it's like looking in a mirror. a very pretty mirror
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Lucy dreams. 

She wakes. 

Waking up feels like falling out thin air and onto the ground with a thud, but no actual motion occurs--she is simply somewhere other than the bed she presumably would have gone to sleep in. 

Somewhere very unfamiliar, it transpires as she levers herself up to look around. 

She's in--some kind of grassland, it looks like, with a gently sloping hill to one side and a stream to the other. She cautiously pushes herself to her feet, noting the dress she's wearing as she does so--it's beautiful, much nicer than anything she owns, a deep garnet red with silver lace. 

She reaches the stream and gasps. 

She had only meant to investigate the only apparent source of fresh water, but her reflection captivates her instantly. It isn't the face she knows. It's the face she's always dreamed of, when she imagined her ideal shape, her hair long and smooth and shining white, her eyes the same pigmentless dark blood color as her mother. She raises her hands to her face, looking at them more closely than she had when she was getting up, and sees delicate, feminine wristbones. She runs her hands down her sides and finds an hourglass figure beyond anything she had bothered fantasizing about. 

She sits down very abruptly. 

And then there is a noise behind her, as of someone moving, and she hastily turns, getting to her feet again, only to be struck still again upon looking into a face just like hers. 

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"--Do you--have any idea what's going on?" 

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"Um--a little? Maybe?"

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"Where are we?" 

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"Uhhhhhh--probably the Wastes?" 

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"The what now?"

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"So, like--there's the continent we're on, plus the Blue, which is, uh, the ocean. And the continent is divided into different parts, sort of by biome. There's the Pink, and the Green, and the Wastes, and the Untainted, and the Sallow, and the Sands, and the Consumed, and...the White, and the Fringe, and the Grey. That's on the surface, there's also the Red and the Forbidden under the Pink and the Consumed respectively." 

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"Sounds like a fun place. Do you have any idea--uh, what's going on? How I got here?" 

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She starts to shake her head, then stops. 

"I think...before you were here...I didn't exist."

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"O...kay...that makes sense, sort of, ish, considering, uh," she gestures at how Yseult looks just like her. 

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"Oh, that would have happened anyway." 

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"--Oh?" 

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"--Well, I'm not--this body isn't really me. That's me," she says, pointing at Lucy's copy of the dress they're both wearing. "I'm Living Clothes." 

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"You're what now!?"

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"Do you not have Living Clothes wherever you're from?"

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"We do not, unless some avant-garde fashion designer has decided to duct tape a potted plant to somebody."

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Snort. "I don't mean something that qualifies as clothing and happens to be alive, I mean...Living Clothing. Magical organisms, usually created by fleshcrafters, that feed primarily off of the sexual pleasure of our wearers. We're variously intelligent and magical...the ability to create a copy of your body, and of myself, to operate independently with is a rare trait." 

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"Well that's...great...I, uh, have no idea how to feel about that. Are...you...hungry???" 

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"Not...very, yet." 

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"Okay. Do you...mind, if I. Take care of that by myself. When it comes up." For some reason she is feeling weirdly reluctant to--well, okay, it's not that weird to be reluctant to hand over your virginity to a weird fabric-related organism that you just met, but she still feels like she feels it more than she would have yesterday. 

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"I wouldn't presume to object. --But, uh, if--I can't, uh, help myself, in an emergency--it would be better to be proactive about staying on top of it." 

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"What do you need?"

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"Um--about the equivalent of ten and a half normal people's orgasms per day." 

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"And a--okay, you know what, nevermind. ...I'm going to be very upset if this turns out to be a joke later on." 

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