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 57: Turkey Bake

---

“I’m surprised I didn’t think of that,” I return to find my Carey commenting.

“Well...” Sam shrugs. “She’s too big to look under my bed.”

Both briefly turn to acknowledge me before looking back down to two groups of wrapped boxes beneath the tree, one larger than the other.

Sam gestures to the larger arrangement. “There’s also no way you could fit some of those under yours, even if you’ve got a Full size.” She points directly to what was the heavy bottom box and scoffs. “Did you buy Mom a new microwave or something?”

“Nah, it’s an air fryer,” Carey spoils. “She was visiting one of her old lady friends and got jealous, so...”

The two share a smirk but Carey soon turns to me.

“Neat, you even remembered to use a towel,” she remarks. “Remember, Em: no touching the presents or Santa Claus won’t give you anything.”

“Won’t,” I grunt before grimacing. “Been bad before, but been good. Strange generous human maybe not give gift, but I behave anyway.”

For a moment I feel some pride in such a long and well-formed sentence, but I drift back to why I may not get a gift. There’s always next year anyway. Whoever this ‘Santa Claus’ is, he’s certainly a genius for having figured out a way to get humans to be good to each other. Everyone responds best to rewards, after all, and if I were to open mine early he’d be mad. And if I were to open someone else’s, I definitely wouldn’t be getting any next year.

The two sisters share a look over whatever I said--as is all too common!--before Carey comes to some decision and opens her mouth again.

“Hey, uh, just to be clear, and... I don’t know how to put this...”

For once it’s Carey who’s struggling to explain something. Sam comes to her rescue.

“Santa Claus isn’t actually a person,” Sam explains. “He’s an idea. Parents credit some of the presents they give their kids as coming from him so that they want to behave and keep getting them. That way parents can’t be guilted as much by naughty kids.”

Oh.

Well.

That’s actually really smart too, I suppose.

I roll my shoulders in a shrug and grin away the sisters’ discomfort at having to explain it.

“Thanks, Sam,” Carey awkwardly continues. “Anyway. Tomorrow we’re going to have some people over. Thankfully there’s no big family gathering this year, but our mother and Frank--Sam’s boyfriend--are going to be here. It is VERY IMPORTANT that you keep yourself hidden from them. Okay?”

I give her a grimace of disappointment but nod my understanding.

“I’m sorry you can’t meet them yet,” she explains, “but we don’t really know how they’d react to you. Don’t assume everyone would react like Sam surprisingly did. It’s why we’re having your Christmas first so that you don’t feel left out.”

I step forward and gently bring her into a hug into the crook of my neck. She allows and returns it. Unfortunately I have to agree with her. Most humans would probably fear and dislike me. I twist to face Carey and find her softly smiling in reassurance.

“I understand.” I park myself down and pull Sam over as well, she too accepting despite a slight inhale. “But we meet later. Okay?”

“Okay,” she promises. “I’ve known Frank for years and our mother is, well... our mother, but uh... I still haven’t forgotten the murderhobo incident.”

I release the two and scrunch my brow. ‘Murderhobo’? Murder means a killing that is considered unjust, but who knows what a hobo is. Yet another word to search for in my dictionary; hopefully it’s spelled how it sounds.

“The, uh... the guy. At my truck,” she supplies.

I hiss and scowl. Right.

Sam speaks up. “Hey, it’s okay. From what Carey said, he was trying to kill you. ‘Santa’ would understand.”

I find myself almost wishing that he truly would understand--that it was actually my fault. I still can’t get over that strange and bitter need to make things right, and not getting presents would almost feel ‘right.’ I recall when I was young that Mother and Father would always reward me and my siblings with fruits if we behaved; it was a great way to teach us not to run off as babies were wont to do.

So: I have to ask myself, if I can’t give gifts to humans to try and make things at least a little bit better, do I deserve any? These humans and their ideas of right and wrong are quite strange to me, but if I want to fit in and befriend them I’ve needed to learn from and try to understand them.

It’s just... it doesn’t make sense, and it’s been hard, but when made simple it’s clear: I did wrong. I hurt humans. I hurt people. That I can understand, as much as I can understand the horrible idea of someone coming and killing Mother in the night for no reason other than ‘because they could and it was enjoyable.’ My generation grew to adults raging at the sky and the tall intruders for burning our gatherings, but in a way... it’s what I’ve done. I came here, I harmed, and I should hurt as we justly made the tall intruders hurt, right?

But... that still doesn’t feel right. I know better now... but-

“Moving on!” Carey claps and bursts me from my painful thoughts. “You’re also getting most of tonight’s turkey dinner to yourself.” She turns to Sam. “Speaking of which...?”

The other sister looks to a wall-hanging clock and her eyes go wide. “Crap, you’re right! I’d better get started. At least it’s definitely thawed by now.”

She runs back for the kitchen and I curiously follow. I find her hauling from the fridge a pan holding a large featherless and distinctly familiar bird.

