15 Years Ago

It’s the Saint Victoria’s All-Girls School senior prom, and I’m the queen! To be perfectly honest, even if it leaves me without my date on what’s looking to be the best day of my life so far—besides, of course, the day we all became Magical Girls—I’m actually relieved that the prom king from our sister school wasn’t able to make it. The Demon Legion may be a formidable force, but they’re not as dangerous as a 4x4, apparently. I hope he pulls through.

But boy am I glad to have that weight off my shoulders! I didn’t need some dumb jock breathing over my shoulder all night when I should be spending my time with Amber and Willow. We’re all going to the same college, of course, and I secretly hope we’ll continue to fight together as Magical Girls even with the Demon Legion agreeing to peace after we kicked their king’s ass last week… but even so, I want to spend this special day with the most special people in the world. Where are they, anyway?

The gym hall has been transformed into a tacky disco you’d think was for a junior high’s celebrations, but it’s cheaper than booking a proper venue and they can ensure nobody here gets their hands on any sinful liquor. I’m starting to lose my faith in god, since he didn’t help a lick with fighting off the Demon Legion and supposedly disapproves of my secret crush on Amber, but I have to agree with him about harmful vice. Alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, and… well. You know. That thing guys spend half their time doing alone in their rooms the second they hit puberty. It’s really disgusting, but that’s men for you.

That loser nerd leading the sister school’s chess club—and the Demon Legion—must have done that while thinking about me a lot, huh? I tell myself that the version of Brooke that lived within his dirty fantasies isn’t the one now retching at the very thought of him so much as laying a finger on the real thing. That Brooke isn’t magical, like me.

The hall is dim; lights fill the room with flashing colour. Sparkly, sweaty bodies litter the floor in a constant writhing shuffle, and I do my best to push through them. They remind me of bugs scuttling around in a panic when you lift up the rock they were hiding under, but then, perhaps that’s a strange comparison to draw. These are my classmates, my peers. They’re not bugs, they’re people.

And I’m their queen~!

At least, for tonight. Which makes me wonder why nobody is making much of an effort to greet me as I push past them to try and find my two most trusted advisors. I look gorgeous, don’t I? Like a real princess’s, my hair spirals down in glittering, regal blonde curls, and my dress is the most provocative deep red I could get my hands on. My fingers curl into it now, as I wonder why I feel so alone amongst my sea of subjects. It’s not like I actually want them to bow for me, or kiss my hand, but they could at least pay me some attention… don’t I deserve that much?

Or, are they jealous? It makes sense, doesn’t it? This is an all-girls’ school, so literally everyone in my year must have wanted to be crowned queen at this year’s prom. Is that why they’re pretending I’m invisible now? To be perfectly honest, it was a disappointingly brief ceremony, but everyone looked happy for me. I was glad they didn’t have a substitute king, so I got to take all that attention for myself, but now I’m realising how it might’ve put a target on my back.

I’m Brooke Williams, Magical Girl; the most popular girl in school. Except, I’m not. I’m the prettiest, and I lead the cheer squad, and the art students are always badgering me for modelling and the teachers all love me because I’m the perfect student despite my absences but… what the heck does all of that actually matter? None of the cheer girls invite me out with them, nobody in the art class actually wants to get to know me, and it’s not like I’m welcome in the teachers’ lounge. I’m the queen because of stupid, superficial, asinine reasons that leave a bad taste in my mouth now that the initial excitement has worn off. They don’t know I’m really Magical Girl Bravery, out saving the world—or at least, the school—day after day while they piss away their time getting close to each other and discovering new hobbies, or whatever it is that dumb little girls with too much free time get up to.

I have my Amber, and my Willow. Magical Girls Ambition and Wisdom. They’re the best friends a leader like me could ask for, perfectly loyal and endlessly cute. I really hope I can find them soon, before I start to lose my mind in this sea of mundane, non magical girls. Maybe it’s best that we just stick to our own. I’ve heard that nothing brings you closer to someone than sharing a secret, and we’ve been keeping ours for years now. I… I hope that if I share my secret crush with them too, we can grow even closer. I’m not stupid, I understand that a school like this tends to push its girls into thinking that having feelings for other girls is sinful and wrong—mostly on account of the stereotype that single sex schools have a higher number of gay students—but, Amber confessed to me just last week that she was considering ‘trying girls’. She said it so casually, only a light shyness creeping onto that confident grin of hers. Willow squeezed her hand while I tried my best to contain my excitement. We had just defeated that four-eyes from the chess club who kept saying he was going to make me his wife, so Amber admitting that shortly after had to be her way of telling me something, right?

