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The Historical Record by:MalicTheWriter

While open, the library was almost empty this time of night save for the books, a librarian, and Rosie. The bookish little mouse girl continued to drift from tome to tome, reading up on her latest assignment to research and better understand the Agnelle Family.

“So many cults go for the food production angle, seems a bit natural as a way to get out of food production chains, been growing for years…” started Rosie, flipping through to another page.

Lots of these leads offered nothing in the way of information, but the land acquisition by the various organizations left a paper trail that was just detectable within the library system of the small town. One cannot buy up that much land without leaving some kind of wake it seemed. Rosie corrected her glasses and smiled, she was definitely onto something here.

If she were right, then the actual numbers of the Agnelle clan might greatly outpace the estimates given by the cult watchdog organizations. It seemed to Rosie that this “Lamb” figure or “Master” might in fact have a lot more members than even her wildest personal estimates leaned towards. Rosie’s ears perked up suddenly.

The sound of gentle footsteps stopped for but a moment. Rosie felt the sneaking suspicion that someone was behind her. She turned to look back. She turned to look back. She turned to look back. Something was wrong. The afterimage of the library surrounding Rosie seemed to fade away, and all at once she was situated in a cabin.

Rosie frowned, withdrawing into herself a bit as she found herself sitting on a wicker chair that conformed rather well to the contours of her body. She picked her feet up off the floor, hugging around them as her tail tugged in close. Where was she? What sort of cabin was this? It reminded her immediately of some of the cults she had covered in the past.

Light was dispersed from the half drawn curtains on the wall opposite to her. She could not quite see clearly, but she could sense movement in the way in which the light dappled across the window. The vague impression of shadows walking about outside felt both remarkably familiar and yet novel much the same.

She felt deeply and truly alone, and yet… And yet some part of her saw these shadows, these impressions of people outside of the cabin, and felt some sort of pull towards them as though she had known these impressions of people all her life. It was a deeply strange contrast which swirled about in her already confused head.

“This isn’t right,” Rosie told herself, meandering over the flowing curtains on a shaky set of legs.

Carefully prying the curtain up just a little ways she saw precisely what she had expected. The very same cult she had been studying in the library to her just mere moments ago was now all around her. There was a high tempo beat rising up in her mousey heart as she tried and failed to put the pieces together.

Closing the blinds she returned to the wicker furniture which had once held her. Now it kept her off of he floor as she struggled to comprehend it all. The plain looking dress adorning her body was rather comfortable, but its comfort was just as alien and strange as the whole cabin was in that singular moment.

“I’m still in the library,” she told herself, as if thinking it hard enough could make it as true as it once had been, but by the time she opened her eyes again after invoking such a wishful statement she found herself looking out from the same vantage.

She was here in this cabin, sequestered away somewhere in the overtly affectionate compound of the Agnelle family. At a certain point she was going to have to accept that fact, but maybe after a bit of curling up and focused breathing to try and tamp down on the panic attack building up within her.

“It’s not fair,” she said.

To who, not even she knew, it came out like a whisper hardly hearable past her whiskers, and the only reason she knew the words was that she said them. How could it be this way? So hopeless and helpless… Trapped within the very organization she wanted to study from afar. To visit, and certainly never stay.

They simply must have kidnapped her. Stolen her away from the library and taken her here, and yet… There was a shaky ground to that, a lack of context most profound. How many days had she been here? She blinked, processing it a bit moment, and then marched right up towards the door and threw it open.

Milo stood before her now. The bright red squirrel’s hand whose name she was not sure how she remembered seemed poised to knock on the door of her cabin right as she had jerked it open. The two of them stood in silence for a moment, she could see his eyes trailing up and down her body, desire noticeable. She found her own gaze lingering on the cute tufts of fur around the base of his ears, but quickly and consciously adopted far more judgmental than curious glare.

“Oh no Rosie, are you having another one of your little episodes?” asked Milo.

“Episodes?” she asked, suddenly put on the back foot as she stepped further into her cabin.

“Easy now, I know it can be awful confusin’,” said the handsome squirrel, holding both palms out as though she were some kind of wild animal who might pounce at any given moment.

“Confusing? What could be confusing about my being at a library researching this organization not even a few minutes ago, and then suddenly waking up here!” she all but shout, stamping her foot down.

“Yup, definitely another episode then,” said Milo, shaking his head.

“It was just earlier today,” all but pleaded Rosie as she stepped toward him now.

Something about her trusted this squirrel quite deeply. Despite all the anxiety innate to such a surreal head trip Milo’s presence was, deep down, a reassuring one. Suddenly she wanted very badly to hear the details about this so called episode she was in the middle of experiencing. What did any of it actually mean? Could it be tru-

“Happened to me the first couple of years I lived here too, little glimpses of the old self. Your old self isn’t as much of a trouble maker as mine though, so that’s why you still get a cabin to yourself,” Milo explained so matter of factly that it may as well have been true.

