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A Fetching Trap By Limewah Subscriber Reward for Flarfenarfle (Jan 2025) 18+

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.”

The Fetch watched.

As the fox sank into the fairy’s touch, her mouth opened wide. A shimmering crystal bauble slid out of her throat, and rolled off of her tongue. The bauble that held the kitsune’s soul fell and bounced into the rock hard yet downy soft palm of Verenestra’s hand.

“Wait, no… no…!” Utahime choked.

The Arch-Fey squeezed the glass ball. The sounds were muffled, but the Fetch’s fox-ears could place each one. The cracks. The shatter. The crunch and grind.

When the Lady’s hand opened, all that remained was a sparkling little pile of glass-dust.

Utahime stared at it. It was the only connection her body had left to her soul.

Verenestra raised her hand, and Utahime followed with marble eyes.

“Thy soul

Turned to snow

I now return to thee.”

The hand upturned, or tilted, or a hole opened in the middle

Anointéd

And appointed

As a doll for me.”

The sparkles settled over Utahime, and as they did, her fur and flesh calcified. Her fur turned smooth and shiny, like lacquered wood. Her face became featureless like carved wood, her eyes shimmering painted ivory, her lips pulled into a serene smile. Her joints were made of thatched twine. Her clothes and her equipment fell away, as if gently plucked off of her body, and was left in a neat pile on the ground.

In moments, the original Utahime, her flesh and blood, was gone, replaced with a beautiful figurine-like doll. She slackened backwards, caressed in Verenstra’s tendril-fingered grip.

“Now, Sal’yashe, my worm. Get thee hence,

And bring this fetch with thee.

This false Utahime will serve as bait.

The owl’s sorcery

Must be extinguish’d. Fluvythax will rue

Cruelly spurning me.”

“As you wish, m’Lady,” Sal’yashe said.

With that, the presence of the High Fey- and her new treasure - was gone. They were alone again, in that little cavern where the original bard had stumbled into her last trap.

The new Utahime looked at Sal’yashe, who visibly relaxed and let his annoyance rest plainly upon his face. The Fetch picked up Utahime’s clothes and began to leisurely dress herself.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

“Nothing that concssserns you,” Sal’yashe said.

“C’moooon.”

“Ok, you’re frighteningly good at mimickry. That sssounded exactly like her…”

“Of course! I’m a fetch, I’m made to become a perfect copy. Pretty soon, I’m gonna forget I even was one!”

“I’m fine. Sssometimes the Lady’s tasksss are a little… involved and tediousss. And she would agree with me. She enjoysss watching me sssweat -”

“You’re a snake, you don’t sweat-”

“I was ssspeaking metaphorically.”

“Tch.”

“In any cassse. Most of her tasksss involve sssettling petty grudges with other beings in her plane of exissstencssse.”

The Fetch Utahime scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“So, I should probably get up to speed. What exactly are we doing, and what’s my role?”

A wry smile spread along Sal’yashe’s face.

“You’re going to be bait.”

–

The white owl was almost wrapped in a ball on her rented bed. Her hand was gripping the parchment tightly, making it wrinkle and fold.

It was

The letter had a familiar scent to it. Anastasia didn’t notice it, but her white plumage had puffed out to twice its usual size. She did notice the blush on her face, though…

Itt brought to mind the feel of that fox’s fur. The scent of her body. The taste of her mouth.

Utahime was a dear friend of Anastasia’s. Sometimes more than that.

Heya Ana!

Miss your face.

I’m pretty sure I saw you in the bazaar yesterday, but I didn’t get to you in time.

I’m just passing through, but I charmed my way into a really nice room at the Ichor Hotel. You should come by. We can have a drink and catch up.

You can dress up too, if you like. I’d like that.

Utahime.

There was a hint of condensation at the bottom of the page, the barest hint of some sort of lip gloss.

As if her intentions weren’t thuddingly obvious already.

She threw the letter aside and laid on her back, staring up at the ceiling. The bed creaked beneath her, all its lumpy springs digging into her back.

She was trying to stay frugal, lie low; the bounty hunters who sought to bring her back to her family’s manse were more relentless than usual lately.

This was a place that didn’t ask any questions, didn’t take identification… they just took Anastasia’s money, gave her this pokey room, and expected her to be grateful for it.

A proper bed was one of the little things she missed from her time living at home - one thing that made her gilded cage a little more bearable.

…And sharing a bed with a friend like that…

With all that came with it…

She thought about how Utahime would sing to her in their post coital haze. Murmuring a sweet melody into her ear, her paw moving through her downy fluff, lulling her to a deep, delicious sleep.

“I need her,” she gasped, unable to keep that desire from leaping from her beak.

It occurred to her that she ought to dress up a little.

Just for the sake of the hotel’s dress code. Not for Utahime.

…Not a chance.

That wasn’t why she changed into a sheer black dress - one of the few fancy garments she kept for herself. As modern and striking as it was, it was easier to hide away.

