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Abigail could not remember the last time she had felt genuine excitement to be attending the All Hallows' Eve Bonfire Festival. She had always looked down on the festival and its antiquated traditions, but this time things would be different.

Her fingers curled around the small glass flask tucked inside her bag. She lifted the flask to the dusty shaft of light filtering in through the window and peered at the shimmering blue pearls inside. They had each been collected at great cost, those pearls were only found in deep, dark, underwater caverns and normally even one of them would be worthy a hefty sum for an alchemist.

But for Abigail, family was more important than riches.

For family, the voice of her guardian angel whispered, is the greatest treasure.

Abigail nodded silently, the angel's counsel could be weird sometimes, but she had learned to accept and understand it.

At firsts she had found the Angel scary. At first, she was scared of the Angel's voice and the way the Angel's thought seemed to blend with her own thoughts. But, above all she had been scared about how the Angel loved her.

At first it had been incredibly stressful to hold the Angel's voice in her head, it had been painful to hear its voice that spoke in language that wasn't made for human's minds.

We can become better, the Angel thought with Abigail's words as he showed her images of her divine duty.

We can, we can, but every so often Abigail felt that she wasn't good enough for the Angel, she felt too weak, too dumb for her to have been chosen for such an important duty.

The Angel taught her, imprinting in her mind inhuman knowledge amidst dreams of lost cities that had never been witnessed by human eyes. A month before the All Hallows' Eve bonfire festival, the Angel guided her to ancient ruins lost amidst swamps, gargantuan obelisks that were made of a strangely iridescent black stone that seemed to throb under the moonlight.

Abigail lighted candles amidst the ruins, and following the Angel's direction, she proffered prayers that hadn't been uttered in millennia, calling for inhuman, alien gods. During the ritual she consumed her first pearl, she barely could remember the pain that spread through her entire body, from her toenails to her temples, during that first hours.

You have a bigger duty, the Angel spoke and Abigail cried, knowing she would be denied the Angel's blessing that night.

The Angel marked her with a blue sigil between her breasts, sinuous blue lines that closed around themselves in a five-pointed star, a small symbol of her devotion that wouldn't stop her from walking amongst humans.

Abigail felt the Angel's presence inside of her more and more every day, she felt it growing under her skin, spreading amidst her flesh and bone, but most of all she felt it in her womb, a constant pressure and heat that overflowed through her veins.

The angel had told her about the pearls when she thought herself condemned to the life of a spinster, her father had even been talking about sending her to a convent, but the Angel had insisted she was to have a family, she was to have many kids.

She had doubted it would be possible for someone like her to find a decent bachelor even with celestial help, but the Angel was certain that the pearls would help her conquer the heart of the one she had loved in secret for so long.

She checked herself in front of the mirror once again, fixing her long black hair. She had put great effort into trying to curl it, as it was fashionable, but she couldn't help, but think she looked ridiculously pompous. She had a hard outline, puberty had made her no favors, her breast had barely developed and her butt was almost flat. Her body was slender, featureless. More than once her mother had said that to look into her eyes invited nothing but tedium and sleepiness, a promise of dull intelligence that would concretize as soon as she opened her mouth.

She took one sip of the flask, swallowing a couple of pearls at once, in the mirror she saw drops of blue spreading through her brown eyes, replacing the dull colour with vibrant hues.

Her first and greatest concern lay with her mother, Mary. The old-fashioned woman would never allow her to take part in the bonfire celebrations, Abigail could even hear it in her head, the long-winded admonition she would receive if she was to even ask to go to the celebrations. Definite fear set in her mind, Abigail had been raised to fear her mother, but now the Angel whispered words that vanquished the fear.

Second on her list of concerns was Mr. Fayr. Abigail was sure that if she could find him during the festival, the Angel would make him fall in love with her. It was the kind of grand gesture she had always loved in romances.

Despite the revelations and heightened emotions the Angel had gifted her, Abigail still felt uncomfortable. Most of the night she had lay restless in bed, plotting all the ways that she might escape the pull of her controlling mother to attend the festival.

