Arthur could not fall asleep for hours.
He remained lying on the bed staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the small sounds of the house settling into silence.
Brandt’s footsteps moving away, the rustle of Ysolde, the lighter silence of Tessa in the next room.
Every now and then he turned from one side to the other, but his body found no peace.
The fabric of the nightshirt clung uncomfortably to his chest, and every slight movement reminded him of the shape it was taking.
The sweet scent filled the closed room, constant, impossible to ignore.
When he finally slipped into a light, fragmented sleep, the dreams were confused: pieces of conversations, grey eyes, Tessa’s voice asking for explanations, the heat of a body against his.
He woke several times, each time with his heart racing and his skin hot.
At dawn he was already awake.
He got up slowly, his legs a little weak, and dragged himself in front of the mirror.
The weak morning light came through the window and made everything clearer than he would have liked.
The face had lost almost every trace of the old hardness.
The cheeks were fuller, the line of the jaw softened, the lips slightly more defined.
The eyes—one light grey and one violet—seemed too large and too evident against the perfect skin.
He took off the shirt and lowered his gaze.
The chest had a curve that was by now unmistakable.
It was no longer a light swelling: the breasts were taking shape clearly, small but present.
The hips curved with a softness that did not belong to him.
Even the waist seemed slightly narrower.
The skin was smooth everywhere, without flaws, and when he passed his fingers over it he felt again that exaggerated sensitivity that made him clench his teeth.
He dressed with even more care than usual.
A loose shirt, a second one over it to add confusing volume, and the light jacket even though it would be hot.
He studied himself for a long time, looking for angles that would hide things better.
When dressed he could still pass, if no one observed him closely.
But the margin was growing thinner.
He went down the stairs with his body tense.
In the kitchen Ysolde was already up, busy preparing breakfast.
Brandt was drinking in silence.
Tessa was sitting at the table, her hair still messy, and she raised her gaze as soon as Arthur appeared on the threshold.
She did not say anything right away.
She simply observed him while he sat down and accepted the bowl his mother handed him.
“Enough,” Arthur lied.
Tessa rested her elbows on the table.
“You’ve got dark circles.
And you’re even paler than yesterday.”
Arthur lowered his gaze to the soup.
“I just slept badly.”
“Again.”
It was not a question.
Tessa said it as a statement of fact, and the silence that followed weighed on the whole table.
Brandt raised his eyes for a moment, then returned to his mug.
Ysolde moved around them with gestures that were a little too precise, as if trying not to feed the tension.
Arthur ate quickly, trying not to draw attention.
Every time he raised the spoon he felt the fabric shift against his chest, and he had to make an effort not to change position too obviously.
The sweet scent seemed stronger in that closed space, mixed with that of the bread and the soup.
He was afraid that at any moment someone would comment on it again.
Tessa did not.
But she did not stop looking at him.
When Brandt stood up announcing that he was going to light the forge, Arthur followed him almost with relief.
Better the work than remaining at the table under that gaze.
In the shop he tried to concentrate.
He sharpened, arranged, organized.
But the tiredness of the night and the tension of breakfast made him slower and more distracted.
Every time Tessa passed near his bench, Arthur felt his body stiffen.
She said nothing.
She simply lingered a second too long, observed, let her presence weigh.
Mid-morning, while Arthur was checking a batch of handles, Tessa stopped beside him.
“You can’t keep going like this,” she said in a low voice.
“I’m working.”
“I’m not talking about the work.” She lowered her voice even further.
“I’m talking about you.
You’re getting worse.
It shows.
And the more you try to pretend it’s nothing, the more obvious it becomes that you’re hiding something.”
Arthur clenched his teeth.
“Leave me alone, Tessa.”
“No.” The answer was sharp.
“Because if you keep going like this, sooner or later something serious will happen to you and I won’t just stand by and watch.”
She moved away before he could answer.
Arthur remained bent over the bench, his hands still on the tool, his heart beating too hard.
The familiar tingling along his back told him that the stress was once again feeding the curse.
He waited until he was alone for a moment and opened the Status.
[Name: Arthur Age: 18 Level: 1 Class: Apprentice Blacksmith (Weak) Strength: 4 Agility: 6 Endurance: 5 Magic: 3 Intelligence: 12 Dexterity: 8 Skills: – Basic Sharpening (Lv.2) – Tool Organization (Lv.3) – Excessive Shyness (Passive) [Curse: Gender Transformation – Blood of Lysara] Phase: 1/4 Progress: 63%]
Another two points.
He ran a hand over his face and returned to work with his head down.
The day seemed to stretch on forever.
Every hour under Tessa’s gazes and in the heat of the shop made it harder to maintain the mask.
The scent, the sensitivity of the skin, the awareness of the body changing under the clothes: everything contributed to making every gesture weigh on him.
When evening finally arrived and Brandt declared the shop closed, Arthur felt a mixture of relief and fear.
Relief because he could shut himself in his room.
Fear because he knew that the next day he would have to do it all over again.
He climbed the stairs ahead of the others, closed the door, and let himself slide to the floor with his back against the wood.
It was only the day after.
And it already seemed heavier than the previous one.
He hugged his knees to his chest, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of the fabric against the forming breasts, and closed his eyes.
He still did not know how he would face the following day.
He only knew that continuing to pretend was becoming harder and harder.
And that sooner or later something would give way.