I feel total, all-encompassing, unfettered panic.

It envelops me like the mist used to, only in reverse, it doesn’t slow my heart, it makes it beat faster, it makes my head spin and my vision swim, it makes me…

Stumble through downtown.

I didn't sleep—couldn't sleep—after my moment of clarity last night. I kept the pendant locked in my drawer, fighting its siren call every second.

When dawn finally broke, I grabbed the pendant, wrapped in a sock so I wouldn't have to touch it directly. Would that help? I don’t know! I don’t fucking know anything about magical, cursed artifacts sold by demon shopkeepers, or whatever! I did it anyway, stuffed it in my backpack, and ran out of the house while Chris and my parents were still fast asleep.

I've never skipped class before—not since getting the pendant, anyway. The old Phoebe would have done it without a second thought, but the new, "improved" Phoebe? She'd rather die than disappoint a professor.

God, have I really been like this for all this time? A pathological, pathetic, self-lying people pleaser? Fuck. Fuck!

I can feel it. Even now. My body is protesting my actions. I shouldn’t be here, I should be sitting in my 9 AM lecture, because to do otherwise would be to disappoint a professor, and I’d be a monster to be that selfish… only the overwhelming power of my panic is keeping that compulsion at bay. For now. I don’t know how long, before the mist closes in on me again, like a shroud. So here I am, frantically searching for a shop I visited only once, months ago.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. It buzzes again a few minutes later, then again. At the fourth buzz, the exasperation finally breaks through my stupor. With shaking hands, I pull it out.

Marty: Bathroom. 5 minutes.

Tyler: Are you unwell? If so, I can come over and make you feel better ;)

Derek: Where are you? Class started 20 mins ago. Chris says he doesn’t know where you’re at, either… should I be worried? Call me, ok?

Syl: What’s with the no-show? Don’t go all selfish on me, dyke. You know I need my fave gopher around!

I stare at the messages, bile rising in my throat. Is this really my life now? Am I just... available to anyone who wants me? A public utility? A community resource?

"Oh god," I whisper, shoving the phone back into my pocket. "What have I done?"

Worse, what have I been doing? The memories of the past months flood back, no longer wrapped in that comforting haze that made everything seem normal. I see myself as if from a distance—on my knees in bathroom stalls, keeping a daily schedule to maximise my sexual availability. Servicing strangers. Eating out my best friend. Fucking my own brother.

My stomach heaves, and I barely make it to a nearby trash can before I'm violently sick, retching until there's nothing left but bitter bile. A passing businessman gives me a wide berth, probably assuming I'm drunk or high.

If only my problem was that mundane.

When the nausea subsides, I straighten up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My legs are shaking so badly I have to lean against the wall of a nearby building.

"Think, Phoebe," I tell myself. "Where was that shop?"

I close my eyes, trying to remember that first day. Where was I when I found it? What street was I on? I was so upset after that fight with Sylvia. She'd accused me of not caring about her, about only thinking of myself, and to be honest, she had a point. That’s what destabilised me the most, at the time. I hated that she was right, and that I couldn’t come up with any good excuse to keep behaving the way I’d always had. So, I'd stormed off without a backward glance.

I'd been walking aimlessly, my mind full of anger and hurt. Not paying attention to where I was going. Just walking and fuming and...

Wait.

That's it. I wasn't looking for the shop. I wasn't looking for anything. I was just lost in my own head, my own emotions spinning out of control. Maybe that's the key.

Is that insane? It does low-key sound insane. Ok, maybe high-key. But, does it sound any less insane than a fucking cursed magical pendant? I think not.

What’s the harm in trying?

I take a deep breath and lean against the brick wall of a coffee shop. I close my eyes, trying to recapture that state of mind. The anger. The confusion. The sense of injustice that had burned so hot in my chest.

It's harder than I expect. The pendant's influence still lingers, making me want to be conciliatory, to see Sylvia's side, to blame myself. But I push past it, digging deeper, finding that core of resentment that used to define me.

And, well, there is one thing…

When we argued about the group project, I didn’t have a leg to stand on. I was wrong for being angry at Sylvia. This time, though, I have reason to be furious at her. All this time, she’s been convinced — she’s made it clear multiple times! — that I could not say no, that something was wrong with me. Right or not, she believed it. And, armed with that information, what did she do?

She used me.

She's been using me all along, humiliating me, dominating me. Now, I may not have been the best friend ever, but I hardly deserved to be serially raped, yeah? I've been on my knees for her, literally and figuratively, for months. I've given up everything—my time, my body, my dignity, a normal relationship with my brother—all to please her.

