Kinverse: Volume One

PATH OF THE EMERALD MAIDEN

A naive young monster's tale by Moros, aka KinverseWriter

Legal Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise herein mentioned. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters and events in this story are entirely fictional. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. This work of fiction contains disturbing content.

Reader discretion is advised.

Description:

A young woman from a pre-neolithic society is accidentally whisked away to another world entirely during a raid on a research lab run by alien invaders. Stranded with no friends, badly injured, and no idea where home even is, she's forced to live off the land and learn how to survive in this strange and hostile world.

There's only one slight problem, though.

She's not trapped in this world with them. They're trapped in this world with her.

Categories:

Adventure, Coming-of-Age, Isekai, Erotica.

Disclaimers:

This story contains sexual elements and disturbing themes. The contents aren't purely intended to be pornographic, but some scenes objectively are. This is about a giant monster that eats people, so reader discretion is advised. This story contains vorarephilic themes.

This story will have a very slow and intermittent pace to begin with. True stakes don't really show up until halfway through, though the build-up is always there in the background. This is ultimately not a story of grand adventure and defeating one's enemies to rise to the top, it is the tale of a lost and naive young woman growing as a person and learning new things. It is a personal one concerning her, and thus this story will be told in present-tense first-person.

Chapter 55: Christmas with Kin

---

This orb is far different from the rest. Where the others are solid shining colors, this one is made of thick translucent glass. Within is a tiny scene of a happy family and their snow-coated home, all set upon a carved wooden base.

Carey picks it up, shakes it, and sets it back down...

...And to my surprise the snow comes alive! Where once it was a clear day, now the scene is one of a whirling storm before steadily weakening to a peaceful snowfall. This is certainly amusing, but I still fail to see why it would get her this excited. It's definitely been made to portray the falling of snow and has only reinforced my opinion that the decorations are all meant to grab and hold one's focus and attention.

Perfect for calming broodlings, if anything. At least it isn't edible--not that it would stop them.

“It's a snow globe," she explains. “It has water in it and some plastic flakes. What do you think?"

I give her a nod of agreement. “Pretty. Good detail."

The painted smiles are crude on the snow-clothed and covered family, almost like something I would make, but the scale is what makes it impressive. If there's anything to truly acknowledge of it, it's the sheer care that must have been put into making it as fine as it is. Even with the maker's small human hands it must have been an endeavor to perfect; I certainly wouldn't be able to do it.

She grasps a jowl and forcefully changes my perspective to that of the tree. I huff and swat at her, but it's all in good fun; she may be a strong little human but the cords of my neck are as tough as those in her toned legs. Humoring her appears to lessen her instinctive fear.

“Well let's see what you think about this..."

Her stride is proud and swift as she marches to the fake tree, but her seated sister is just content to stare at her phone. Whatever's to come, it's clearly a presentation specifically for me--something that Sam has seen and is used to, but must be inconceivable and amazing for my first Christmas.

A curious long tan bar lays beneath, sprouting from a power-vine but itself branching more along its length to lead all over; to the tree and the wall mainly, but one sneaks under a rug and across the room behind me.

She presses a switch and the room comes alight.

I had taken the bulb-coated vines on the tree among the larger ornaments to be similar baubles, but the sight proves me wrong in an instant: in happy greens, jolly reds, calm blues, and thoughtful purples the lights have all lit and cast the room with their glow! Yet more vines hidden where the walls meet the ceilings complete the sensory wonder and after my shock finally subsides, I'm left with only one thought:

Damn. I really wish I had four eyes to appreciate this.

The room itself is dim from the big light being off and the windows' blinds being drawn tight, and this seems to allow for the swarm of Christmas lights to change the room and dazzle my night eyes. Blurry colors mix and blend into newer, stranger ones as they try to comprehend what I'm seeing, but one light of them all has my fullest attention...

...For right atop the tree, at its very tip, is the white figure of a winged human in a long flowing dress, a circle above her head as she spreads her arms as if presenting to the world... or offering a hug. But if that weren't enough, she glows a beautiful, deep, and completing yellow.

It's... beautiful.

Is this what Christmas is about? Beauty and hugs?

The tree's decorations are no distraction; they are complement.

A poke right into the sensitive spot where the plate of my jaw meets a jowl pulls me from my wonderment.

“Pretty nice, huh?" my interrupting Carey asks, a smug grin on her face...

...And she's too busy strutting to avoid my full-bodied hug!