“I don’t understand,” said Rosie.

“Well, what was the last thing you remember doing?” asked Milo, stepping back onto the porch of the mouses’ quaint little cabin.

“I… well, I was in the library, researching the Agnelle family… And then I woke up,” she said, stepping out onto the porch now with him.

“Oh Rosie,” said Milo, reaching out slowly to take her arm into his, “You’ve been here for months.”

She believed him. The way he touched her arm so soft and tenderly. How could she not? Her arm curled into his own in a way that clearly felt practiced, as though they had done this dozens if not hundreds of times. She was not stranger to contact with him, either friendly or intimate. She could see him now, his fuzzy ears bouncing up and down, feeling him inside her.

Blush turned the grey mouse slightly pinkish as her dainty paw curled softly around the squirrel. His smile was soft yet confident, a shining beacon of ‘This too shall pass’ that left her feeling strangely at home. She turned now and regarded the cabin with fresh eyes.

It seemed new and old, familiar yet foreign. How peculiar! Rosie stepped back inside, holding Milo’s hand as if to lead him in. A bashful little chuckle slipped past those fuzzy orange lips of his, and he tried to keep his composure only to stumble into a rather goofy and anticipatory smile.

“Seems you’re recollecting,” he said.

“I am,” she spoke softly.

“Then you know we’ve, well,” started the squirrel, scratching at those tufts of fur she loved so much around his ears as he danced around the particulars.

“Hooked up before?” she asked.

“Well, we don’t call it hooked up at the Agnelle Family Rosie, you know it’s called communion,” said Milo, gently correcting her verbiage.

“Right, communion,” she said, feeling the desire to receive it growing as she nodded in the direction of the door for him to close it.

All the prying and curious eyes outside were respectful of their privacy the moment Rosie decided to invited Milo into her private space. How many times over the last few months had he been to her cabin? He seemed quite familiar with it indeed.

“I am sorry you are feeling such stress, I am sure it will pass with time,” said Milo, reaching out gently to run a soft hand along her cheek.

How strange a feeling it was to accept and enable his contact, and all the more strange how good it felt. Milo’s was the touch of a long time friend and lover, gentle and caressing and true in a way that felt almost a bit like a song about her whiskers. How long had it been since Rosie had let someone get this close?

This! This stranger! She did not know him! Pulling back and away she closed her eyes and clung to yet more damned wicker furniture and tried and failed to curse the name of the Agnelle family and all that it stood for. And yet despite her rage the mouse girl’s lengthy tail began to drift upwards in his presence.

He had the scent of a lover. It was as though his smell and touch alone had evoked within her all the prior nights of communion, she could almost see them now. Then she could. The more she thought about it the clearer they became, she could see his warm smile jostling atop her so gentle and kind and loving and… Could it all be true? Had it really been months rather than mere minutes?

“I… want…” Rosie began, wavering.

“Anything, and it is yours.”

“I want you,” she smiled.

Milo was there for her. Approaching cautious and slow, tenderly taking into account her every little anxiety. No longer though did she waver, not truly, her desire for the comfort he seemed to provide her far outstripped the confusion and the fear. Her affections towards him ran deeper than memory, and she was willing to surrender to those more than any avoidance.

When had the both of them removed their clothes. He was even more handsome naked, such delicate reddish-brown fluff all about him, a cock half hard between his legs. Thankfully the Agnelle made sturdy furniture; Rosie leaned back onto the wicker couch at the back of the room, and saw once more Milo’s handsome face situated just above.

The dim light of the drawn curtains, a paper thin film between her and the rest of the world seeing what was happening now. No one would mind certainly. This was a holy act after all, another in a long line of communions with one body pressed against the other. Milo was as much a favorite of hers as she was of his. How many flashbacks had he helped her work through?

“Such a pretty little mouse,” he said, positioning himself there against her.

“Such a handsome little squirrel,” she teased back, reveling in the sensation of fur pressed and tangling with yet more fur.

How delicate of a lover he was. How soft and supple and sweet. The rhythmic rubbing taking her to tail curling new sensations that felt familiar all the same. How many times would he be her first? She supposed she had long since lost count. No matter, there was nothing beyond this moment anyway. There between a turn of a page in that long forgotten county library, and the soft kisses of Milo reminding her that she was here to stay.

His tongue spoke a much more sensual language inside her maw. It spoke of affections returned a thousand fold, and a life well lived in a community that did not shy away from casual kisses in the lead up or midst of communion. What had the book said that brought her here she wondered, delicately poised on the supple tongue of her favored lover. Perhaps it had spoken highly of just such a facet of the community, that they were a community of practiced and accomplished makers of love. It was no wonder she had decided to stay.