In the end, the Angel had to intervene to grant her any sleep, otherwise she wouldn't be ready for what would be a long and trying day.

Abigail scratched the blue patch in her shoulder, a mark from the Angel's help. She was glad her dress had long sleeves that would hide the Angel's marks in her arms and chest, the blue patches of skin would require lots of makeup to hide otherwise.

She knew the time of the blessing was coming, she could see the blue veins under her stretched skin and her thoughts drifted into strange patterns more and more, the Bonfire festival would be her only chance to accomplish her duty.

Choosing a practical, but elegant dress of dark blue to wear, Abigail walked into the kitchen to meet her mother sitting on the porch, a knife in her hand as she carved protective charms out of wood and stone, at her side was a porcelain cup with steaming, hot tea that Mary sipped now and then.

Their house was located deep far from the village, a secluded beach where her family had hidden for the past four generations. Her father spent most of the time out on fishing trips, while her mother would take care of their small farming land.

Abigail had grown with stories from the many spirits and devils that surrounded their small plot of land, but now she no longer felt scared, with the Angel at her side there was no need to fear such lowly entities. She had seen in the mirror the sinuous, circular shapes the Angel had marked along her back with the promise that those would protect her body from evil entities.

Bless her, the Angel said even tough Abigail thought her mother didn't deserved to be blessed.

“Bless," Abigail whispered, the Angel's though mixed with her own. “Yes, yes."

Blue veins crisscrossed her breasts, branching out from her nipples and reaching all the way to her collarbone. She sensed a coldness at her back and an uncomfortable tugging at the base of her spine.

Abigail took the glass flask in one hand, approaching with soft steps from behind. She took one of the pearls between her fingers, slowly extending her hand to drop the pearl in her mother's tea when the old woman caught her by the wrist.

Mary turned to watch Abigail warily. She was composed, no hint of her noticing anything unusual, and no hint of anger. There was only cold indifference in her eyes.

“What are you doing in this dress?" Mary asked as she looked over Abigail with clinical detachment. “What happened to your eyes?"

“I'm going to the bonfire festival," Abigail stated as she gritted her teeth in frustration. “I'll dance with Lord Fayr!"

“Don't be foolish, Abigail," Mary tightened the grip in her wrist. “That pagan festival is not for the like of us, take out this ridiculous dress at once and go tend to your chores!"

Abigail's fists clenched, the pearl broke in her hand, the fragments cut her skin. She never disobeyed her mother. She never even thought of it, but the voice of the Angel compelled her to act.

“I'm going to the bonfire!" Abigail growled, anger like she had never experienced before surging inside her.

Mary barked, “Don't raise your voice to me!"

Abigail's lips quirked into a rueful smile as she stared at Mary, something in her eyes moved and twitched.

Mary flinched, “You are sick!"

Abigail tilted her head and smiled, “No, not sick. I'm blessed!"

“Blessed?! You are speaking nonsense, stupid girl! Has your mind finally snapped?" Mary stammered, the aroma of her fear was noticeable under her cold exterior.

“You are jealous," Abigail laughed. “I was chosen by the Angel, not you! The Angel told me of the secrets hidden beneath the rolling waves, the soothing darkness of the cold depths. I'll be the Great Mother of the Ocean!"

Abigail's body was trembling, the presence of the Angel inside of her stirring warped thoughts. She pulled her hand free of her mother's grip with surprising ease.

“I…" Mary tried to speak, tried to think. She trembled as she gazed into her daughter's eyes, the worming hues of blues that infected her with frantic insanity.

Abigail didn't want to hear it. The Angel whispered in her mind. The words her mother was about to say were muffled as Abigail covered Mary's lips with her own.

Mary felt her world filled with profound darkness. She froze, every cell of her body being infiltrated by the seeping, eldritch cold.

Abigail wasn't stopping. She would prove to her mother she had been blessed. Abigail's tongue grew inside her mother's mouth, slithering deep inside Mary's throat.

