Swift

No sign of her scary twin, either.

"Keep back," Swift said to the wolves. She spoke the words fierce, trying to disguise her fear with fury. Better than hiding it, her anger might smother the fear altogether! She grabbed hold of her medallion with both hands, and immediately felt its magic flare anew within her grip. More than reassurance, it was a thrilling sensation. "Filthy hideous brutes! Keep away from me."

They didn't. They jumped. So did she.

And she was in a forest again—a different one than before. A whole different character and atmosphere. Green and lush, no snow. It was as hot as the desert had been, yet a different kind of heat. That had felt like the blast from an open oven. This was damp heat, the heat that rose from a bath, the air thick with vapor. The ground had turned smooth and spongy, as if comfortably padded. For it was. When she glanced downward, she saw she walking over layers of fallen leaves. All the tree trunks were coiled with vines, and the vines had big bright flowers on them. The scent of the flowers, the pollen, was strong enough to burn inside her nose and made her eyes water, blinding her again.

"Give me the medallion, Princess."

The voice whispered right at her shoulder, and it was her own voice. Except it spoke with a strength and determination she herself would never use, trained to polite deference and passivity. There was also a hint of mockery in the voice, and contempt ... When she whipped around, her twin was there, but not nearly as close as she'd sounded. She was no closer to her than she'd been on the cliffs, when Swift first saw her approaching. This time she had no wolves with her.

"Leave me alone! Get away!"

A blast of cold swept across the forest from behind Swift, burying the vegetation in snow and ice. Like an avalanche had crashed down from a nonexistent mountain. Despite the violence of it, Swift wasn't knocked over. None of the snow touched her. Her hair blew forward, but her balance wasn't disturbed. It was as if the avalanche passed through her body like she wasn't standing there. Perhaps just at the critical instant, her body turned insubstantial, like a spirit. Pretty neat trick. Wasn't like that for her sinister twin. The avalanche clobbered her and carried her away, screaming. In Swift's last glimpse of her contorted face, she had shards of ice piercing her forehead and cheeks, too many to count.

Swift felt a twist in her belly. Half of glee and half of guilt. But then almost at once her adversary struck back, and just as aggressively. With fire.

The flames didn't come at her in a wave, like the snow had. Instead all the trees around her ignited at once, the fire rising from their roots to sheath the trunks and spread across the canopy. The snow and ice was instantly obliterated. Wiped from existence like her sheltering ocean had been. The entire forest would surely soon follow, if she didn't stop this.

She called down rain. That seemed the easiest, quickest answer. She conjured a booming thunderstorm. It worked. It quenched the flames. But then she found she couldn't make the rain quit—she lost control of it, or it was wrested from her, and in mere seconds the forest was flooding. That was utterly impossible but so was everything else they'd made happen ... The ground turned to mud, and then to a bog. She started to sink into it. Her ankles, her knees, her thighs. She couldn't pull free. The muck sucked her deeper and deeper. It was disgusting and terrifying. It seemed alive. It wanted to drown her, to consume her.

"Nooo! Dammit! Nooohooh!"

Swift called out to the surrounding vines. But none were left—the snow and the fire had destroyed them all. Hell with that! Swift made new ones grow. Soon as she called them into being, they reached to aid her. They wrapped themselves around her arms and shoulders and her ribs, then strained to lift her from the muck. It took time, and it was a struggle for them—the ground didn't want to let her go—but finally the vines prevailed and raised her high. Most of her shift, however, weighed down with mud, stayed behind. Only a few scraps remained, pinned to her skin under the vines.

Afterward the vines wouldn't put her down, not that there was anywhere safe to place her. They had thickened and tightened, and then when she reflexively wrenched against their grip, they changed color from green to black, and they put out thorns, stabbing into her skin. Punishing her for resistance. She screeched and writhed. It did no good. Once again her enemy had corrupted her spell and made it turn against her. Swift wished she knew how to switch it back but she didn't. No fair! More vines ensnared her ankles and knees to stop her kicking. They also closed around her waist and her throat. They started to choke her.

She had to jump again, some place new. The medallion tingled the same as the other times, yet nothing happened, nothing changed. Had she drained its power? But that didn't feel right. The medallion seemed to swell slightly, and started to heat from inside. It got hotter and hotter until it nearly burned her chest. Still, Swift was not transported from the cruel grip of the vines. Somehow the spell was being blocked.

"No! No! That's not fair! Why is this happening? Why is this happening to me?"

"Hush," said her twin, once more whispering behind her shoulder. When Swift craned her head around as far as she could, no one was there. But when she faced forward again, there she was. Waiting with a grin.

The ground beneath the other Swift's feet had solidified, but only a small patch to support her, a little clay platform floating on the muck. All the rest remained soupy, a horrid bog. Now the rain ceased and the heat returned. The bog began to bubble and steam. Swift herself began to pant and sweat.