A silly thought pushes into my head, and has me blushing into my hands. I’m imagining Amber as prom king, standing up on stage with that cocky grin on her face, her track athlete body looking so right next to my acrobat’s form. Her arm around my waist, pulling me close. Gosh. She said she wanted to try girls, and she was looking right at me with that soft pink hue in her cheeks. Why the hell did I not just kiss her then and there?

There’s a hop in my step now, one that you could hazard to consider magical in its own special way. It’s a pep that carries me through the indifferent crowd with a matching apathy, because I don’t need these peons’ attention at all anymore. I don’t think I ever did. I know for a fact that Amber doesn’t have a date tonight because we had to fill in those lame sheets for the school to declare who from the boys’ school we were going with and which class they were in, etcetera. They like to keep us all under control, but I’m afraid that I’ll have to disappoint our overlords tonight and shake up the status quo. It’s my right as queen, is it not~?

I’m practically skipping through the crowd now, lost in a reverie that’s going to lead me right to her. Those strong arms, which can really swing a bat… her long legs, forged by years of track and field… and, of course, her personality too. She has a really good one.

When I finally, finally find her, my heart pounds violently in my chest at the very sight. How could I have forgotten to mention her cute, tomboyish face, and those red pigtails that return a touch of femininity? She’s pretty, she’s handsome, and she’s mine. God, she looks nervous. This must be the shiest I’ve ever seen her in all our years of being friends. If it helps, Amber, I feel exactly the same way. Even a queen can lose her composure when she’s fallen for her knight. My best friend, who appears to be alone—waiting for someone—wears a surprisingly girly dress I’m almost certain her parents made her wear. The butterflies in my stomach have butterflies in their stomachs. I want to bury my face in my hair and breathe in deep, and… feel the softness of her lips on mine. My mind is assaulting me with all manner of cloyingly sweet lesbian fantasies. God, I’m so perverse, imagining kissing another girl like that. Amber, even!

She’s looking past me. We’re pretty sure she needs glasses, but she’s too stubborn to let her parents take her to the eye doctor. Even that is adorable, somehow. I could eat her. How did I never realise how deeply obsessed with this girl I am until tonight? All it took was everyone else in my life practically ignoring me, not that I actually acknowledged any of them, either, to see that I’m head over heels. So, Amber, don’t you keep avoiding my gaze. I’ll borrow your ambition, combine it with my bravery, and make you look my way. I’ll turn this sickly hot feeling in my stomach into lo—

“There you are. I barely recognised you in that.” Like a vulture, somebody else swoops in and catches my Amber’s attention before I’m able to cross the hall. Oh, it’s Willow. That’s… great! I was wondering where she was, too. The third member of our magical trio wears her mint green hair in pretty buns, which is the most I’ve ever seen her do with it, and—shockingly—has the least feminine fit out of the three of us. She’s a bit of a plain, bookish character compared to a bombshell like me or an amazonian like Amber, so I’m a little taken aback by her boldness tonight. Her white dress is about as boring as you’d expect it to be, but the studded, cropped leather—no, pleather—jacket she wears over it is liable to get her in trouble with the faculty here at Saint Victoria’s. She doesn’t seem to care, which I’ll concede is really cool even if it doesn’t quite fit my image of her. It’s almost funny comparing our resident tomboy’s dazzling emerald a-line dress to our bookworm’s biker jacket. Isn’t green Willow’s colour? It’s like our characters got mixed up and swapped styles for the night, aha.

“I ah…” Amber swallows her nerves, perking up at the sight of her friend—our friend—Willow, who moves closer. Too close? No, I’m being silly. “I could say the same to you, Minty.” The tallest of our trio uses her gorgeous, toned arm to playfully elbow Willow, both girls laughing briefly before falling silent. Their faces redden, and I realise something is wrong. Something is very wrong with this scene.

