Adult Time
They say that falling asleep with something held in your arms feels wonderfully comforting.
I never did find a proper reason for it, not in this world or any other. Instinct doesn't quite cover it. A fetus curls in on itself, yes—but it isn't holding anything, is it? A mother's embrace? Hmm. That would be the warmth of being gathered up by a life larger than your own. So why does simply holding something against your chest feel so good?
Unfortunately my arms were bound, so I couldn't pull Helena close and puzzle it out for myself. Still, she had wrapped herself around me and drifted into an easy sleep. That was enough.
Honestly, even with my arms tied, I could have just pressed myself against her. I didn't need my arms. I could have hooked a leg around her thigh, for instance. But that would have been uncomfortable. It was summer as it was. The air conditioner was running, and the heat had begun to break as autumn crept closer—but if I plastered myself to her on top of all that, wouldn't she get too warm? And if a human's circulation gets cut off, they can cramp, or even slip into sleep paralysis.
So I simply watched, eyes closed and thoroughly pleased, as Helena's breathing evened out, as that stern, unyielding crease between her brows slowly loosened, as her face at last settled into peace. Why the closed eyes? Because the instant I opened them, she noticed my gaze with uncanny precision. Whether she could hear my eyelids, or somehow felt the light catching in my pupils, I couldn't say. It was a very strange talent.
For thirty minutes I listened to her draw and release that soft, even breath. Then, for another ten, I endured the way she stirred and idly kneaded my chest. At first I wondered if she was doing it on purpose—if Helena was, in fact, a secretly wicked woman. But you can tell from someone's breathing alone whether they're asleep or awake. This touch was nothing more than her hand moving in unconscious sleep. Something soft, yielding, and springy would be addictive to squeeze, I supposed.
Ah, I was curious too, if I'm being honest. If it had been another woman's body I never would have dared, out of sheer embarrassment. But it was my body, and I couldn't even touch it because I was tied up! I couldn't sneak a feel with my thought-form, either. That wouldn't have told me what this ample chest actually felt like—only what it felt like to be touched. The same thing? Not at all. Whether a sensation is active or passive changes a person's entire psychology. Of course, if you want to argue that I'm not human so it shouldn't matter, I don't have much of a comeback.
Anyway. For our poor Helena, who had grown up without so much as a doll—letting her squeeze a chest or two couldn't hurt. It wasn't as if they'd wear out from being touched. With a shape like this, between women, she was welcome to enjoy them as much as she liked. There was nothing underhanded in it.
"…Nnnh."
But she kept squishing and working at them, and a peculiar feeling crept over me until I sucked in a breath without meaning to. My body tried, of its own accord, to ease away from her.
…What was that just now? A strange, electric little jolt. This was dangerous. If that feeling came again I might make an odd sound and twitch, and wake her. I was already fretting that the movement I'd just made had done exactly that.
Lying here was comfortable, true enough. But lying here wound this tight was doing nothing for my peace of mind. Perhaps it was time to put the plan I'd made before bed into action.
The classic parental maneuver: you lie down beside a child until they fall asleep, then quietly get up. Tiptoe, so they don't wake. Of course, a child who stirs in the night might start wailing—but Helena was not a squalling infant. She'd be fine. That was how I managed to slip free at all.
The problem was my bound arms. Backing away like this would have meant thrashing, and that would have woken her for certain. So I had no choice but to hook my thought-form around my own body and pull. I'd used it often enough on other objects, even on other people—but exerting physical force on my own flesh felt oddly uncanny. It made me think I really ought to give the thought-form a visible shape. I was the one applying the force, so I knew exactly where it started, where it ended, and how much I was using. From the receiving end, though, it was just inconsiderate physics. If you were going to move someone with good intentions, the least you could do was let them see the position and direction of the force. Which meant I needed a visibility patch.
What color, though? Black? Hmm. A bit villainous. And not especially stylish. Red? Far too conspicuous—and living things tend to flinch from red, reading it as blood, as something ominous. Green… that seemed reasonably inoffensive. If I sent the thought-form out in green, wouldn't it look like vines? People would find that less off-putting. A nun who sprouts plant stems is a much easier sell than a nun who wields invisible power. At least it would look plausible to human eyes.
I was wary of turning humans into beautiful girls, but they had cheered at the story of me kicking demons into submission. Humans fear what they cannot understand—yet if they can see it clearly with their own eyes, they seem to manage. I hadn't actually been kicking anything, of course. Miso Cheonsa had merely told them I had. The point stood: using power where people could see it was fine. All right. From now on, the thought-form would unfurl in a nice leafy green!
…Or so I thought, until Helena's golden bullet trails drifted back to me. I didn't particularly like gold. Even among gemstones I preferred the luminous ones—ruby, sapphire, emerald. I'd never cared for that dull yellow. But the glittering, radiant will Helena had shown, that gold of conviction given form, had been genuinely beautiful. Why was her will gold, I wondered? People say that sort of thing is steeped in a person's faith. I was curious what, in Helena's spirit, could take on a light that pretty. Gold usually stands for something unchanging, which felt a little distant from a woman who had lived her whole life for revenge. Blood and flame and gunpowder—I'd always thought a dark crimson mixed from those was her true color. I didn't know. I only knew that when I pictured her rounds drawing those golden arcs, they were so lovely I simply wanted to wrap my thought-form in the same gold.
So I did. Trying clumsily to imitate what she had shown me, I ended up with something that looked like gold dust scattered through the space my thought-form occupied. Well. A little trial and error would improve it. And a nun who commanded light would surely be received more warmly than one who commanded plants. It was a thoroughly useless exercise, if I'm honest—but if humans looked on me kindly, the day they undid these restraints would come that much sooner. Not entirely meaningless, then. Besides, customization is the real endgame content, isn't it? This wasn't a game, of course. It was reality. Still. I had a pretty body now. There was no reason not to cultivate a beautiful girl's form.
Color decided, I finally eased free without waking her and slipped quietly out of the room. Perhaps it was the stockings, but every step made a faint rustle that worried me. Fortunately, Helena didn't notice I was moving. Yegyeong, in the other room, certainly had no idea. Which meant I could make it all the way to the front door…!
I was filming my own little stealth-action movie when I reached the entrance and the light snapped on by itself, making me flinch. Thankfully it wasn't an intruder alert—just a motion sensor kicking on. Right. In this world, the entryway lights up like that. To make putting on your shoes easier, I supposed. Except I couldn't put on shoes. Heels would clack, and the moment I stepped out like that Helena and Yegyeong would both be wide awake.
My purpose was simple: leave the two of them to sleep off the day's fatigue, and take a little adult time of my own. Stay up, meet a nocturnal neighbor, exchange names, widen our circle—and in doing so, find Helena some friends. Perfect. The plan was flawless. Now I only needed to find people who would get along with her…!
The moment I eased the door open and stepped out, a statue stood in the hallway—one I was certain had not been there when we came up. Judging by the look of it, it had been trying to sneak somewhere and had locked eyes with me. It, for its part, seemed to have a guilty conscience; it was watching my face very carefully.
Heh.
It must have done something wrong, to look that caught. A mischievous impulse rose in me, and I was just considering how best to tease it when the statue timidly brought forward the plastic bag it had been hiding behind its back. A bag stamped with a huge logo of a cute hamster, tongue out, lusting after something to eat. The bag that read Hamsik's Four-Legged Chicken.
"I'll give you one drumstick if you'll look the other way?"