It’s the bird. The kind I stole from the food store. The kind that tasted great, but is now apparently going to be cooked and properly prepared... and I get most of it. I may deserve to hurt but there’s nothing I can really do about that, is there? Nothing productive, at least--unlike sampling a new and tasty food...

I begin to salivate at the thought and watch on with immense interest as she prepares it. The guts come out--some set aside, others discarded--and she sets the bird upside-down in a deep pan to sit. I note that the oven is already heating up. She next rubs on ‘basic’ spices--salt and pepper--and after that, starts shoving already prepared brown mush into its open rear. The stuffing is made of what looks like bread and some chopped vegetables, all covered in various spices.

With this all done she finally moves to the sink to wash her hands with soap. The bird is seemingly ready for now until the oven finishes heating, and as she finishes her hygiene she takes a moment to sigh in satisfaction. Finally she turns and notices me.

“Oh. Hey.” She waves before leaning back against the counter to wait.

Every instinct I have urges me to devour the bird now, but I keep myself restrained and above all, patient. It will taste far better later and must be shared with my family.

Carey sidles up beside me.

“We’ll give our gifts after dinner. If you want to add any, keep them where they are for now and bring them out when it’s time.” She side-eyes me for a moment. “And if they’re going to be messy, I’d recommend keeping them downstairs where carpets won’t get dripped on, and you can bring us to them.”

I huff at her assumption that I would be so careless as to bring in dripping meat, but feel glad that she doesn’t suspect what my gift actually is; that I would have something more than raw meat. Even if it were perfectly sliced from a powerful elk or the carefully removed pelt of a wolf--or perhaps even a bear. Those each pale in comparison to my single great gift.

But, I suppose I also could have used bones somehow. I’ll have to think of something like that next year. Maybe a carved skull? It wouldn’t do anything but it could look nice and serve as a reminder of a victory well-fought. Maybe the skulls of Shaggy and Laggy presented to my new friends...?

Yes... and their pelts to keep me warm. I may not be able to empower my muscles but I could certainly wear their fur!

I do actually have to admit that in the past I wouldn’t have given a second thought to meat juices getting all over the place. Tracking in mud and the many resulting ‘newspaper’ whacks that got me has taught me to better consider where I place my feet beyond stealthiness.

Sam, once again at work, finishes adding water to the turkey’s pan, lays a blanket of shiny, crinkling metal over it, and inserts it into the pre-heated oven. Dinner progress and she turns to us with a wry grin.

“You know she’d just be a lazy lizard anyway thanks to tonight’s dinner,” she jokes. “Who knows how it’ll affect her, but turkey does actually have something in it that makes you sleepy.”

“Pfft. Cooking nerd,” Carey jests.

...That gets me considering for a moment. I’ll probably be lazy no matter what, but my sedentary dormancy and whatever she’s talking about could make for an amazing nap. It’s a shame I won’t be able to peek in... I crane my neck and look at the presents, wondering which if any could be mine.

I will be a good girl for Santa Claus. I shall be the best girl!

---

The turkey has sit cooking for hours, occasionally ‘basted’ with the water and juices beneath to help it cook evenly, and every time I have sat to watch it brown and glow golden. A pool of drool has formed beneath me that Sam has had to wipe up twice. It just looks and smells sooo good. She’s even added butter atop it the last time; a strange but tasty pale mush that Carey refuses to let me eat a block of.

Finally... finally... the oven is turned off and the roast turkey is freed, and it is easily the best thing I have ever smelled... and hopefully, the best I will ever taste!

She brings the turkey to a cutting board and I advance to get my prize... but she bars my way!

“Nope! Not yet! It needs to rest and cool down, and I need to make the rest of the meal.”

I growl and lock eyes with her but she... does not wither. After a moment she stands up straighter and practically puts on a scowl, her demeanor shifting as if becoming someone else.

“Sit yourself back down, young lady!” she orders. “Dinner comes when I say it does!”

I shuffle back in resignation and after a moment she bursts into a fit of chuckles.

Potatoes are sliced, mashed, and boiled. So too are tiny yellow bulbs thawed and set boiling. Carrots as well are given their own pot of water. The giblets had earlier been cooked for an hour with some water and set aside.

The water and juices from the turkey’s basin are poured into a bowl and... left to sit as well for a time? The roasting pan is set upon the stove to cook yet more, and fat is skimmed back to be returned. The concoction is thickened with flour and whisked into a paste, with my Sam occasionally adding more flour or fat to get it just right. Her whisking slows and she allows it to cook, the sauce gaining a beautiful golden-brown glimmer.

The whisking continues for a few minutes more but when it finally stops, my Sam does not. She slices and dices the organs and neck and adds them to the mix. She finally finishes this part of the meal with spicings and a taste test she smiles at.

“Mmmm,” she taunts me. “Better than Mom’s for all the hard work.”

The goop is set aside for later; perhaps as a strange drink? It’s a marvel how much work goes into making this dinner, and there’s so much food! It must be REALLY GOOD!

The chef stands up straight, rinses her hands one final time, and plugs in a strange tool bearing twin overlapping blades.

“It’s time,” she declares! “Go get Carey and wait at the table.”