The anger builds, hot and clarifying. My hands clench into fists. My breathing becomes shallow. The world around me starts to recede as I sink deeper into this spiral of rage and betrayal.

When I open my eyes, the street looks different. Distorted somehow, as if I'm seeing it through rippling water. The buildings seem to waver and shift, their edges blurring into one another.

That's when I see it.

Between a modern glass-fronted boutique and a brick-faced bookstore, there's a narrow storefront I could swear wasn't there a moment ago. Antique, and oddly timeless, it’s a small, quaint shop nestled between two larger buildings. The sign is a soothing tan color, decorated with ornate letters that read WANTS AND NEEDS.

Holy shit. It's real. It's actually here.

For a moment, I just stare at it, afraid that if I blink or look away, it will vanish again. Then, clutching my backpack tighter, I force myself to approach the door.

The bell jingles softly as I push it open, just as I remember. The interior is dimly lit, with that same musty, ancient smell. And there he is. The old man. Standing behind the counter as if he's been waiting for me all along.

"Ah," he says. "The young lady returns."

"You," I say, my voice shaking with a mixture of fear and anger. "What did you do to me?"

He tilts his head, regarding me with those unnervingly bright eyes. "I did nothing but provide what you asked for."

"You sick motherfucker! Sorcerer! Demon! Do you get off on cursing people? I certainly didn't ask for this!" I shout, yanking the sock-wrapped pendant from my backpack and slamming it on the counter between us. "I didn't ask to become a fucking rape magnet!"

"You will not raise your voice in my store again."

The sentence is spoken kindly and without threat, but it carries with it something terrible, and ancient, and incredibly ominous. I suspect, deep within my bones, that if I tried to shout now, I would not be able to. And that makes me not want to try, because the only thing worse than suspecting this would be finding out for sure.

Satisfied with my silence, the old man picks up the bundle, carefully unwrapping it to reveal the pendant. It gleams in the dim light, the misty shimmer around it more pronounced than ever. "You came to me in distress, young lady. You spoke of a friend who accused you of selfishness."

What the fuck?

"You wanted change," he continues. "And change you received."

"But not like this!" I wish I was shouting, but I don’t have it in me to even try. Still, just because he wants me to keep my voice down, that doesn’t mean I have to pretend his actions are a-okay. "Bruh. I was angry at a friend. It happens. I don’t know what planet you’re from, but on Earth, that’s fairly ordinary stuff. I was distressed, sure, but I didn't ask to lose my free will. I didn't ask to become a sex slave!"

The old man's eyes crinkle with what almost looks like genuine sympathy. His weathered hands fold together on the counter as he regards me with that same grandfatherly patience I remember from our first meeting.

"Depriving others of their free will seems pretty common on this planet, in spite of your loud protestations," he says. Holy fuck. Is he really not from this planet, or is he fucking with me?

"My dear," he says softly, "do you recall what I told you when I gave you this pendant? I said it would help you see the value in following the path laid out by others. That it would give you perspective."

"That's not all it did!" My hands are shaking now. "I've been—I've been doing things that are wrong! Disgusting things! With my brother, for God's sake!" Tears spring to my eyes, hot and angry. "That's not selflessness, that's... that's..."

"The price."

The old man's words hit me like a physical blow. I stare at him, uncomprehending.

The shopkeeper's eyes twinkle with something between amusement and pity. "Do you not remember our conversation, young lady? You asked if I was really giving the pendant to you for free."

"And you said..." My voice falters.

"I said, no, not at all." He completes the memory for me. "There is always a price to pay. Selflessness requires sacrifice. And if you lose nothing or benefit from the arrangement, it's no true sacrifice."

There is weight in his words, I have to admit. Not just in the sense that he’s got a point. But every single word sounds like there’s so much thought behind it… and maybe a little more than just thought. Power. Magic?

"So you're telling me that the pendant was supposed to make me... debase myself? That was the point?"

"Not quite." The old man contemplates the pendant, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. The swirling mist within it seems to respond to his touch, coiling and uncoiling like a living thing. "The pendant did exactly what you wanted—it made you selfless. But true selflessness isn't the heartwarming virtue that greeting cards make it out to be."

My legs suddenly feel weak. I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself.

"True selflessness," he continues, "is the complete erasure of self. It is the willingness to sacrifice not just your time or your possessions, but your dignity, your boundaries, your very identity—all in service to others' desires."

"That's not selflessness," I whisper. "That's self-destruction. Slavery."