I hear a snicker from the couch as my capture splutters and gasps for air, my long-demanding predator instincts silenced; they demand neither blood nor flesh from my family, for everything has suddenly clicked.

...She isn't excited for Christmas...

...She isn't excited for orbs to ponder or trees to light...

...Nor sweaters to wear and gifts to give...

...She's excited about me and my reaction to it all.

This is... this is against the order of things. I have offered her nothing but burdens and trouble, I have hurt her in body and perhaps even mind, but what would be unforgivable for me is merely the rough patches of a friendship to her.

I have underestimated my Carey. I wallowed in fear of hurting her more, or perhaps my Sam too. But she is stronger than me, and truly I have the best human I could find. None could ever be a replacement Carey, for this one is mine and I am her friend.

“Thank you, Carey," I tell her. “Very pretty. Good lights. I like Christmas."

The primitive and stilted words cannot hope to convey the depths of my feelings. I will definitely need to start planning once I get back to my art supplies, for this has given me inspiration.

“Can't- breathe-!" she whispers.

I hold her tight as I can, unwilling to let her go.

And so I don't, until Sam starts slapping me with a rolled-up newspaper.

---

“...And this one is from the year of my eighteenth birthday," my released Carey explains, still a little pale in the face. The ornament is a shiny blue orb with a glittering '18' painted on it in a golden material.

Just as she gets a new sweater every year for her collection, so too do they with new ornaments, often multiple. Some are hand-me-downs from their mother, some came from their time with her, but a precious few--the newest--were first treasured in this home, gifts from each other and from friends. The true purpose of these baubles is not just to look nice, but also to contain thought and memory.

A piece of the irreplicable mind as a simple trinket. Every year, they may look upon them and remember not just every Christmas which came before, but also the great events in their lives that inspired them, such as the friends made along the way.

...According to Sam, this is just something their family has done, and not every human home celebrates like it or even to the same degree. For some it's an excuse to eat and be merry or even just get new things, but for the Fairbanks it is truly one of family and happiness--even considering the state of said family.

Theirs is a dour one, the father having gone estranged. To abandon family is a sin outdone only by the unwanted starting of one.

Which... is a crime that I must remind myself I have committed upon a human, if not for the purposes of reproduction but still for my amusement. She seemed willing at the time, but in hindsight it was quite the monstrous action. I even killed her after and it isn't quite sane for any creature to please its lover's killer as it too seeks to kill them.

Never. Again. If I am to understand and fit in with humans, I must be better than I have been.

Memory is important, as Mother proclaims. Without memory, we are nothing, for we cannot continue the paths we travel if we haven't come from anywhere. I shall never forget my misdoings, and the lesson of that particular one is an act I will have to sit and reflect back on more for my future travels.

Memory.

“...And this one is new! Mom got it to remember Sam and Frank going out together properly," she continues. Sam, ever the more reclusive one, has put her phone away now that Carey's theatrics are over and has come to sit silently and watch.

“I still think it's tacky," Sam adds. “And... might also be a jab at your official story."

This ornament is... unique, and as fine as the snow globe's denizens. A large truck with enormous wheels is bursting through a wall of stone blocks, except someone with a less-deft hand has repainted it to the colors of Carey's truck. That someone is likely the one to have also attached a red plastic heart to the bed of it with the symbols 'S + F' painted on.

I have to agree with her. Though the windows are fake and the inside is solid, I have no doubt that if it were truly a memory taken from the mind, I would be right there in the passenger seat beside Carey.

Somehow. Maybe depicted as smaller. If I'd known what I knew now, I wouldn't have gorged myself in the first place.

“Yeah it's tacky and Frank thinks so too, but that's what matters!" Carey exclaims. “He thinks I'm bad? If you two get serious, he's got another thing coming! Mom was already sad I'm not getting her grandkids the old fashioned way."

At their display I can't help but smile and set aside my moping about human ethics and considerations. This is a family, even if it's not quite what I'm used to.

...Did the father celebrate with his family like this too?

I mentally smack the inescapable guilt aside and mirror the act in body, glancing out the front window to witness the early-darkening day finish disappearing.

Carey notices as well and from the corner of my vision, her face lights up once more, though nowhere as vibrant as her hard work.

“We're not done yet!" she exclaims. “I'm glad you like Christmas, but there's one more decoration to show you."