Before anything else can happen, whatever that may be, I hasten my step and enter their space, making myself known with my usual bright and cheerful disposition—I am captain of the cheer squad, after all!

“Hey you two! I was looking everywhere for you, I forgot how many girls are in our grade when you put the classes together, haha! So uhm… how do I look? Can you believe they made me queen again? Wasn’t once, at junior prom, enough?” Why do I sound like such a self-centred loser? That’s not how I meant to introduce myself at all, I just got so flustered seeing them like that and… oh well, it’s not like it matters. This is what I’m always like, isn’t it?

Amber smiles at my arrival and even seems relieved to have me here, which stills my heart dramatically. Her nerves dissipate as she turns her attention from Willow, to me. I’m loathe to admit it, but I’m happy that I’m the easier one to talk to for her. It’s… a sign. Isn’t it?

“Hey, you. Looking like a million bucks, as always, while I’m over here looking like the bride of Frankenstein. I’m… what do you call it, making an effort?” Her sly grin is more beautiful than she realises. I want to tell her, but I don’t. I’m such a coward.

“Don’t be like that! It’s nice… interesting choice of colour, too.” My smile is a mask, revealing nothing.

Amber’s nerves return, tenfold, and she turns her attention to the ground. “Y-Yeah well, it was Willow’s idea. A stupid one, but…” She trails off, too flustered to continue. I stand there, gormless, my hands balling into fists by my sides.

Okay. What the fuck is going on here?

There’s a short period of silence, within which our trio feels completely alien, and I wonder where all the magic suddenly went. Why is my mouth so dry? My head so light?

“Hi Brooke. Congratulations on prom queen, we all knew you’d get it.” Willow breaks the silence with a tentative smile, keeping her hands in the pockets of her dress as that fake leather glares at me. The little smartass always knows just what to say, doesn’t she? We all knew you’d get it. Why do those words grate on me so fucking much? Why am I losing my cool so much just from saying hello to my two best friends, on the best night of our lives? I need to calm down. Do I look calm? I bet I do; my smile is a mask. Jealousy, hate, lust and more… just a vapid, sunny smile will hold it all at bay. It has to.

“So, I guess none of us have dates!” I change the subject just like that. Even in casual conversation, I’m the leader. It’s just the way things are. “Do you wanna just hang out together, the three of us, like always? That way, if our gemstones start humming we can quickly mobilise and… uh… hey, you did bring them right?” Willow has a purse slung over her shoulder, but Amber is just wearing that dress and I don’t see any pockets.

Both girls share a look, before Willow leads. “I’ve got mine, but—”

“I left it at home, Brooke. It’s prom, don’t we deserve one day off? Besides, I think those losers are scared of us now, so it’s fine. As for dates, uh… well. Haha…” Once again, Amber trails off with that flustered little smile I want to eat right off her face.

“Well, whatever. You’re probably right… and if it’s really urgent then me and Willow have it covered! So lets just focus on having fun tonight, okay? It’s annoying that my date couldn’t make it, but I’d feel bad if I were the only one.”

“You think Luke Torrence getting clipped by a pickup truck is annoying?” Amber gives me a bemused look that tells me I’m being heartless. Was that insensitive? I was only trying to make them feel better, god.

“I just—”

“Listen, Brooke.” Willow cuts in this time, like the three of us just can’t seem to coordinate a conversation between us no matter how long we’ve know each other. How much we love each other. “We figured you were going to be all over Luke tonight, so… I asked Amber to be my prom date. Just thought you should know. We’re happy for you to join us though, leader.” Her smile is a thousand needles in my back. In hindsight, this was really obvious, wasn’t it?

“Oh. Because uh, because of what she said last week, right? That’s… really nice of you, Willow.” My mask won’t crack, because I’ve rehearsed my perfect smile five days a week for years now as part of cheer practice.

“Uh-huh. Asked her the day after, because it beat going with some boy I don’t even know very well. I wanted to go and pick her up, as you do, but with parents like ours…” Willow shifts uncomfortably, and Amber timidly throws an arm around her, giving the shorter girl’s shoulder a light squeeze. I’ve seen this hundreds of times before, after a successful fight as Magical Girls, or while we’re goofing off after class, but here it appears much different. It’s malevolent. I begin to wonder if I’m still asleep in bed, the night before prom, and none of this is real. Or maybe it’s an illusion cast by the Demon Legion? Ha. Am I really this pathetic?