"Willing slavery is pretty selfless," he says. "The logical conclusion of putting others' needs above your own. If you are truly committed to selflessness, why should you retain any right to refusal and egoism?"

His words hit me like a slap. I shake my head, trying to clear it. "But why? Why would you give me something like this?"

"Because you asked for change without understanding the cost. Like so many before you, you wanted virtue without sacrifice." He sets the pendant down gently on the counter between us. "And now you understand. The gift of selflessness is also its curse. The sacrifice is yourself."

"I want it gone," I say, my voice stronger now. "I want to be me again."

"Are you certain?" The shopkeeper's head tilts slightly. "The old you wasn't particularly happy either, was she? Angry. Isolated. Defensive."

"Stop it," I hiss, closing my eyes tight. "Get out of my head! At least the old me was real! At least she had boundaries! She wasn't letting her best friend use her as a—as a sex toy, or sleeping with her own brother! Please, put me back the way I was. I’ll pay you, I… please, please, please…"

He snaps his fingers, and my hyperventilating suddenly stops. Somehow, that just scares me more.

"Surely you must have figured out by now," he says, kindly, "that while this enterprise certainly exacts prices, it does not do so in money."

I feel myself pinned under his gaze, like an insect. I don’t have it in me to speak. All I can do is listen.

"You have sacrificed enough to learn the lesson. You are free of the curse, and can walk away from it. I will put you back the way you were, if you so wish. But before we do anything too hasty, there is one thing you must tell me."

His eyes meet mine, and I see something ancient and boundless in them. Something… compelling.

"What triggered this sudden burst of clarity, and also of panic? What made you seek me again, and find me?"

"It was when Sylvia forced me to choose," I whisper, my voice shaking. "She asked me who I would prioritise between her and Chris if they both needed me at the exact same time."

The old man nods, encouraging me to continue.

"I... I couldn't answer. The question made me physically ill. The colours changed—they weren't pretty anymore. They were deep and terrible and... true." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the stuffy shop air. "It was like the pendant's influence cracked for a moment."

"And why do you think that happened?"

I take a deep breath. "Because the pendant made me selfless, but it couldn't make me choose between the two people I care about most. It couldn't resolve the paradox. If I'm supposed to be selfless to everyone, or even to a small subset of very important people, how can I prioritise one person's needs over another's? The system broke down."

"Precisely." The old man's eyes twinkle with approval. "The fatal flaw in perfect selflessness—scarcity. There is never enough of you to go around. Eventually, you must choose, and in choosing, you must be selfish to someone."

Tears well up in my eyes as I remember the panic, the despair, the terrible feeling of being torn in two. "And then when I got home, I just... broke down. Suddenly I remembered everything. The shop, you, our conversation..."

"You remembered the price," he says simply.

"Yes. I suppose I did." I wipe away tears with the back of my hand. "The price. That I'd been paying all along without knowing it."

The shopkeeper nods, his expression unreadable. "And now that you understand, I will ask you a second time. What would you have me do?"

I take another deep breath, steadying myself. "I want it gone. I want to be myself again. I'll find another way to be a better person—one that doesn't involve being a sex slave to the whole college. Or a pet to my own best friend. Or a brother-fucker."

The shopkeeper's weathered hands cradle the pendant, his bright eyes studying me with something that might be pity.

"I will sever its influence if that is truly what you wish," he says. "But before I do, I must point out a flaw in your reasoning."

I frown, suddenly wary. "What flaw?"

"You have correctly identified scarcity as the problem—you cannot be in two places at once, serving two people simultaneously." His fingers trace the outline of the pendant. "But consider this: even with that limitation, have you not made both Sylvia and your brother happier than they were before?"

I…

I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that. Do I want to think about it like that, though? I’ve expended so much energy focusing on the idea of maximising happiness all around, but I was just trying to make my nonsensical actions make sense. That wasn’t me. It was the curse.

"That's... that's not the point," I stammer, though something uneasy stirs within me. "They're happier because I've been letting them use me."

"Is sexual gratification the only thing you've provided them?" he interrupts gently. "Think carefully."

Despite myself, I do. I think about all the chores I’ve been taking care of around the house, or buying Chris his beloved videogame, even just listening to his problems. I think about cleaning Sylvia's apartment, massaging her shoulders, being there when she needed someone to talk to.

"No," I admit reluctantly. "It wasn't just sex."

"And did you not find joy in these acts of service? Before the panic set in, before the choice was forced upon you—did you not experience genuine pleasure in making others happy?"