Oh? I turn back and give her a questioning look, but she simply smiles and walks off to the hall. Sam follows, soon also with I in tow, and I find myself baffled as they begin tying on their boots and zipping up their coats. This time I look to Sam for answers as she finishes her preparations, but she too just gives one of her slight, shy smiles and a shrug.

Carey continues to lead, taking us out the door, down the cleared porch, and into the mostly shoveled gravel drive. I scrunch my nose in displeasure over the remaining layer of freezing powder on it, but it's really the best my Sam could do without digging up rocks as well--unlike the hard and flat roads, this path is crunchy with scree.

Distant colors ambiently light the dim night through the trees, as if others have lit their trees outside for some reason. She stops and I circle around her in puzzlement, but she simply plants her hands on her hips and bares a greeting grin.

“Now wait here! It'll be just a moment..."

She steps away back toward the house, but rather than the porch she reaches down for something along its side. From the unknown source and up the wall runs yet another cable, and before my very eyes, all is revealed again.

The very house comes alive in the same colorful stringed lights, these travelling from the lips of the roof, down and along the porch--which I'd missed--and even over to a strange three-orbed structure of snow with a carrot in its peaking head and dull rocks all shaped to depict a face. The snow faux-man--snauxman?--is further accessorized with fallen sticks for arms and a ratty 'baseball' cap. To add a final touch that I find somewhat garish, the construct has had the stringed lights wound around its middle as if some form of clothing.

Perhaps... a sweater.

I can't help but chortle at the scene and find myself smiling easily, all pains forgotten in the face of earnest family fun. The two must have spent so much time gathering and packing all of that snow to the thing. I suppose that I would have been around to help if I'd taken up Carey's offer to 'play in the snow,' which was something that I had taken for idiocy before but now understand.

Speaking of the snow, my feet are cold. I give her an approving glance and dip before padding back up the porch, though I first tap my hands and feet gently against a wooden railing to dislodge any clinging snow and further wipe them on the welcome mat.

But, I turn one final glance back before going for the handle, and find myself almost wanting to remain outside. The lights play beautifully over the white expanse in the otherwise dark night. Clearly there is more to art than I could ever have considered, and I have found it.

“Pretty," I remark.

Carey turns to her sister.

“I told you she'd like it. For a big dull brown beast she really likes colors."

I huff and twist the knob then summarily my body to fit back inside.

Dull. 'The opposite of sharp,' and 'not interesting.' Also used to refer to intelligence. I'll have her know that neither my claws nor mind are dull.

...It's been a while since she polished me, though, so the brown is dull. I glance over and notice one of her coats and decide to steal it anyway to snooze with my head under, but it gives me an even better idea...

---

My temporary coverings are crude but no less effective. Old ratty coats, the sisters' summer wardrobes, and even a few yellowed pillows have been strapped and wrapped to my frame. My visage in a mirror was completely absurd, but again... it still works.

As do my plates and powerful heart which certainly allow me to be outside in this horribly beautiful season, but it isn't exactly pleasant. To make it worse, hunting has become far more of a chore than a relaxing distraction thanks to the air no longer carrying scents as it had, and everything seemingly having done its best to hide from the frost.

Not even the plants are safe, having frozen over. The only consolation is the new ease with which I can track those who are foolish or desperate enough to wander the slumbering forest, their tracks obvious pits in the otherwise pristine snow.

Having to ensure I uphold my responsibility not to add a new color to the twin pillows tied above and below my head also serves to make winter annoying.

Yes, very pretty, but also very annoying to actually live in.

I suppose that the added demands would have toughened up the humans; forced them to plan and prepare for this dire time. A part of me wonders if we too would have built new and exciting things if food wasn't so abundant year-round provided that we didn't overpopulate.

Whatever. That was then, this is now.

After an overheard warning between the sisters I had the brilliant idea to sate myself before doing any further human-watching. That way any temptations my ever-hungering belly may have can easily be shoved down--in the only concept that it understands--by reminding it that I'm full from an extremely generous dinner courtesy of an errant elk.

'Impulse-buying,' Carey had called it. In my case I would refer to it as impulse-nibbling. After some trip somewhere south to a larger human town she'd been talking about gifts and ranting about 'the spirit of Christmas,' but it all went over my head.

The beast may have settled that my sisters are sisters, but meat is meat no matter how poor and stringy in this snow-ridden wasteland.

Their coverings help. They just look like masses of color rather than bared furless flesh, and the difficulty smelling them and the various scented body washes, shampoos, and soaps also most definitely helps. I've been here for so long that I've begun to forget just how different the air smells, tastes, and even feels from back home.