“We’re happy to hang out, still! You’re our Brooke, ehe, ain’t nobody replacing the blondie from our dynamic trio.” Amber seems a lot more like herself now that everything is out in the open, which means that she pulls Willow towards her more comfortably too. A truly horrible thought flashes into my mind as I look at them, my two straight best friends, all over each other like they understand what this yearning feels like at all. I discard the thought as quickly as it comes, but still, I’m wicked for ever having thought it. I could report them to the faculty, said the voice in my head, I could go tattle and their parents would be informed too.

The gemstone hanging around my neck begins to feel so heavy in the aftermath of a thought so antithetical to its ideals. Suddenly, it feels like a fucking noose.

“I-I need to use the restroom.” I blurt out, like a defensive measure to stop myself from doing or saying anything I’ll regret for the rest of my life. This isn’t magic, it’s autotomy. I’m a skink detaching its tail to flee from danger, glitter hugging my cheeks and my indomitable smile never cracking once. Is this what I get for being prom queen?

“H-Hey, Brooke!” Amber calls out to me as I turn tail and run like the coward I am. Magical Girl Bravery isn’t here right now, just her useless, sad little shadow. Only now that I’m turned away from it all can my smile quiver and die. Only now do I let that dam burst, and my makeup streak in black waterfalls of selfish commiseration I come to hate myself for immediately. Pre-emptively, even. I’m the worst of the worst, the lowest of the low. God. I’m beginning to think that crowning a foolish piece of trash like me queen tonight was a joke that everyone was in on besides myself. Ha ha ha.

Thankfully, they don’t chase after me. Am I glad for that? A part of me wishes that they had, but I’m not really sure what I want anymore. I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful Amber looks tonight, and how she did it all for Willow. Please, god, just let me be happy for them. I’ll start believing in you again, okay? I won’t fall asleep in church anymore, and I promise I won’t try cannabis even once in college!

I start laughing. It probably looks as ugly as it sounds. I lock myself in the farthest corner stall of the girl’s restroom and weep like the loneliest girl in the school. Me, fucking prom queen. How am I the one sitting in here alone, sobbing like a loser? I’m meant to be one of the popular girls. There’s a system here. It should be that dumpy girl who always sits at the back of class by herself crying into her hands right now. Not me. That girl has no friends—she doesn’t even seem to own a hairbrush—and spends her free periods watching cartoons for adolescent boys on her phone. Am I worse than her? That bitch doesn’t even know how to use deodorant, and I’m a Magical Girl! Why is it fair that I’m the one having a breakdown on the shitter?

Amber and Willow, prom dates. The thought rattles through my head like shrapnel. I’m aware of how painfully jealous I am, but what can I do about it? I’m sitting here telling myself it isn’t fair, but isn’t this all my own doing? I could have told Amber how I felt before Willow, who doesn’t even like girls, stepped in. Failing that, I could have sucked it up and agreed to be their third wheel for the night, since they were kind enough to include me. I’m to blame for this sad showing for an audience of none. I need to internalise that.

Still, the jealousy is a plague that infects my better reason. I’m sick with it, thinking about them both. I realise I’m not just jealous of Willow, but Amber, too. I love them both, idolise them, more than anything else in this world. Magical Girl Ambition is always pushing the team onwards, to greater heights, and keeping our morale topped up with her easygoing attitude. Her costume reflects this perfectly, with her tight fitting leotard showing off her athletic form, a mid-length skirt hanging down from her waist and a pair of stiletto heels that look totally killer on her. No sleeves, so that when she raises her arms to swing her magically-infused baseball bat, or rest it over her shoulder, I get full viewing pleasure of her stubbly underarms, which… uh…

Well. Then there’s our Magical Girl Wisdom’s ever reliable strategies and cool head! Without her, Bravery and Ambition would have no doubt fallen for the enemy’s schemes more times than you can keep count of. She’s the brains to Amber’s brawn, and my… uh… leadership. Then there’s her costume, too. Wisdom’s boots reach all the way up to her thighs, but between where they end and where her shorts begin is called the Zettai Ryouiki; or, ‘absolute territory’. I could die there, in that tantalising, thin slice of bared flesh between one item of clothing and the next. Tucked into those shorts is a pretty pintuck blouse, with suspenders reaching over her shoulders from her waistband. She doesn’t have long sleeves either, they’re short and puffy, but she wears detached sleeves that once again present a moreish window of skin I’m shamefully drawn to. Even biceps can be erotic, apparently.