A little burst of holy light steamed out the wrinkles in the dress, and she slid into it.

It was a tiny bit less fitted on her than it used to be - she’d definitely lost some weight on her travels. She tugged at the lower hem, stretching it down just a little so it rested just at the middle point of her thighs. Her chest fluff poked out from the low neckline of the dress. She looked quite fetching.

Perhaps too much so.

She threw her dark cloak around herself. It was the sort of raggedy thing that one would either ignore entirely, or give the wearer a wide berth.

To further mask her tracks, she left through the window.

By now, taking back streets and weaving through crowds was something that was second nature to her. She didn’t make eye contact. She kept her breathing even. She kept her divine magic suppressed.

The Ichor Hotel was a small joint, but a conspicuously beautiful one. Gilded moulding, a stone fountain of a kneeling fox graciously catching an endless stream of water from heaven in a stone vase.

As soon as she was able to, Anastasia snuck into the nearest alley and doffed her cloak before hurrying inside.

She was thankful not to have to talk her way past the doorman. Utahime was waiting for her in the soft-carpeted, sweetly-scented lobby.

…Anastasia felt overdressed.

Utahime was dressed as she always was, in a slouchy traveller’s robe.

“Hiiii Ana!” she waved and bounded over to her, burying her face in the owl’s chest as she hugged her tight.

Anastasia tried not to shiver. Especially not when Utahime’s fingers slid along the fabric of her dress, and ‘accidentally’ stroked the exposed parts of her back.

“This dress is so silky… where were you hiding it?!”

“The same place I hide everything else,” Anastasia said. “S-so, shall we go upstairs?”

“Mhm. I snagged a bottle of wine for us.”

…would they even open the bottle before they started to rut? That question kept rolling in Anastasia’s head as Utahime slowly, leisurely lead her to the room. It was making her heart thump faster, her throat feel dry, and her attempts at small talk - “How’ve you been, why are you here” came out as awkward quiet squawks that Utahime didn’t even hear. She was whistling a little tune to herself, casual and devil-may-care about the whole arrangement.

…What was going to happen between them? Could this be a new level to their relationship…?

The answer became irrelevant the moment Utahime let her inside, and she saw a long blue snake laid out on the bed. He was resting on his belly, hands under his chin, his purple tailtip flicking to and fro behind him.

“Ah, there you are~”

“Sal’yashe?!” Anastasia blanched, her scattered mind snapping into perfect focus. This disgusting reptile had attempted to seduce her in the past. Luckily she only preferred the company of women, and was barely able to resist. She wouldn’t be brought that close again.

“Stay back, Utahime!”

She leapt in front of the kitsune, her eyes gleaming pearlescent and her plumage the lustre of moonlight, her divine powers flaring to life.

“Be unseamed, filth!” she stretched her hand out, fingers outstretched in a spade. Before a guillotine sheet of holy light could issue from it, Utahime grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed. Her focus was broken, her energy countered and stifled.

“Wh-”

Before she could draw breath, Utahime’s free hand had woven around her waist. The heel of her paw tapped the owl’s stomach just hard enough to knock the wind out of her before spinning her in a circle like they were on a dance floor.

By the time they reached the bed, Anastasia’s head was swimming, her eyes spinning. One of the straps of her dress had slid down her arm, baring more of her chest than she would have wanted.

She fell to her knees, directly eye-to-eye with Sal’yashe.

“You don’t have to fuck me,” he said, sweetly, his eyes pulsing with his mesmerising power. “I’m jussst here to observe… unless~”

Pink and Blue drowned Anastasia’s mind. The scintillating shapes alighted upon her gently, firmly. The pinks tickled the base of her spine and made her hips squirm. The blue was like delicious nectar on her tongue. She slumped into the bed, beak-to-snout with Sal’yashe.

“Might I tempt you into my coilsss?” Sal’yashe raised his head up, and Anastasia followed, craning her neck, her eyes wide and bulging as they pulsed to match Sal’yashe’s hypnotic onslaught. “You might find yourssself enjoying it… and enjoying me, for that matter.”

“Yeah~” Utahime’s scent wafted into Anastasia’s head, as the kitsune’s paws pressed down onto her shoulders and rubbed. “I know you were looking forward to me, but I think Sal’yashe is gonna be just as good a lay as me. Maybe even better…~”

One of Utahime’s paws stayed on Anastasia’s shoulder. The other slid down to hike up her dress.

“No panties?” she giggled. “Oh, you didn’t want to waste any time, did you..”

“Unhn…?” Anastasia tried to resist the urge to smile, even as the giddiness bubbled through her - that didn’t sound like Utahime. She’d been brainwashed by that villain…

Anastasia clenched her slackening face, trying to pull herself away from the gaze - even just a second away would be enough to give her control of herself again.

“N-no, n-ooooh….”

