Arthur had not wanted to go out.
After the meeting with Talia, every time he set foot outside the shop he felt the weight of other people’s gazes, even when no one was really watching him.
But Brandt needed a load of special wood for the forge and some abrasive stones that only came from a warehouse near the river.
It was not heavy work, and that was why it had fallen to him.
“Don’t be late,” his father had said without lifting his eyes from the metal.
“And don’t cause any trouble.”
Arthur had nodded, settled the bag across his shoulder, and left.
Valenford in the mid-afternoon was full of people.
Merchants closing their shops, carts struggling to get through, adventurers arguing loudly near the taverns.
Arthur walked with his head down, trying to take up as little space as possible.
The sweet scent on his skin seemed more noticeable now that he was outdoors, mixed with the damp air coming from the river.
Every now and then he brought his hand to his neck, as if to hide it, but he knew it was useless.
The warehouse was in a somewhat more secluded area, among wooden storage buildings and narrow passages full of crates.
Arthur handed over the request, waited for them to prepare the material, and hoisted the sack onto his shoulders.
It did not weigh excessively, but enough to force him to walk with more care.
He was retracing the narrow alley that led toward the main street when he heard a sudden noise above him.
Someone had moved a crate badly on the upper floor of a warehouse.
The wood creaked, then gave way.
“Watch out!”
The voice arrived too late.
A girl jumped down from the edge of the gallery to avoid being caught under the falling crate.
She landed badly, lost her balance, and went straight into Arthur.
The sack slipped sideways.
Both of them fell.
Arthur ended up on his back, his head hitting the wooden floor of the alley lightly.
The girl fell fully on top of him, her body pressed against his, one leg tangled between his and an arm trapped against his chest.
For a moment they stayed exactly like that—too close, too compact, breaths mixed together.
She had red hair gathered in a messy braid, her face only a few centimeters from his, and her eyes wide with shock.
She was wearing light leather armor and a shirt that, in the fall, had shifted enough to leave part of her shoulder and neck uncovered.
Arthur felt everything with an almost painful clarity.
The heat of her body.
The weight.
The curve of her breast pressed against his chest.
The smell of light sweat and leather.
And, worse than anything, the reaction of his own body, made much sharper by the curse.
His skin tingled.
A shiver ran down his back.
His heart exploded in his chest.
“Shit— sorry!”
She tried to push herself up, but her arm slipped and she ended up pressing even harder against him.
For an instant her face stayed only a few centimeters from his, her warm breath on his mouth.
Arthur felt her fingers tighten on his shoulder for leverage, and every point of contact seemed to burn.
“Stay… stay still a moment,” he managed to say, his voice choked.
She froze, probably feeling the tension in his body.
Her eyes widened slightly when she understood how tangled they still were.
“I can’t… wait.”
She moved again, this time more slowly, but in doing so one knee slid higher along Arthur’s thigh.
He clenched his teeth, feeling a wave of heat and embarrassment so strong it took his breath away.
The curse reacted immediately.
It was as if every sensation was amplified, brought to the surface, made impossible to ignore.
The girl finally managed to lift herself enough to free his chest.
She remained, however, still straddling his hips for a second too long, breathing with her mouth open, her cheeks red.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice a little broken.
Arthur nodded without being able to speak.
His heart was beating so hard he feared she could feel it.
The sweet scent on his skin suddenly seemed much more intense, as if his body were releasing it in response to the stress and the contact.
She stood up completely, adjusting her shirt with slightly trembling hands, and held out a hand to help him.
Arthur took it.
Her fingers were warm and a little calloused.
When he got up, they remained too close for another moment, before both of them took a step back.
“I’m really sorry,” she said, running a hand over her braid.
“The crate was falling and I didn’t look where I was jumping.
Did you get hurt?”
“No.
I’m fine.”
His voice came out lower and rougher than usual.
She looked at him a moment longer, as if she noticed something in his appearance or in the way he avoided meeting her eyes.
Then she lowered her gaze to Arthur’s sack, which had partially opened in the fall.
“I’ll help you pick up.”
Together they put the material back in order.
Every time their hands brushed while putting away the abrasive stones, Arthur felt a new shiver.
He tried to stay as far away as possible, but the space of the alley was narrow and she did not seem to notice how tense he was.
When they finished, the girl adjusted her armor and gave him a half-embarrassed smile.
“My name is Rhea.
If you really got hurt, tell me.
I can walk you somewhere.” The source of this chapter is g.com.
“No need.
I’m fine.
Really.”
Rhea studied him for another second, then nodded.
“As you wish.
Be more careful in the alleys.
These warehouses are a piece of shit.”
She turned and walked away quickly, disappearing around the corner.
Arthur remained still, his back still pressed against the wooden wall, his breath short.
He waited until he was sure he was alone.
Then, with hands that trembled slightly, he opened the Status.
text
[Curse: Gender Transformation – Blood of Lysara] Phase: 1/4 Progress: 19%]
The number drove itself into his mind like a nail.
From 14% to 19% in a few minutes.
He ran a hand over his face and felt it hot, too sensitive.
The sweet scent was stronger than it had ever been.
It was no longer a light hint.
It was present, clear, and for the first time he had the almost physical certainty that anyone who passed close enough to him could have noticed it.
He hoisted the sack onto his shoulders again and started walking toward home, his legs a little weak.
Every step seemed heavier than the previous one.
His skin still tingled in the places where Rhea’s body had been pressed against his.
The memory of the contact—the weight, the heat, the closeness of her face, the knee that had slid too high—came back in waves, and each time the curse seemed to answer with a new shiver.
He had to stop twice along the way, pretending to adjust the sack, just to catch his breath and try to calm his heart.
When at last he spotted the sign of the shop, he felt a mixture of relief and fear.
He had to go back inside.
He had to act as if nothing had happened.
He had to hide the fact that his body was reacting in an increasingly obvious way, and that the percentage had just taken a sharp jump.
He crossed the threshold.
The smell of iron and coal wrapped around him, but this time it could not completely cover the sweeter one he carried on himself.
Tessa raised her head from the counter.
“You’re late.
And you’ve got a… strange face.
Again.”
Arthur lowered his gaze and went to set down the sack.
“Nothing happened,” he said.
But while he said it, he felt the weight of the 19% on his skin, and he knew that it was becoming harder and harder to keep lying.
Even just to himself.