Why am I fixating on their outfits at a time like this? There must be something wrong with me. They’re just so cute, I can’t help myself. I want them so badly, and I’m starting to realise how frustrated I am that they don’t see it. The two of them should have been fawning over me, their leader, competing—light-heartedly—for the chance to dangle from my arm tonight. Of course, the prom queen would take them both; I have two arms, after all, and if we’re already rebelling in our same-sex couplings, why not shatter the prison of monogamy the adults locked us into while we’re at it?

Wow. What a fantasy. The both of them, clinging to me… Ambition and Wisdom, all mine. Forever. That’s how it should be. That’s how it should be. That’s… fuck… how it should be…

My fingers curl into the hem of my dress and yank it up over my thighs. I pull my underwear aside without thinking about what I’m doing. This is just instinct. I’m still going to be magical after this, I just need to get it out of my system. I’ll still be a good girl, won’t I? I let this shameful fantasy blow my mind wide open, like a shotgun thrust into the mouth of the innocent schoolgirl, Brooke Williams, painting the back of this stall black with sin. What a confused metaphor, hahaha… am I expelling the sickness, or am I snuffing out my innocence? Which am I: the dead heroine, sitting on her porcelain throne a broken paragon of Christian values, or the vicious black stain on the wall behind her, scattered with bits of buckshot and bone?

I’m too turned on to care. My eyes fall closed and I imagine them again, my teammates, but this time they’re wrapped tight in long black tendrils that coil around their delectable flesh in such a way that makes them look like nicely packaged meat.

“Oh, crap!” Amber exclaims, one of the tentacles hoisting her up into the air by her ankle. She was trying to rescue Willow and got herself caught in the process—something that is soon to become a mainstay occurrence in my budding fantasies. Willow has all but disappeared within a cocoon of writhing black tendrils, pulsating and dripping so horrendously that I balk at the thought of what magic could have conjured them. This is stronger than anything the Demon Legion has ever thrown at us before; my imagination is a new kind of monster.

“Uhm… h-hold tight, you two!” Magical Girl Bravery is standing completely still, watching as the tentacles bursting out of the sidewalk like tree roots proceed to smother Amber just as they had Willow. Before long, they’re both hard to make out, boots poking out of those sleek eggs that hover several meters above the ground. I should be doing something, but I’m too busy imagining the inside of those corruptive ellipsoid prisons. Tentacles flaring out across their bodies with tiny feelers that latch onto my teammate’s sensitive spots. Some tentacles opening up with razor sharp implements that shred their Magical Girl outfits—but only in the necessary places. I’m shuddering into my hand as I imagine more bulbous-headed tendrils pushing past their lips and filling out their mouths. My lovely Amber, and Willow, letting out muffled gasps against the warm masses gagging them as the heads spit something thick and cold down their throats.

God. What… what am I even…

Of course, the mysterious villain wouldn’t stop there. Just like my fingers, it keeps on digging. The same type of tendril as before, bulbous—with viscous fluid ready to administer like medicine—stretching out my fellow Magical Girl’s virgin cunts. Gosh. Pumping them with malice, one cold spurt at a time. Fuck.

The cocoons recede to show off what’s become of two thirds of the Magical Girls Ideals Squad. I’m not even trying to save them; I’m watching with wide open eyes, and a heat between my legs that melts my sense of justice like dripping candle wax. Each of their wrists and ankles are held in a tight coil, constricting them into humiliatingly open, accessible positions for the rest of what I’m seeing. Tendrils pump into every available hole, and their eyes well with tears.

Slowly, they’re brought back down to street level. The sleek black tentacles, origin unknown, continue to fuck their giving flesh. Their thrashing bodies are delivered to me like presents. Tentatively, I approach my Amber, dragging a finger up that tattered leotard and across her neck. My knuckle moves with a slow, gentle caress along her soft, shaking cheek. I collect her tear and, for some reason, I bring it to my lips.

