Page 37 of Sereis
"This," I said, finding a section that made my breath catch. "One day a week where I can be 'big' without the dynamic?"
"You need space to be yourself outside of our roles," he said simply. "To make decisions without seeking permission, to exist as Mira rather than my Little. But—"
"Clear communication about when those days start and end," I read. "Yes. I need the boundaries defined or I'll float, uncertain."
We discovered unexpected alignments as we negotiated. We both craved routine but needed spontaneity within structure. He wanted to choose my clothes most days; I wanted someone to remove that decision from my overloaded mind. I needed intellectual stimulation through books and learning; he had libraries I couldn't explore in a lifetime. He required daily reports of my emotional state; I desperately needed someone who would actually ask and listen to the answer.
"Physical intimacy," he said, turning to that section, and my whole body flushed with heat.
The details here were explicit, clinical almost, but somehow that made them more arousing. Frequency expectations, types of play we both enjoyed, the gradient between sensual and sexual touch. His needs were spelled out with the same precision—his desire to watch me come apart, to control my pleasure entirely, to deny and provide in equal measure.
"I've never—" I started, then stopped, unsure how to explain my inexperience with some of what he'd listed.
"I know," he said simply. "We'll explore together. Some of these are wishes, not requirements. But this—" he pointed to one line, "—this is essential. You'll sleep in my bed every night unless health or circumstance prevents it. I need you close, need to feel you breathing, need to know you're safe."
The vulnerability in that admission made my chest tight. This ancient being, powerful enough to reshape reality, needed the comfort of my presence to sleep well.
"I need that too," I admitted. "Since the transformation, sleeping alone feels wrong, like I'm missing half my nervous system."
We continued through the document as the moons crept closer to full darkness. Protocols for when one of us was sick or injured. How to handle disagreements when outside our dynamic. The careful balance between his need for control andmy need for agency. Each point negotiated with care, with respect for what we were building together.
"Are you certain?" he asked finally, the document complete between us, his hand now covering mine on the table. "Once we sign the Pact, this becomes our framework. Our law."
"I'm certain," I said, turning my hand to interlace our fingers. "I want the structure, the rules, the care hidden inside control. I want to be yours in all the ways that matter."
Through the clear ceiling, the first moon disappeared entirely, leaving only one crescent of light remaining. Soon, the darkness would be complete, and we could seal what we'd negotiated with blood and magic and promises that would outlast empires.
"Then we wait," he said, but his thumb stroked my palm in ways that made waiting feel like its own kind of torture. "And when the void comes, we become."
Thelastsliverofmoon-light died like a candle drowning in oil, and darkness so complete descended that even my transformed vision couldn't pierce it. Only the aurora light from our skin provided illumination now—Sereis glowing silver-white like a star wrapped in flesh, my own frost patterns pulsing gold-green like northern lights trapped under glass.
"Now," he said, and his voice carried harmonics that made the chamber ring like struck crystal.
From somewhere in his robes—or perhaps from nowhere, conjured by will alone—he produced a blade that hurt to perceive directly. Compressed cold given edge, so sharp it seemed to cut the darkness itself, leaving brief tears in the void that sealed immediately. The handle was simple ice that didn't melt in his grip, though I could see heat-shimmer rising from where his skin made contact.
He didn't hesitate. The blade parted his palm in one clean motion, and i saw that aurora light blood of his again. The silver-white liquid dripped with deliberate slowness onto the dragon vellum below. Where each drop hit, the membrane absorbed it eagerly, drinking in his essence like desert sand swallowing rain.
"Your turn," he said, offering me the blade handle-first.
My hand shook as I took it, the ice-handle so cold it burned even my transformed skin. But that pain was nothing compared to the weight of what I was about to do. This cut wouldn't just draw blood—it would seal my fate for centuries, perhaps millennia, perhaps forever.
The blade whispered through my palm like a kiss of winter. For a moment, nothing happened. Then blood welled up, and I gasped at what I saw. Not red anymore, not entirely. Threads of silver-light wound through the crimson, aurora-colors dancing in the drops. My transformation had gone deeper than skin, had changed me at levels I was only beginning to understand.
"Together as one," Sereis commanded, extending his bleeding hand.
Our palms met, and the world exploded into sensation. The blood mixed, silver-white meeting silver-red, creating something new—not his or mine but ours. It dripped onto the vellum in a pattern that looked deliberate, though neither of us guided it. The membrane drank it in with an eagerness that suggested consciousness, spreading the mixed blood through its translucent surface until the entire document glowed.
We signed simultaneously, our joined hands moving as one entity. The letters of my name burned themselves into reality as I wrote them, each stroke feeling like it carved itself not just into vellum but into the fabric of existence itself. Beside mine, Sereis's signature manifested in scripts that shifted between languages—some human, some draconic, some that predated both species.
The moment both signatures were complete, the transformation hit.
It didn't hurt—that was the shocking thing. My first transformation had been agony and ecstasy mixed until I couldn't tell them apart. This was different. This sang through every cell like coming home, like my body had been waiting for this final key to unlock what I was meant to become.
My skin went translucent, and for a moment I could see through myself to the silver light that now ran through my veins like a secondary circulatory system. Not replacing my blood but supplementing it, creating pathways for magic that hadn't existed before. The frost patterns on my skin lifted, actually lifted, becoming three-dimensional. They formed delicate armor of living ice that moved with me, that would manifest fully whenever I was threatened.
My eyes burned with cold fire. Not painful but intense, like staring directly into winter sunset. When it passed, the chamber looked different. I could see spectrums that hadn't existed before—the heat-death of stars in the shadows, the birth of snowflakes in the air itself. Sereis's face when I looked at him was overlaid with patterns of power that made him look like what he truly was—eternal winter given form.
The changes went deeper. My bones hummed with new density, not heavier but more real, as if they'd been hollow before and were now filled with compressed starlight. My hair had gained more aurora threads, enough that it looked like night sky threaded with northern lights. Even my breathing had changed—each exhale carried tiny ice crystals that sparkled and dissolved, my body generating its own microclimate.