Swift couldn't get over how radiant her other self looked. How perfect. So much poise. Her garment was clean and untorn. There was no trace of injury on her face from the ice shards. Her hair, though loose and windblown, was not the tangled, sad rat's nest Swift's had become. There was no filth crusted on her feet or her legs. And actually Swift had filth crusted many more places on her body than just those.

Her breasts seemed larger and rounder than Swift's. Did hers actually project that much, and hang that low? Glancing down at herself, she discovered that perhaps indeed they stuck out the same, when they weren't covered and restricted as much as her habitual/traditional clothing normally did, and when she didn't have ballooned sleeves and a gigantic hoopskirt to de-emphasize them.

It was weird to envy herself, and it was silly. Just a copy of herself; that's all the other was. Swift could look every bit as poised and perfect as her adversary, in reversed circumstances.

"Why have you done this to me? What do you want from me?"

"You already know," the other replied.

"I won't do it! I won't give in to you!"

"We shall see." She raised one hand and made a fist, slowly, and as she did, the vines around Swift's body tightened and shifted in time with the gesture, stretching her displayed nakedness wider between them even as other loops squeezed her stomach and throat. More and more, the tighter the fist became.

It was awful, it was agony and there was no escape, no way to fight back. Swift was forced to scream. She screamed her head off. She screamed as she had never screamed before. But then somehow she found it was oddly, unexpectedly satisfying, to scream like that, without restraint, without apology. In her present situation, unlike so many other times in her life, it was perfectly justified for her to scream like she was screaming. She screamed and screamed until the other relented and loosened her fist.

"Now, give me the medallion."

"Go to Hell! Go to Hell!"

Once more the other closed her fist and subjected Swift to the same torment. Just as she'd been asking for ... It was worse this time; it went on longer. She thought her ribs might crack or that her limbs would rip from their sockets. "Ahhuuggh! Ahhaahhrruggh!" And yet even so at the same time, bad as it was, there was also something good in it, something satisfying in the agony. A funny kind of sweetness. Not that she enjoyed the suffering itself, but she did enjoy, or at least appreciate, the severity of it. The reality of it. The uncompromising nature of it—the other wasn't merely toying with her any longer, like before. Swift found deep within herself that she wanted the other to do more to her and to do worse. She had never been tested like this. She had never expected to be, of course. Now that it was happening, regardless of how or why, she just wanted to see—to know, once and for all—how much she could take.

And maybe deep down, crazy as it was, part of her already liked the agony too. A little bit.

"Give me what I need," said her twin, "You are beaten. Face your failure. Give up the medallion."

"No! Never! Nooohhooohhuuggh!"

The whole time, the other had such a smug smile on her face. Swift wondered what it felt like to be her, if they could switch places. The torturer instead of the tortured. She realized she would be no kinder. If that wish was granted, she would act the same way. She would not demonstrate any moral superiority. She would not try to prove herself better or more honorable or more worthy. No, she would hold her hand up the same way, closing it into a fist. Slowly, so slowly, tighter and tighter, yes. She would enjoy hurting her enemy as much as her enemy was enjoying this. She would enjoy the screams, and no doubt she would have that exact same smile on her face, looking just as smug, just as cruel, just as wicked.

"Still not ready to give up, princess?"

"Why haven't you taken it already? Why do you even need the thing? Somehow, you've got me helpless. I don't know how you did it but somehow you did. So why are you holding back? Why don't you just come closer and take it from me? There's nothing I could do about it. I can't move at all. Surely you could step closer and grab it and tear it off of me. Except you haven't. Why? Something is still stopping you, even though I'm helpless. What is it?"

"That's a good question, Princess. Perhaps you're not quite as stupid as I feared."

That had sounded like a hint. Why was she giving her hints? "It's ... it's because you can't! You can't have the medallion unless I give it to you. By choice. Am I right? Did I guess right?"

She nodded. The other Swift seemed pleased, for some reason. Still she flexed her fist again, once again tightening the vines, once more afflicting unbearable torment upon Swift's spread-eagle body. Except against all odds, somehow, she was bearing it. It was unbearable but she was bearing it, anyway. It wasn't unbearable after all. She was strong enough to endure it. This was a wonderful discovery. It made her giddy inside.

"You don't deserve it," said the other, "You don't know what you have. You don't know what you could be."

"Don't be so sure of that, bitch. I've had a taste of it now."

"Yes, a taste of magic, of power. You like it, don't you? All this time, years and years—you had no idea." And suddenly tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because of the waste, Princess. So much waste. Squandered time, squandered potential."

"How was I supposed to know? Nobody told me things could be different."

"Your grandmother did, or tried to. She gave you everything you needed. You didn't listen. You weren't ready."

"Who are you?"