The taste is divine.

My attention moves to Willow, who gives me the same pleading look as Amber. I’m so horny my body feels like it plays host to an apocalypse. One of the tendrils notices and licks across my weeping sex, but I pay it no mind. They treat me kindly, unlike my teammates. I wonder why.

Are they pleading to be released, or… “Willow. Maybe… maybe this is saving you. Okay? Out there, in the real world, you act like you have entitlement to Amber just because you asked when I didn’t… like it’s just… first come, first served? In other words, you take what you want. So you can’t be mad if I do the same, o-okay?”

My hand drops onto her chest with only the smallest heap of guilt. It’s all imaginary, so what’s there to feel bad about? I’m processing my grief. One grope at a time.

“Just keep swallowing.” I tell her, my fingers tightening possessively around her fat, naked breast. It’s squeezed between one binding tendril and the next, causing it to jut out so beautifully for me. The shortest of our trio, with the juiciest tits. And now, while my eyes remain closed, I can feel them up as much as I fucking like. Squish, squish, squish~

I watch the tentacle’s discharge—whatever the hell it is—roll down her throat, and smile. “Good girl,” I say, fingering myself in the restroom stall with a high-pitched grunt.

I am not gentle with her. I’m too annoyed with Willow to be gentle with Wisdom. My nails dig into her supple flesh and I dip low to mar her shoulder with my vengeful mouth. For some, stupid reason, the thought of Willow wearing my teeth marks makes my hips buck like crazy into my moistening hand.

Amber whines for my attention, like the amalgamation of a needy puppy and a wanton whore, and I forget the breast in my hand immediately. My ambition for a Magical Girl Wisdom who wears my bites will have to wait.

I give my crush the attention she deserves, pulling her towards me as though on strings, and making the tentacle lift her arms up high over her head. There they are. I’m delirious, no longer perceiving the restroom stall I moan into at all as my nose pushes into my best friend’s armpit. The scent is a perfect marriage of natural exertion and cheap deodorant. It’s completely fucking intoxicating; it’s the most exotic fragrance in the world, a potent aphrodisiac for a hungry lesbian queen like me. Jesus Christ, I’m so lame, aren’t I? I nuzzle that patch of hair in her underarm with a hum, loving the way she shivers as I take what I want. Just like Willow did.

Eventually, I pull away. I take a step back to assess them both, and finally look down to confirm what was obvious all along. The long, dark tendrils’ source: somewhere beneath my skirt. My gemstone is onyx black now, lined with hairline cracks. I watch, and listen, as my fellow Magical Girls’ sister stones—those of Ambition, and Wisdom—begin to crack too. A mist of black fills the red and green jewels they wear, darkening their ideals.

“I’m going to remove these from your mouths now, so promise not to scream.” My voice is husky; unrecognisable. I feel so hot, like a real queen, rather than the hollow one that condescending crowning ceremony made me into. I’m not just a plastic princess, but… well… gosh, wouldn’t that be such a hot villain costume? Tight PVC bodysuit stretching down to boots I could kill with. A crown of golden, blasphemous thorns to show the world that I took its shit for long enough to deserve some fun for myself now, too.

Imagining myself as a demoness while I fuck myself on the toilet has to be a new low.

The tendrils slide free from my best friends’ throats, where they had nestled themselves once the girls’ gag reflexes were rendered null by that pacifying seed. I’m shocked at how passive they are for the first few moments, having expected them to beg for this to stop. They do beg, after gasping for breath and swallowing several more times, but their words are so obscene that I find it difficult to accept they come from my imagination. Surely, this fantasy can’t be of my making alone. Am I really this wretched, deep down?

“P-Please…” Amber beseeches me, tears streaking down her cheeks as her face contorts—just as badly as her body—with grotesque pleasure. It’s overflowing, causing her to drool as I continue fucking her with this slick extension of my body. “Pleaaaase, Brooke! Get me p-p-pregnant… use me, tear me… I’m your breeding slave… your bitch, your whore, anything you want! Just keep fucking me until I’m nothing but your swollen concubine pig! Then… then I’ll never stop loving you—and only you—forever! I’ll forget anything else! That’s my Ambition! Get me pregnant, please! I’ll bear lots of young for you, my Queen~!”