Utahime’s claw traced along Anastasia’s wet slit, coaxing it open. Sal’yashe loomed higher, ever higher over her, until the helpless owl was bending over backwards. Her spine strained and her body quivered, even with the Kitsune behind her to support her weight.

“Were you lonely, little bird?” Sal’yashe asked. The smile on his face didn’t even hide his wicked glee - not a hint of concern. “We’ll both take sssuch good care of you. You’ll never be lonely again. Essspecially not with me…”

He gripped Anastasia’s face, his claws dimpling the flesh on the back of her neck, and his hood shimmered prismatically.

Anastasia shivered. Her revulsion kept trying to claw its way back to the forefront. She was not attracted to men at all. She’d repelled many a man in her time.

But… his features, broad, handsome… there was a fascinating appeal to him.

…No, it was his eyes, his hypnotic spell was attempting to change her. She knew it…

“You’re ssstill not convincsssed, are you?” Sal’yashe said. “It’sss okay. I might not be completely to your type… but that can be masssaged.”

He rose up higher, his eyes receding further from sight, and Anastasia’s eyes watered as she tried to stay on them - she needed more, she couldn’t stop…

Sal’yashe’s tail stroked the top of her head, the soft keratinous spines twirling and tickling. His coils draped around her shoulders, curling over her like a feather boa. Weighing her down further, holding her in place, as his slender, muscular stomach rose up over her.

Sal’yashe blinked. That fraction of a second was enough time for Anastasia to pull away, and find herself face to face with…

A slit.

It didn’t smell like a male’s genitalia

There was a familiar aroma to it. One that made her loins tingle. One that made her tonguetip twitch.

“You, y-you…” Ana stammered, her eyes still swirling, her heart still racing, the trance deepening. “But you’re…”

“I am a male,” Sal’yashe said, breezily. “One of Lady Verenessstra’s giftsss. I kept a few of my old partsss, though, as you can see~”

“I know, right?” Utahime purred into her ear. “I was surprised too… he’s got a little more going on than most men. Well, less, but you know what I mean… Go on, give his pussy a kiss~”

Anastasia opened her beak, huffing hot breath against the flesh of Sal’yashe’s sex. He groaned and pushed his hips forward to press against the beak, and her gaze was awkwardly pushed up once more. The colours were back. The bliss was back. The uncertainty and shock melted away, and with it, the revolted resolve leaked away too.

She pushed her tongue against Sal’yashe’s slit, and slipped it inside.

There was something strangely unguarded and vulnerable about the snake warlock’s moans. It made her feel as though… she could trust him.

That she could love him.

She pushed in deeper, his taste and scent dancing through her senses. The hips, connected just where his anthropoid body ended and his snake form began, undulated against her face, a wave motion that pulled her upwards to stare.

She was lifted off of her knees, and guided back onto the bed - Sal’yashe’s movements were slow and silken, hers were awkward and lumpen, like a puppet commanded by a child. Utahime kept her stable, kept her pressed against the warm, soft bed, and lifted her body to let some of Sal’yashe’s cool coils find places to grope and squeeze. Her fluffy fox tails smothered Anastasia as well, further aiding the aspyxiation of her will, the corruption of her sexuality.

Anastasia licked relentlessly. The burning need she’d had in her belly since reading Utahime’s letter was back in full force as her well-practiced tongue traced and danced a love-letter of its own all over Sal’yashe’s sex.

“That’s-s-s it…” Sal’yashe stammered. “Nnhg, you should feel s-so very lu…uuh…cky… to taste m-me!”

He gasped and his slit clenched, his body writhing on the bed, strangely helpless against her un-tiring tongue.

“She’s something else, isn’t she…?” Utahime giggled, her voice tickling at Anastasia’s ear.

“Not that you’d know…!” Sal’yashe croaked, his hands shooting out to grip fistfuls of fine linen as he failed to keep eye contact any longer.

Not that it was needed. Anastasia rubbed her hips against Utahime’s rolling fingers, and let her digits inside. Her head was drowned with pink love and blue lust. Her body melted into the bed. Her dress crumpled awkwardly around her. Not a hint of grace was left in her. She was a sweaty, debaucherous bundle of feathery need.

She needed Sal’yashe.

She loved Sal’yashe.

No one tasted as good as him.

No one held her the way he did.

She’d been missing out this whole time…

She was glad for the second chance.

She would drink of him, give him her love… it was the least she could give.

-

“Well met, old Fluvythax! And hast thou seen

What I have done to thy sweet off-spring?

Dear Anastasia, heir to t

Is brok’n, and loves naught else but Sal’yashe

My loyal servant, avatar and slave.

And what say you, then Fluvythax? Wilt thou

Apologise at last? What say you? … Speak!”

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s who?”

“Anastasia?”

“Yes, her!”

“I know nothing of this mortal girl,

“And I do think I care for her e’en less.

“Is there aught else, fae girl?”

“No, naught. Fuck this.”