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Meulin awakens in darkness. She is not particularly startled by this, but it is the kind of sudden transition to awareness that leaves one’s breath a little shallow, and pulse a little quickened. At least, it would, if she still had access to either of those corporeal functions.
She does not know what prompted her ascent from the blacker depths of her dreamlike state to the ghostly realm of her afterlife existence. Sound has no effect on her, and neither does light. She turns blank eyes slowly, a little sleepily, around the room. It is not the same place she fell asleep. Her surroundings are hazy, muddled by the dark, but she can smell the deep musk of fur on the walls, the floor, the ceiling, everywhere. It is like she is nuzzled against the flank of a giant purrbeast, though the scent doesn’t match and there is no warmth or movement from the pelts. Despite this, she feels cozy and catered to. This place reminds her of her lusus. The fur lining everything is sleek and white.
Meulin thinks she must have drifted here in sleep. Or maybe she just manifested here? It is hard to say, even after eons, just how time and space negotiate with her body in order to allow her to be. She rarely thinks about it. There are more important things to do!
Two moons hover behind the drawn shades of the room. She is inside of a large, deep recuperacoon, big enough for two or three. The sopor slime is a pale, minty green, and through its translusense she can see her tatty nightgown and little pink socks. She frowns at the nighty, at its too-short length, and remembers that it was a gift from someone.
She is alone.
Meulin sighs and flexes her muscles, raising her arms above her thinkpan in a long, luxurious stretch. She arches her back and spills out of the recuperacoon, making faces at the slime that sticks to her skin. There’s usually a towel around here… ah. There’s one on a little wiggly limb attached to the ‘coon. She blinks at it and sniffs at it before picking it up. It is so fluffy and white that it looks and feels as if it’s made of a thousand honk-beasts. She takes her time wiping down her legs, marveling at the silky-softness whispering over her ankles, calves, and knees, up and around her thighs where the jelly stubbornly clings. She flicks a bit of it off of the nighty, and grimaces when the drying flakes fall but a stain remains. Clicking her tongue, she rubs the towel into the fabric, but the dark spot stays.
Rolling her milky and pupil-less eyes, Meulin tries instead to remember a newer, crisper version of her nightclothes in hopes that they’ll just appear on her person.
Nothing happens.
Meowing in frustration, she’s about to rip the skirt part off when she twists around and spots the most gorgeous and to-her-taste set of lingerie that’s ever laid before her gaze, including that one time someone had made a bra and panty for her themselves.
A quiet exhale of stale air that did not need to be inside of her passes over her lips, and in the space of a breath, of a thought, the lingerie set is wrapped around her body like a second skin. Another breath, another thought, and a mirror is at her elbow, reflecting a girl whose mouth is open in a smile so wide that it partly eclipses the rest of the features on her face: her glowing eyes, accustomed to the darkness now and using every speck of shaded moonlight to examine and wonder at her newfound outfit (not a thread out of place); her button nose, picking up the scent of leather and a whiff of catnip; her wide forehead, supporting her brows (which had almost been lost in her hairline).
Meulin twirls and kicks up her heels and admires her figure in the full-length mirror. The bra cups are unattached, sweet, stretched hoof-beast leather, so soft and supple yet cleverly lined with wire that upholds her ample breasts. Sheer, striped netting attaches the cups to a belt in the same black leather, studded with silver spikes and rings. The thong wraps underneath her, between her thighs, and is sewn into the back of the belt. Even her face and hair seem to have undergone some sort of styling during the transition: her normally bushy locks are super fluffed up and curly, trailing to her waist. Dark eyeshadow accentuates long, thick lashes that wing out from the corners of her eyes. A light powdering of green highlights her cheeks. Her lips are painted an even darker black than they normally are, and they shine even after she licks them with her little olive tongue.
She is a complete dish, and she smirks at herself in the mirror, pulling it towards her and pushing it away, as if teasing her mirror image.
As she’s dancing around and playfully making faces at herself, the mirror begins visibly vibrating. Meulin freezes when she notices the mirror fog to opaque and jitter in its stand; she rushes forward with catlike reflexes to steady it as it makes to tip over.
Her confusion grows as large numbers appear backwards on the mirror, and two circles below the number. One has an X written within it, the other a strange, elongated V. Meulin has no idea what to do, but she doesn’t want to let the mirror go; it is still jumping in her grasp and it might shatter if she lets it fall.
After a few moments, the mirror goes still. Meulin relaxes. Then it shivers again and Meulin almost punches a hole through it from shock, but she gets a grip in time to gape at a huge message, written in size 100 font.
[unknown] Hey. WYD?
“What?” Meulin screeches. She paws at the message, and it smoothly offers her two options: RESPOND or CLOSE.
Curious, and feeling awfully cute, Meulin shrugs and decides why not, why shouldn’t she respond when she’s exuding super delicious vibes tonight. It doesn’t matter who this is; she needs someone to validate her hotness and she actually couldn’t care less who does it.