Huh?

My hand stops. My eyes snap open. Senses return gradually, reminding me where I am. The buzz of the light above me; the stench of air freshener and bleach; the unpleasant stickiness coating my thighs and fingers like a crime scene. My breathing is so laboured I genuinely fear passing out. I don’t even know if I came or not; I don’t know anything anymore. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Knock, knock.

Somebody’s knocking on the door. It isn’t Satan, this time; it’s probably one of the boys from our sister school, having failed to locate our tucked away men’s facilities for the odd male faculty member or visitor. I forget the sound entirely when I assess myself more closely and discover that the gemstone hanging from my neck appears identical to the one from my perverted nightmare fantasy. The cracks look deep, and the corruptive black swirl almost entirely snuffs out the shining golden colour my stone would typically radiate. That’s… probably not good.

My hands are covered in mess; slick with shame. I need to wash up before whoever just knocked gets bored of waiting and helps himself inside. Carefully, I slide the lock free and push the stall door open. My feet find their way back into my shoes, which had fallen onto their sides, and I take care not to clack my heels against the restroom floor as I cut across it.

It doesn’t matter. Only halfway across the room, I hear the door push open and whip my head around like a deer in headlights to find…

“O-Oh, Miss Winter! What… are you doing here?” The faculty have their own private facilities, so I can assume she isn’t here to piss, or fix her makeup. The woman looks quite stunning, having dressed up for prom too even though her co-workers didn’t seem to bother. Uptight, pearl-clutching women. Miss Winter is different, she’s one of us.

“Oh, sweetie,” she begins, her voice as light and soft as a feather, “I heard you crying from the hallway.” Crying? No, I was… actually, perhaps it’s best not to correct this particular misunderstanding!

She approaches with a patter of heels on vinyl, skipping across the empty girls’ restroom to pull me into a tight hug that has me comforted by her sickeningly sweet perfume and steady heartbeat. I hate to admit that it works. Slowly, I give into her, and return the hug timidly. My sticky fingers smear across the back of her dress while a long rope of arousal drools down from my cunt—panties still pushed aside—until it kisses the ground. My homeroom teacher is none the wiser, rubbing my back and pulling my head into her chest.

“There, there,” she says. “Dry those eyes. It’ll be okay, Brooke. You know I’m always cheering for you, right?” I love her; she really is the only adult in my life who seems to care. Well, I suppose we’re all adults now, too, but the shoe’s yet to drop on that front if I’m being completely honest.

“I-I know.” Look at me, acting so wounded. Playing the victim, after violating my friends in my mind so thoroughly it scared even myself. That’s right, Miss Winter. Coddle me just how I like it.

“You poor thing.” The words just make me wetter. Pity really is one hell of a drug if you know how to shoot up properly. As I clutch the woman tighter, I let go of my emotions and begin to cry. It’s so cathartic, and she’s so very accommodating to my bullshit.

“P-Please don’t tell anyone,” I beg, knowing she won’t. Like me, Miss Winter doesn’t have many friends to begin with. “I’ll be out in… j-just a minute, okay? Need to wash my… face.”

“Of course, sweetie.” Her embrace is godlike. Maternal. I feel like my sins are being weighed and discarded. I feel forgiven. It’s impressive how much lighter I am when she pulls way and pats my shoulders. “And if you want to talk to me about what’s troubling you, dear, you always know where I am. Okay?” God. She’s divine. Almost twice my age, sure, but I can’t help but find myself disappointed to discover she’s keeping those hands in appropriate places only. I want her to stroke my chin, and grab my hip, and… gosh, I really wish Miss Winter was as wretched and sinful a woman as myself. She could gorge herself on the sweetness of my mouth as she held me firm against the tiled wall and I wouldn’t tell a soul. I’d keep her job safe for as long as she kept molesting me. Instead, she pulls away with that innocent, caring face I’d spit in if I thought it’d make her respond with violence—sexual, or otherwise—in turn.

“Yes, Miss Winter.” I could use her first name, since I know it, but I don’t. I respect her, and in return she treats me with kindness and respect, too. Are all relationships just transactional like that, or am I just a depressed eighteen year old girl who thought that her senior prom would play out like a fucking movie?