Mary was terrified to breathe, to whimper, or, even worst, to moan in pleasure. She was terrified, but some part of her was terrified that Abigail would stop. She was entranced by the immoral kiss, enthralled by a primitive hunger that suddenly exploded through her system. Abigail's tongue stroked against hers, exciting that feminine, sensual part of her that went deeper than she had ever imagined.

“This is immoral!" Mary finally managed to speak aloud as their kiss parted. “You are possessed!" Mary yowled, tears streaming down her cheeks. She tried desperately to twist away.

“This is the blessing of bliss," Abigail spoke with inhuman voice. “You will not hurt, you will not suffer and all of the joyous rewards of service to the Great Mother will be laid out before you."

Something moved under Abigail's skin. There was something of human still in her, but Mary could see the touch of creatures from the outside of the mortal realm. Her now blue eyes were bloodshot, bulbous. Her long tongue stretched out of her open mouth, moving like the tentacle of an octopus.

“Bliss," the Angel whispered inside Mary's head.

“Bliss," Mary whispered, screwing her eyes up tight.

Abigail pressed her lips once again against her mother's, her long tongue probing deep into Mary's throat. The tongue begun throbbing against Mary's lips.

Mary could only open her mouth as much as she could, to receive her daughter's tongue in her mouth until she felt it squirting some manner of liquid inside of her. The taste caught her by surprise, it was cold and salty like ocean water. It oozed forth, filled her belly. It seemed to adhere soothingly to her throat and stomach, it took over her senses. The intoxicating bliss filled her, made her body feel restricting, limited.

There can be so much more, Mary heard the whispering voice like the caress of nails against her skin. Let me free you of this flesh prison.

The woman could feel her body changing, the water seeped in her cells, made her thoughts hazy and confused. It made her dizzy and happy. She barely noticed when Abigail removed her clothes, but as soon as she laid her eyes on her daughter's naked body, the strange thoughts flooded her mind with renewed force.

Abigail's skin was marked by winding blue veins that spread from her breasts and vagina. Her breasts seemed to have enlarged a pair of cups in the last weeks and her hips seemed to have also grown. Her body that once had been so plain and unattractive now was as a fertility goddess.

Mary, who had never previously even begun to entertain the idea of finding another woman sexually attractive, immediately felt her mind filling with visions of Sapphic eroticism. Fingers, tongues and bucking hips swam through her mind and in moments she felt herself wetter than her husband had ever managed to make her.

“Obey her," the whispers shook Mary to the core.

Holding Mary by the neck, Abigail smoothed her hand down her mother's back, over her firm buttocks, as the old woman tried to close her eyes, muttered prays escaping her lips. The words of the holy communion mixed with strange, inhuman words the Angel whispered in her head.

There were few times in which Abigail seemed to understand that the religion taught by the Angel wasn't the same as the one taught by the priests. There was much of what the Angel spoke that she simply couldn't grasp, concepts simply too alien for her mind.

But it didn't matter, Abigail admitted. With each repetition she understood more and more, she was certain that soon she would be granted the celestial wisdom.

Stroking her hand over her mother's clothes, Abigail's nails grew darker and stronger, as sharp as knives. She cut out the dress and undergarments until her mother was completely naked in front of her. She felt the strange emotions the Angel impressed on her, the lustful hunger for that sweet, warm, feminine flesh.

A moan gathered in Mary's throat, a trailing little cry as A tight soreness wraps across her chest. She clenched her teeth and arched her back.

Her chest enlarged in front of her eyes, poured outwards. She wanted to cry, those weren't breasts of a modest and god-fearing woman, they were more like the alchemically-enhanced monstrosities the whores displayed in some of the big cities.

Then Abigail was touching her. Her fingers circled the hard nipples, rubbed against them. Her teeth rasped over her nipples, sending a surge of painful pleasure that overwhelmed rational thought.

Mary moved against her daughter's fingers, lost in the building sensations. She was frightened, but the arousal seemed to take control of her body.