I master myself and carefully pick my way through the home and around furniture in search of Carey’s scent despite the much stronger roast turkey calling to me. I find her reading in the living room, promptly throw her over my shoulder, and ignore her complaints as I return to the dining room.

“Carey! Can you set the table for us?” Sam asks from the kitchen. A loud whirring cuts off any possible reply, Carey just climbing down from my back to head over and help while I park and try my best not to salivate all over the thin white cloth set over the table.

The whirring continues, stops, continues, and stops. It must be some sort of very special knife that uses a ‘motor’ to move its cutting edges. From what I saw of it, it was very similar to the tool Carey had used to free me earlier--the ‘saw.’

I inspect a claw to take my mind off of the anticipation. The keratin isn’t as sharp as it could be these days what with my lack of scratching up trees, but my weapons do what they need to... and that isn’t the slow and careful back-and-forth sawing motion those tools do. Human knives aren’t just some sharp edge; they’re actually more like a single jaw’s grinding teeth. We have different tools for different needs.

The amazing smell surges as I hear steps behind me.

“Here we are,” Sam presents. “And I left most of the stuffing inside for you!”

She sets the platter down and what shall be my greatest dinner ever is finally served!

A good chunk has been shaved off but the rest is mine. Its skin glows and gravy glistens as it drips down its flanks. The scent of spice wafts from inside, a bowl of mashed potato sits near, boiled carrots and corn flank its plucked wings, and it is all mine. Cutlery and plates clink as the sisters serve themselves and take their seats, and I... continue to marvel at my meal.

I don’t actually know where to start. I’ve spent most of the day lusting for this, and... I’m paralyzed with indecision. This meal is equal to a great hunt; it must not be rushed, it must be enjoyed like a perfectly sprung ambush. To that end I first dig a claw in and tear a surprisingly intact line down. My claws certainly aren’t the precise saws and knives of the humans, but the meat parts with extreme ease!

Rather than rend and tear I slice and cut, and a perfectly moist slab falls in to a bed of stuffing. I pierce it on my claws like a fork and bring it to my mouth for a taste!

Ogh... oh, that’s good...

Human holidays are the best. This food is THE BEST. That turkey I stole? Terrible. No good. Not just the human sin of theft, it was the Kin sins of wasted food and potential! What are spices? How did Sam know how to perfectly cook this beast? Where can I find more of them?!

I barely need to chew! The meat demonstrates why I so easily pierced it, practically melting on my tongue! I swallow down the saddening amount and go for another larger piece, holding it in my mouth and closing my eyes, ignoring my ears, pressing my nose against my meal, all to focus on a sensory experience to rival sex.

And to think that I had to share! But, it’s with family, and deep down that tingles something in me beyond carnal and gluttonous urges. Tonight we share a meal made possible by the learning and experience born from non-Kin ways; a meal made possible through my Sam and Carey working hard, and my Sam’s masterful hours of cooking.

If there’s anything I would bring back to my people, it’s the pleasure of a hot, balanced, and well-spiced meal. I could never cook, but surely someone would have a mind for it. Not Boundless, of course... she’s too impatient. I diversify and find the vegetables to be nearly as good, raised far above their dirt-grown origins by the steeped-meat gravy. The stuffing as well is about as foreign to my taste buds as I am to this land.

At some point a rumbling purr began to interrupt my feasting, and around that time my humanesque etiquette devolved to blissful gnawing and munching on the cooked carcass. The meat, the gravy, and especially the stuffing all combine into one culinary masterpiece.

“...Well,” I hear my Carey utter. “I guess for once we won’t have left-overs.”

I can’t believe there was ever a time I could want to eat her. Sure she’d have been a bigger meal, but she isn’t this. Humans truly are absolutely terrible food; I’m pretty sure the only reason my peers and elders loved eating the tall intruders so much was the feeling of power--and their struggles!--which their devouring brought. The fur of the invaders and hair of the humans taste weird and get stuck to the tongue anyway. I’m sure that either could be trussed up, dressed, and perfected with gravy and spice as something almost as good as this, but...

...Friendship is better. Why eat a friend when they could cook for you?

“I’m helping Mom cook another tomorrow, remember?” Sam replies. “If anything it’s for the best we don’t leave any evidence behind. She already thinks we’re not telling her something what with having turkey dinner on Christmas day. We’ll get those left-overs.”

Carey chuckles lightly. “Did you forget who we have living in our house?”

In my night-eyes I see their blurry faces turn to me once more but I crunch and suckle the bounty uncaring of their banters. The potato bowl is slurped. The carrots are chomped. The corn is devoured. Above all, the turkey and its stuffing are savored.

Best. Dinner. Ever.

It all gets washed down with a jug of water and I finish my meal in contentment. If a Kin man were to present this meal to me, I’d have happily married him.

...Well. Our version of marriage, but still--the stuffing would continue. If I get home there better be an eligible man who takes to cooking as well as Sam has. There are certainly enough birds!

---

A/N:

The path to her heart is through her stomach. She has a hard shell but once you’re in with her, she’ll never let you go.