The woman gives her soft pink smile, and departs. One look at the mirror lining the wall tells me how dishevelled I look. It’s a god damn horror show.

Okay, maybe it’s not so bad. At least the gemstone appears to have cleared up. All the cracks have repaired themselves and that scary black swirl has disappeared entirely, giving way to gold. No wonder I feel so much lighter again.

Now, Brooke. Clean yourself up.

Present Day

I run gel through my hair half-heartedly and search my shithole apartment for the roll-on deodorant. Today’s the day, apparently. Amber sent me a text saying she’d be there, which was a roller-coaster of emotions on its own, but there’s been no word from Willow. I’ve been thinking back to that night, our senior prom, while getting ready. That was the day everything changed.

It was Amber and Willow’s first and last date; the former didn’t try girls again after that, but nothing interesting happened there so far as I’m aware. I suppose I was busy elsewhere, indulging my perverted little fantasy for the very first time. The first of many.

We all stayed friends, though, at least for a while. By the time the first semester of college was wrapping up, I think they could both see me for what I truly was. It was harder to hold back how much of a fuck up degenerate I was past high school, and even harder when I was routinely masturbating to elaborate daydreams of raping them both.

I still do. It’s easier when I no longer have to look them in the eyes between sessions. Fifteen years of jerking off to Magical Girls, and I haven’t changed at all. I haven’t grown even slightly, have I? But… is it so bad to cling on to how things were? Being a Magical Girl, fighting evil and sharing a milk tea with your friends afterwards… isn’t that a hell of a lot more fulfilling than fucking finance, or whatever it is Willow does for money when she’s not squeezing it out of loser wallets like myself? Unless, that earns her enough by itself… maybe she has an entire operation going. She always was the smart one.

I throw on the patch-ridden denim jacket I’ve worn as a burnout pothead longer than I was ever a Magical Girl, and root around its pockets for the last remaining nugget of weed to carry me through this nerve-wracking reunion—like it won’t just make me more fucking anxious.

God, I really am so unbearably anxious, haha.

Hey, Amber, I promise I’ll be cool. I won’t imagine knocking you up with hentai tentacles even once, or comment on how much cuter you’d be with the red pigtails restored. Okay?

Hey, Willow, if you show… I won’t let you walk all over me. Unless you really want to. I’ll try to be normal for Amber’s sake, promise. I won’t even beg you to unblock me, offering payment for the privilege. I’ll be so normal that you’ll be the only freak at the party. Okay?

And, Mistress Belladonna Frore, whoever you are… whatever you’re planning… the Magical Girl Ideals Squad will put an end to your evil scheme. Even with a leader as worthless and perverted as Brooke Williams.

Okay?

15 Years Ago

During the bustle of the Saint Victoria’s All Girl’s School senior prom, a woman sits, alone, in the deserted staff room. She is reclined, almost slipping out of the circular armchair she inhabits, as the most intense feeling rocks her from head to toe. It’s excruciating, this feeling, and yet it does not hurt. Fingers dig into her thighs, so that they may resist burrowing elsewhere, as deep obsessions fester behind her scrunching eyes. Glasses slide down her face; drool cascades down her chin. She’s tensing her muscles one moment, then releasing them completely in the next; spasming.

“I’m…” she sighs, her vision blurring as that white hot need claws its way into her soul. The fixation is fucked into her head like an artificial insemination crossed with a prefrontal lobotomy, drilling a hole into her common decency and ruining the good woman she was—mere seconds ago—with an ejaculation of new, horrible desires. “…cheering…” The dark, corruptive essence makes a home for itself inside the warm, malleable host. Much better in here than a prison of golden crystal. This woman can be bred, from the inside; eaten whole by the dark spawn she bares and subsequently incubates. A swollen, concubine pig. That’s what she’ll be. And she’ll harbour this wickedness until the day she is called for by her Queen.

She’ll keep it all at bay. Every little thought and fantasy. She’ll absorb it all, so that her favourite Magical Girl, her star pupil, her bright, lonely, sinful prom queen, Brooke Williams, can stay Magical. She’ll take this darkness, and she’ll turn it into love~!

“…for you.”