Mary was barely aware of the lustful, animalistic cries falling from her lips. A wave of color floods down from her pussy, black and white soft leather replaces her skin.

Her hips writhed against her daughter's tights, desperately rubbing herself against her daughter as her new skin proved to be incredible sensitive to the touch, amped the pleasure. Abigail's fingers moved over the curve of Mary's rear to find the damp, slick folds of her pussy, experiencing each nuance of her mother's flesh.

As Abigail's fingers slid over the plump folds, Mary felt the heat rising inside her. Arousal flared inside of her, the lust pulsing with an unsated hunger impossible to control.

Abigail kissed her once again, a strong, domineering kiss. One filled with fast, energetic hunger, and heated need as she pulled her mother into a languid embrace.

Each touch resonated in Mary's very soul. Pressing her against the ground, Abigail's hips moved, shifted until the hot folds of her pussy were pressed against her mother's pussy.

Mary screamed the names of dead gods. She arched, bucked in her daughter's grip, and then flowed with the next eruption of pleasure as a massive, black tail erupted from the end of her spine, it ended in an Y shaped fin. She couldn't move her body, her legs shaping into a pair of flippers. Her nails grew sharper and stronger, black as obsidian.

As Abigail pressed down against Mary, the warm tissue brushed, their sensitive nubs rubbing against each other, electricity began raging over their flesh. From the top of her head to her toes, sensation traveled like cold electricity. It thundered through her veins. It raced through her chest.

Mary felt a growing urge, a sensation utterly alien and ancient. Memories of time immemorial flooded her mind as the blue veins spread around her body. The growing core of her pleasure swelled inside her body, soothed the pains of the transformation that reached her arms and legs. It became unbearable, an inhuman need for release, to become one with Abigail as they rubbed their pussies together.

Yet Mary fought it, keen to maintain a spark of humanity, but it was too late already; the fire of her pleasure was burning out of control.

Her pleasure was ratcheting up, increasing until it was beyond her ability to understand it. The Angel's voice took hold of her, with whispering commands it gripped her mind in its cold embrace. Mary reached up and grabbed Abigail's head, forcing her down against her wet pussy. Abigail responded by sucking her clitoris into her mouth.

The pleasure was too much, jolting Mary into an entrancing bliss. Her mind was filled with the idea of eggs, the fire raging in her womb only grew worse.

She wanted to be pregnant. The Angel's voice erased all other thoughts, parts of Mary that wouldn't be important for her now. Mary could only contemplate the ghost of old memories and ideas, too faded for her to recognize them as an animalistic urge to have her womb filled took over her rational mind. She was growing, breaking free from her human skin and revealing glistening, soft leather of a deep black, like the skin of an orca.

She squeezed her hands into fists. They felt thicker and stronger, trying to move her tail and flippers felt hard, sluggish, those hadn't been made for moving on land. She felt the call of the ocean, the desire to submerge herself in the cold, dark water.

She screamed, the words being mangled in her changing throat. A tingling, cold sensation spreads from her throat to her face. Her nose grew, stretched into a bigger, broader, blacker nose, a snout.

She reached up with her hands to feel two growing ears, sharp and sensitive. Her teeth grew sharp inside her mouth.

When orgasm came it was fast, glorious. It was a rush of cold flames crystalizing her new flesh as Abigail overpowered her, driving her fast and hard into an orgasm that had Mary shaking, shuddering against the ground.

But in time, it abated, leaving her body limp and shell-shocked. Mary sprawled on the ground, unable to move, limbs twitching with the changes still going through her body, eyes held tight together.

As Mary regained her senses, she opened her eyes and found Abigail fastening her dress back, it barely fit in her barely-human body. Abigail gazed at Marcy thoughtfully and it send a shiver of pleasure running through Marcy's spine.

Breed, purpose, happiness, the angel whispered and Mary agreed. She barely could differentiate her own voice from the Angel's.

Abigail smiled, “I'll go to the bonfire festival now."