[SNEAK PEEK]A Fetching Trap
A changeling comes to life, and is soon put to work.
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A Fetching Trap By Limewah Subscriber Reward for Flarfenarfle (Jan 2025) 18+ SNEAK PEEK
A Fetch is not truly born upon its construction.
When its bones are assembled from thorny vines and its muscles woven from kelp and reeds, its eyes made from walnut shells and its hair thatched from leaves, it can move, follow orders, but still possesses next to no life.
It is a tool for its creator, a member of the Other Folk, the Fairies, or what have you, to be utilised.
Its consciousness only begins when its body is flecked with a mortal’s essence.
Much is contained in a mortal’s blood, not merely life and sustenance, but memories, impulses, personality, physicality.
As soon as the blood dripped onto the Fetch’s paw, it congealed and expanded rapidly, hungrily, like a flame through dry brush. The red raw flesh was covered swiftly with pale skin, then peach-coloured fox-fur.
The Fetch looked at the fox whose form it was stealing. Her green eyes - the ones the Fetch would soon have replicated - stared with horror, confusion, even as a blank glaze began to float over them.
Through her blood, the Fetch could feel her thoughts.
Her realisation that her sense of self was being pulled apart. That everything that made her her was being stolen, copied. And that something was being taken away from her, like an indescribably small piece of her soul, something she would feel the absence of for the rest of her days.
“What… what is this…?” she croaked.
The voice of her soon-to-be owner washed over her like sweet music.
“_Your perfect copy, dear.
“We cannot have a soul in that cruel world_
_Notice thine absence - none will come to seek
To pluck thee from my bosom. My sweet girl,
My delicate fox, my mammet, naught shall wreak
Havoc or despair upon your soul.
For it is mine, now. Thou’rt part of my whole.”_
Verenestra, the one who created the Fetch, stoodbehind it. Utahime, the fox, was looking up at her splendor, her mind twisting apart as it failed to comprehend the beauty of her form. Her eyes twitched. Her mouth attempted to purse as if to kiss. Her jaw hung. Her head juddered to the side.
The false flesh folded around the Fetch’s throat.
“I’ll take good care of everything, don’t worry,” the fetch spoke with Utahime’s voice. The original shuddered with recognition of her voice’s echo, and yet, that shudder lead to a defeated sigh.
“You’ll be safer here with Lady Verenestra,” the fetch continued. “Everyone you know and love will be well protected. No one will feel the pain of missing you”
“_Indeed, ‘tis true. Thy life she will preserve,
And this transaction betwixt you and me
Shall be our secret. And thou art free to serve.
I will bring thee to my royal tree,
And like a bauble on a windowsill
Thou’lt sparkle for me. Let thy worries still…”_
“S…still…” Utahime moaned. “W-wait, no…”
The Fetch felt the pronoun settle in her head. And with it, birth. Completion.
Verenestra’s hands lowered to either sides of the original’s face, made of shifting fluid stone and covered in berry-fuzz.
“I can’t watch thisss next part,” The voice of Verenestra’s loyal serpentine warlock carried an audible grimace.
“Thou never can'st,” Verenestra spat. “ Look thither then, and wait.”