”

It chittered again, crossing its six scythe-arms in front of it, and turned its head to the side. Its cheeks, usually shiny and black, glowed a vivid electric blue. 

“Imago, dear, would you care to explain?” Monanthes teased.

Imago only chittered.

“Imago!” they said, sing-song. “Be a good thing and tell our little doll here what you are.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The thing’s face turned again toward Cerise, eyes half-closed behind chitinous lids, cheeks glowing bluer than ever. 

“I’m, um, I, um, I used to be human,” the last five words came out rapidfire. 

Monanthes extended two thick vines covered in soft, nubby spirals over to Imago’s head and stroked them through its thick Medusoid hair. “Good thing. Yes, this one here isn’t human any longer, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right, Mistress,” it said, mandibles clicking together.

“And now your species is?”

“Homo Vertare, Mistress.” This sounded like a routine they’d gone over before.

“Which means?”

“H-humanity overturned.”

“Good thing.” 

Imago visibly shivered, and turned again towards Cerise. “A-anyway, it’s really nice to meet you! And I look forward to, uh, our floret playdate today! Mistress said it would be good for you, to see something like me.”

“And why would that be?” Cerise asked. 

“You will very soon be leaving humanity behind you as well, my dearest piece of art,” Apostasia intoned, “and in more than one sense. I felt it necessary to begin to acquaint you with the more unfamiliar. Where we are going, that will be vitally important.”