In this case: like it's trying to take a bite out of my extremities. I've had to keep my scythes pressed down over my shoulders beneath my new fabric shell. I've already had to regrow one limb, and while they're smaller I'd still hate to have to regrow two. My eye has still barely made any progress on growing back, and I dare not lift my dormancy with how difficult it would be to feed myself.

...Especially considering how terribly hungry I would be after that. I'll need a lot of food ready.

But that's a problem for the future. I've wrapped back around and found myself returning to town from a different angle with a long trail of obvious but indiscernible holes in the white floor as my wake.

Whilst hunting I'd had a chance to see the beautiful new glow of the town from a rocky and treeless rise, but as pretty as it was, I'm a creature of curiosity and I fully acknowledge this. My shell was annoying enough to sit still for its assembly; I'm not going to leave often thanks to this terrible weather and I'm not waiting the few days 'til I run out of food to next investigate how the town has changed.

As I approach I find that I've arrived before most of the humans have gone to sleep. Almost all of the festive lights have been turned on and the yellow and white glows humans use to see in the dark are joined by the colorful glows of decorations, all together tinting the world outside with inspiring colors.

The back yard I attempt my first intrusion through has only a simple stout fence with an easily unlatched gate. Unfortunately, said gate is buried in snow so I have to just stare beyond the otherwise pitiful wall since I'm not about to get any wetter or colder digging both sides out, and while I could just break down the fence... I think I've done enough wanton destruction.

The next house over thankfully lacks any back fence so I just waltz through past another snowman, lots of churned up snow, and a few oddly cleared patches shaped like three triangles around a rectangle with a circle atop it.

Weird.

Out the front and into the street, I find exactly what I expected and more: nearly every house has some degree of festivity to it, but some go above and beyond and have surprisingly large things colored the Christmas colors and lit from both inside and out. Some are solid while others are seemingly made of fabric, but I've no idea how they're able to remain upright and gently bobbing back and forth as they are. The humming they emit is what confuses me the most, though--it's like a constant exhalation.

But I duck back behind a snow pile before I can fully investigate! It may be dark and it may be late, but there are still humans around. A car occasionally drives by through the cleared streets, and a few bundled travellers traverse around the piles from said clearing--some large enough I could hide behind or within them.

As expected, the beast rests at the covered sight and diminished scent which the humans--people--present to my senses. Some wander with hoods down and only their hair somehow able to ward off the chill on their bare skin, but most are more sensible. I sit in hiding beside the house and just... well, watch.

Some enter homes, others leave. Some depart in vehicles, others arrive. At one point a herd of children minded by a few women pass by, and I flatten myself to wait for their many curious eyes to pass--the travellers aren't as interested in the sights as the younger humans are it would seem, and the last thing I need is for some broodling to mistake my eclectic coverings as a suspicious decoration that needs investigating!

Thankfully they depart without issue as they laugh and play into the distance, so I rise back up and continue my observing.

There's no way I'd eat them if they did; that would be... wrong, I decide now, and would cause many problems. More than a shrieking child would, but if I'm being honest with myself I'm more worried about them thinking I'm some friendly beast from one of their stories instead of the monster that I clearly am. They would probably try to befriend me while taunting my instincts.

Children are dumb. They're irrational, make silly and obvious mistakes, and are absolutely adorable for it. But, much as it could be a great chance to show the humans that I mean them no harm--now, I add--the adults would immediately jump into action and cause... a fuss.

I'd rather not be shot at again if I can help it. It hurt. Their weapons may not burn me from the inside out, but that whole 'bullet stuck in my gut' thing REALLY sucked.

Across the street and through their windows I can see families feasting, talking, playing, idling, and just generally living. These are the people I have come to interrupt, and whose happiness I have disturbed.

But... regardless, the town seems happy. Like I'd never come, like it was just another year and I wasn't prowling around their shelters.

Normality. Even though I must have terrorized the town... they're returning to normality.

These celebrations and holidays? They're easily what I like most about humans. Even when things are or have been terrible, they can get together and forget for a time with those who matter.

My mind begins to wander, and so do I; through yards and around homes, in gardens and past fences.

There are patterns to their decorations. The specific colors of red and green are most represented, but browns and whites are also common. Fat red-clothed humans with white beards and blood-rushed cheeks, chubby and vague brown caricatures with dots for eyes and lines for smiles that for some reason get me salivating, and strangest of all, hooked poles of varying sizes colored red, white, and occasionally green.