Doing well by doing good…

"I... I don't know," I whisper. "Maybe."

The shopkeeper smiles gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Consider the sum total of happiness in your little corner of the world before and after the pendant came into your life. Your brother, once stressed and lonely, now walks with confidence. Your friend, once betrayed and bitter, now feels valued and cherished. Even those casual acquaintances at your college—have they not benefited from your generosity? And if, as you say, you perhaps found a degree of joy in it as well… then, everybody wins."

I find myself nodding before I can stop the motion. He's right, isn't he? The world is objectively better with selfless Phoebe in it. More people are happy. The net sum of human joy has increased.

And my joy hasn’t exactly suffered either.

I guess my apparently unsolvable paradox did have a solution, it just required thinking on a larger scale. Maybe on a singular night I had to choose between Syl and Chris, but so what? Overall, I’ve been making them both so much happier…

"I couldn't be in two places at once that night, but that doesn't mean I failed them both."

The shopkeeper's eyes twinkle. "Indeed."

A strange calm takes hold of me. I find myself staring at the pendant on the counter, watching the swirling mist within it. It no longer seems sinister. Just... powerful.

I take a deep breath. "What if... what if I kept it?"

The shopkeeper's eyebrows rise slightly. "You would choose to remain as you are now?"

"I don't know." I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "This is insane, right? I came here to get rid of it. To be normal again."

"Normal is relative," he says. "What matters is whether you're satisfied with your life."

The old Phoebe wasn't satisfied—she was angry, isolated, selfish. The new Phoebe is exhausted sometimes, yes, but she's also... needed. Valued. Connected.

"I think you’re right. People are happier because of me," I say slowly. "Chris, Sylvia... even those random guys at school. I'm making their lives better."

"And what of your life?" the shopkeeper asks gently.

I think about the warm glow I feel when I help someone. The colours that swirl through my mind, soothing and beautiful. The sense of purpose that fills me when I know exactly what I should do, who I should prioritise, how I should behave.

"I'm happier too," I admit. "Even with everything... the boundary violations, the exhaustion, the... the things I've done that I never would have done before. I actually feel more fulfilled now than I did then. And so many things are better this way, like… I’ve always hated college and lectures, but now I have motivation to actually attend… I don’t know. It’s difficult to explain."

The shopkeeper smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "An explanation may prove difficult, but perhaps the choice isn't so difficult after all."

My hand hovers uncertainly. This is insane. I'm actually considering keeping this thing? Continuing to be a selfless servant to everyone around me? Continuing to sleep with my brother?

But if this version of me makes everyone happier, including myself... wouldn't it be even more insane to go back to being miserable and alone?

"I want to keep it," I hear myself say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I want to stay like this."

The shopkeeper's smile widens. "Are you certain? This is not a decision to be made lightly."

I take another deep breath. "I'm certain. I know it's crazy. I know from the outside it probably looks like I've lost my mind. But for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm doing something meaningful. I have direction. I have purpose."

The shopkeeper nods, a look of satisfaction crossing his weathered face. "Then it is yours to keep."

He places the pendant in my palm, closing my fingers around it. The moment my skin makes contact with the metal, the swirling colours return, more vibrant and beautiful than ever. They're not the deep, terrible hues of my moment of clarity, but the soft, comforting pastels I've grown to love.

As I step over the threshold, I turn towards him one last time. "Will I ever find you again? If I change my mind, or…"

"You can change your mind," the shopkeeper says. "When I visit this town again, though who knows how long that will be? I might be back in months, or centuries… or never at all."

"I never even asked you for your name," I say, feebly. "Or where you’re from. Or if you’re even human."

The old man smiles. "No, you have not. To ask such a question, after all, would be unseemingly selfish."

Without me touching it, the door slams shut.

***

I feel the weight of decision, burden, and consequence.

It is a just weight. How could it not be? This was my decision, a burden picked up of my own volition. I’ve actively pursued the consequences.

It’s fine. True selflessness definitionally necessitates giving up the right to refusal, the right to say no. This is my sacrifice, sexual and domestic and emotional and deeply personal, and it’s not coerced out of me, or tricked out of me, at least not anymore. On the contrary… it’s a freely-given gift.

The next few weeks settle into a rhythm that would have seemed insane to me before, but now feels perfectly natural. I wake up early to clean the house before anyone else is awake. I prepare breakfast for the family. I attend all my classes diligently, taking meticulous notes not just for myself but for anyone who might need them.