Pressing RESPOND with the flat of her palm opens the mirror’s otherwise hidden functions to her. There’s a phone button, a TROLLIAN app (which is where the unknown message came from), some weird-looking games, some other junk, and, in the top right-hand corner, a camera.
Meulin’s gaze zeroes in on the camera, and her eyes narrow in cunning thought.
She opens the app, sets a timer and a photoshot directive, and proceeds to hastily leap away from the mirror and strike a pose (hands crossed behind her giant head of hair, chin tilted up to show off her long, slim neck, chest out and booty visible at the side). A flash, and she quickly changes position, switching fluidly into another romance novel cover-worthy pose with one hand at her horns, the other fingering the belt at her waist, biting her lip and bending forward to allow a hint of cleavage to spill over her busty bra cups. The camera flashes again, and she moves again, showing her backside to the camera and coyly hiding her face behind a raised shoulder, a hint of a grin present in her eyes.
More.
More.
She takes around ten of the sexy selfies, and then she figures she’s left whoever it is on the hook for long enough.
Meulin sends one, the first one, through to her mystery lover.
[unknown] …
[unknown] Oh my lord.
MEULIN: (=`ω´=) BITCH I AM A SNACK TONIGHT!!!!!
[unknown] Fuck yeah you are.
[unknown] Damn. I was not prepared.
MEULIN:(=^•ω•^=) YOU WANT MORE???!!!!
MEULIN: (=^ω^=) I CAN GIVE YOU MORE!!!!!
[unknown] Yes please.
Meulin takes the politeness in stride, and fires off the rest of her bad little selfies in quick succession. With each one the unknown lover gives her another, somewhat restrained compliment, and Meulin flushes with the knowledge that she’s giving this person exactly what they want. They ask if they can call her a few times, but she demures. Sexting is enough. And besides, if they can’t sign or mime she won’t be able to understand them anyway!
[unknown] If I’d known this is where the night was going to take me I wouldn’t have worn my good pants. Or any pants.
MEULIN: ~(=^. .^) YOU WANT ME TO TAKE OFF MY PANTS!!!???
[unknown] No, no, you don’t have to do that. Seriously, this is more than enough. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. You’re gorgeous.
MEULIN: (^•o•^) AAWWWW THANK MEW!!!! YOU’RE REALLY NICE!!!! I JUST FELT LIKE PLAYING WITH MEW, THERE’S REALLY NO SPECIAL REASON!!!!
[unknown] I’m glad you did. It really livened up my night. I just wish we could video chat…
MEULIN: (=TωT=) SORRY!!! I JUST WANNA TALK LIKE THIS!!! THIS IS GOOD!!!!!
[unknown] You’re right. It’s more than good, it’s, like, the best thing that’s happened to me in a while. I’ve been in kind of a rough spot lately, and you suddenly texting really cheered me up.
[unknown] But I’m sorry that I can’t return the favor. I don’t have any old selfies, and I’m not in a place where I can share my face/body rn.
MEULIN:(^•ω•^) IT’S FINE!!! I WANTED TO SHOW OFF AND NOW I HAVE AND YOU KNOW WHAT I FEEL SO PURRFECTLY CONTENT ABOUT IT!!!
MEULIN: (=`ω´=) IT’S FUN TO DO SOMETHING FUR MYSELF FUR ONCE!!! USUALLY I’M RUNNING AROUND SHOUTING ABOUT EVERYONE ELSE AND THEIR ROMANTIC PROBLEMS, SO THANKS FUR TELLING ME HOW CUTE AND DESIRABLE I AM!!!!
[unknown] You’re more than cute and desirable, you--
MEULIN: (^•x•^) HUSH, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER!!! I KNOW!!!
[unknown] Yes ma’am!
Meulin talks and sends more sexy selfies to her partner for the next hour, and then she tires of their game. It is fun enough, but she wants to do something else, like maybe jump in that swampy bog she just pulled from a distant memory that is now lapping at her feet.
MEULIN: (=TωT=) S33 YA!!! IF I DON’T FIND THIS ROOM AGAIN, I PROBABLY WON’T BE ABLE TO CONTACT YOU ANYMORE!!! SO ENJOY MY BEAUTIFUL, AMAZING, SEXY SELFIES!!!
[unknown] Oh, I will. For many sessions to come. Hehehe. Thank you.
Satisfied, Meulin closes the TROLLIAN app, and swings the mirror over to rest against the recuperacoon. Then she dips her toe in the swamp, to test the water. It is a perfect, murky green, and the decaying smell of algae and rotten logs seeps into her bones. She grins as wide as she had when she first laid eyes on her leather lingerie.
Then she shucks off her outfit, storing it in the remembered wardrobe of her mind, and slips into the water, floating free and clear down the long, long river of time.