Spikes of ice both real and fake adorn structures; also both real and fake. There are motifs further representing the snow and ice of winter. And, of course, many more of those odd hats like the one Carey had been wearing. The trends are as obvious as they are completely nonsensical.

I halt beside a snowdrift and search for any potential witnesses before continuing, but my eyes fall upon a house that forces me to double-take.

I would like to think that I have a fairly good memory; that I got what my sister did not.

I would like to think that I have a good sense of direction; that I can navigate without getting lost.

And... I would also like to think that my legs would not have brought me back here.

The house and its surroundings look totally different covered in snow, but I'd studied and stalked this particular residence enough to know it by sight. The one with the man and his dog; the fool who went looking, who I had to retreat from for the risk of his having a gun and forewarning.

And next to it?

Next to it is the scene of one of my greatest mistakes.

I can't help but continue on and approach, careful to keep my vibrant mass low as I crunch through the similarly colorful night. Once more but under wildly different circumstances, I creep up to a window and peer inside.

This window is larger than that of the man's computer room, and within is the living room. To my surprise, the interior is both greatly changed and yet not. A tree stands, but there are few decorations. A stern-faced but tired-looking woman strides through, stops, and puts on a caring smile before continuing out of sight.

I creep through the front yard and park behind a low-growing tree to check the next scene, and find two softly smiling adolescents; a boy and a girl, both at a table. The mother takes a seat and turns her forced but needed composure to her teen children, and I notice then three half-eaten plates at a table fit for four.

My first instinct is to crave whatever new unrecognized food they are eating, but that's the last thing I want to consider right now, for this is the home of the family I'd desecrated. I'm no expert on human expression but it's clear to me--having seen her moment of weakness--that the mother is sad. The children too are sullen but are clearly choosing to savor the distraction of a meal and family company.

But no matter what they do or how long they ignore it, the fact will always remain that their father is dead and I'm the one who killed him.

Not for food... just for fun. To dissect and inspect him. I did it because I could.

I sit and watch as they eat, careful to keep myself out of sight--I don't need to make things worse. But my eyes wander from my victims, and I notice yet more Christmas decorations. Lights hang from the tree at my back, a wreath adorns their front door, and the tree had been half-heartedly decorated, but was still put up all the same.

Normality. Or at least, an attempt at it. What life remains goes on. The mother will grow old, the children will finish becoming adults, and though they may resent that their father was taken from them, that won't stop them from growing up all the same.

I let out a long huff and lower myself down to rest beneath the window for a time. The tree and the home served to shelter this location from most of the snowfall, leaving it a simple dead garden with only a thin layer instead of a shell-soaking, heat-stealing pit of sadness.

The family of my friends--the Fairbanks--was broken when the father abandoned them. He did not die, he just... left. Gave up. The loss of him marked my Carey and my Sam in different ways, but they carried on. I have never met their mother but I would one day like to, for she surely must have been a good parent to have provided for the two of them in such a complex world. I don't recall the two ever mentioning any aunts or uncles helping care for them, so they must have had lonely childhoods, but at least they had each other.

That does not lessen this family's tragedy, but it must be a different sort of ache. They did have a father who loved them, but he's gone now and it's my fault. But... if Carey and Sam can be happy, then perhaps these three can grow to embrace that return to normality as well.

Perhaps.

I rise and leave, first out into the forest and then around to navigate back to my new family.

I don't know what I'd do if I lost another.

---

A/N:

Christmas.

For such an otherwise happy holiday, it's rather divisive for some families. Annoying relatives, awful music, cheesy movies, and rampant consumerism (not the Kin kind) have come to mar it. But, it remains an island in a sea of life's ups and downs. It'll have its own ups and downs as well, but hey, it's still an island so its lows are ultimately still the ocean's highs.

When I set out to write this story, I had a simple goal which I want to hope that I've done justice:

A monstrous alien in biology, mentality, and philosophy, which is itself still ultimately a person.

Emeral has the capacity to learn, she has the capacity to feel, and she has the capacity to regret. She's still that aforementioned alien monster so she doesn't really feel or regret the same way as us, but she still does. She's a woman who's chosen to fight against her base nature and come close enough that she can claim to have won.

Not everyone can.

Not everyone can enjoy Christmas as the Fairbanks can, even with a maimed family.

Cherish what you have. Cherish who you are. Love those you choose and are chosen by, and be good how you can.