Between classes, I check my phone constantly. So many people need me now. Tyler wants to meet behind the science building. Marty has many qualities, but he’s a bit of a slob, and his place really needs some thorough cleaning, which I’ll happily perform myself. Derek is having a bad day and needs cheering up. I accommodate them all, one after another, with a smile on my face and the colours rewarding my every move.

"You're different," Sylvia says one afternoon as I vacuum her apartment while she watches TV. "Something changed after you went AWOL that morning."

I pause, considering how much to tell her. "I had some clarity," I say finally. "I understand things better now."

She studies me with narrowed eyes. "But you're still... you know. Unable to say no."

"Sure am!" I say, with a smile.

Sylvia cocks her head. "And you’re not denying it anymore?"

"Am not!"

Syl contemplates me for a moment, weighing my words. Then, she shrugs. "Not gonna complain. I like you better as my good little carpet-munching servant."

I smile, genuinely. "Of course. I always will be."

"Even though you know it's not normal? Even though you know I'm using you?"

I set the vacuum aside and approach her, kneeling at her feet. The position feels right, natural. "I know exactly what I am to you," I say. "And I've made my peace with it."

Her hand reaches out to stroke my hair, a gesture somewhere between affection and possession. "You're so fucked up," she says, but there's no malice in it. Just delight.

"Yes," I agree. "But I'm also happy."

And I am. That's the strangest part of all this. Now that I understand the pendant, now that I've accepted its influence, I find genuine joy in my service. When Chris comes to my room at night and appends me to his cock like I’m a piece of jewellery for it, when Sylvia calls me her pet dyke, when I help a struggling classmate with their assignment or their sexual frustration—I feel fulfilled in the truest sense of the word. Much like the colours in the swirling mist are truer than material colours could ever hope to be.

The most striking part, I'm finding, is how much I enjoy the sexual service itself. It's not just about the moral satisfaction of helping others—I genuinely love the act of pleasure-giving. It's strange how skilled I've become at sex in such a short time.

Now I can read a person's desires like a book. I have a perpetual antenna, listening for people’s preferences and needs. My body knows what will provide absolute pleasure to someone fucking me, even if they don't know it themselves. It's like having sexual telepathy—a sixth sense that lets me anticipate every kink and fantasy.

I've become a collector of orgasms.

Sometimes I wonder if this is what great artists feel like—using their talents to create something beautiful, something transcendent. Only my medium isn't paint or clay or music. It's pleasure, pure and perfect.

A freely-given gift.

In another life, this wouldn't be my choice. I wouldn't be a sex slave. A professional concubine for the college student body, for my best friend, and for my brother. But that knowledge doesn't diminish my satisfaction. If anything, it enhances it.

The sacrifice makes the service meaningful. The shopkeeper was right about that. It gives me… purpose.

This isn’t just something I know, it’s more fundamental than that. It’s something I feel.

I take care of every single chore in the house, including the most backbreaking — I clean the oven deeply, and the microwave, and the tops of wardrobes, and under furniture that hasn’t been moved since my parents first bought the house — and I increasingly do the same for Sylvia and everyone else who asks me, too. I’m becoming as skilled a maid as I am a sex pet, and I feel it.

I kneel between a fellow female student’s legs, in her parked car just outside campus, and dutifully eat her out like serving cunt is the purpose of my very existence… and I feel it.

I give Derek a blowjob marathon under his desk while he ineffectually works on an assignment; then, after I’ve milked and sucked every single drop of cum out of his quivering cock, I let him space out and write the assignment for him myself, and present it to him with a smile at the end… and I feel it.

I let the tall, athletic girl from the track team start calling me "pet" and soon, I find myself being passed around among the sporty types at college, licking sweat off the cheerleaders’ bodies after practice, or letting the football players pin me down on a table and have their way with my pliant body… and I feel it.

I'm the gloryhole cocksucker at Tyler's birthday party, and there’s no real reason to keep my identity secret either, all our cohort knows I’m the college sex toy. I test my fellatio endurance skills like I’ve never tested them before, glowing with pride, and I feel it.

I act as my brother's cockwarmer, his cockholster, his confidence-boosting machine, a perpetual dispenser of validation and support and sexual service, and I feel it.

At this point, it is obvious to Sylvia and I that I'm her slave in name as well as fact, that our friendship as it once was is gone forever, superseded by a polarity of ownership and selfless subjugation, a dynamic that will remain this way forever… and I feel it.

I feel the weight of purpose, sacrifice, and reward.

For the first time in my life, genuinely without qualifiers, without asterisks, without hidden traps…

I feel happy.

THE END