"Look at me. Look! I am exactly what you see. You think my appearance is a disguise? An illusion? If only that were true."

"What happened to you? What made you this way?"

"Guess, Princess. Can't you guess?"

"Are you my future self?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You have no future. Not if you don't listen to me. Not if you won't learn."

"Learn what? What the fuck are you trying to say to me? Did you bring me here—did your wolves attack my coach and kill all those people—just to prove a point?"

She smirked. "You think they're my wolves? They don't answer to me. They are yours, Princess. It was you that summoned them and set them loose. From within you. They only did what you wanted. What you commanded."

"That's impossible! That's crazy and obscene! They wanted to ... to ... I can't even say it! It can't be true! You're lying!"

"You wanted to escape, didn't you? You wanted other things too. Many things. You couldn't even put them into words, though. You'd never have dared. Your wretched, arrogant family has kept you caged your whole life. Your wretched, arrogant husband will do the same, if you let him."

"He's not my husband!"

"He will be soon, very soon, if you don't get away. If you don't reinvent yourself. You've been unhappy for so long. Desperate, stifled, furious. Full of rage and full of loathing. You were weeping in the coach before the attack, don't you remember? You couldn't stop weeping. From despair and from dread. The ball, your betrothed, all of it. You wanted something else, something different. A different life. Well, here it is. This is the moment, if you're willing to take it. If you're brave enough to stay in the Shadowed Wood and see it through."

"I won't give you the medallion. I won't give you my magic. I won't give up my power! You can't force me!"

"Can't I?"

"Stop! Stop hurting me! Ahhhugghh God! Let me go! Damn you! Guuhhaaggrrh!"

"If you want the pain to stop, you must make it stop. Are you going to stop it or not? I'm not convinced you do, actually. So full of guilt, aren't you? So full of self-loathing. Your whole wasted life. All the time you've squandered, all the potential, out of fear, out of weakness. You want more punishment. Much more, don't you? You're learning to love it. You think it's all you deserve. Maybe you're right. Maybe you deserve much worse."

The vines suddenly loosened and Swift was dropped into the muck, flat on her face. There was a great dark splash, but she didn't sink in the stuff, not like she expected. The muck did not immediately envelop and consume her like it tried to do before. Still, the big splash drenched her all over in glop. The black slime was thick and warm and reeked of rot. She hadn't noticed the stench before. Now that the glop was all over her naked body, all over her face, she couldn't smell anything else. She shivered and she coughed.

There were flashes of lightning, crackles and rumbles of thunder, and then rain started gushing down again. It should have showered her clean, or at least started to. Somehow it didn't. The foul slime was too thick and too clingy.

She tried to get to her feet, but her legs kept slipping out from under her, making more splashes. She couldn't get herself higher than her hands and knees, no matter how many times she tried, straining, gasping, whimpering. She was too clumsy and the glop was too slick.

"Why don't you just stay down like that?" said the other, looming tall on her platform. She looked much taller than she really was. Tall as the trees, nearly. The rain didn't touch her. She stayed perfectly dry, perfectly beautiful. Proud and dominant, scornful of her writhing weeping twin. "I don't believe you want to get up. You'd do it if you wanted to. I think you prefer it down there in the muck."

"You're wrong!" Swift cried, "You're wrong about me!"

"Am I? Doesn't look to me like I am."

Then she heard growls from behind her, and heavy rapid breathing. The panting of an animal. Swift looked over her shoulder and of course it was one of the huge demonic wolves again, stalking toward her through the mud. At first it was just a shadow—then flashes of lightning illuminated it. She saw its eyes and its teeth and its lolling tongue. She saw its jutting cock. Like the other Swift, the rain didn't make the wolf wet. But not because it passed through his form. When the drops hit its fur—his fur, for it was definitely and irrefutably a he, not an it—they turned to steam.

It—He—was very close to her, much too close, and stalking closer. And behind him there were others. Many, the whole pack, waiting their turn.

"Oh God," Swift moaned, "Oh no. No!" She shivered all over. And yet, it wasn't all from fear. She was feeling many other things all at once, all mixed together. Nameless feelings—yet only because she refused to name them. The fear wasn't gone, it remained a big part of the churning jumble, but it wasn't the principal emotion, it wasn't dominant. Not anymore. "Oh God save me."

"Save yourself. Why don't you jump away again?" asked the other.

"I can't! It's not working! You're blocking the magic!"

"Am I? Are you sure?"

"It's not working! All I know is it's not working! I can't escape! That thing is gonna—it's gonna—"

"What do you expect," remarked the other, "if you take a position like that with your bare ass in the air? You pose like a bitch in these woods, you're bound to get mounted like one. Isn't this what you want?"

"No! Nooo! Why would I want this?"

"You tell me. You created that beast, after all. You summoned him here."

"No I didn't! If I did, I didn't mean to! I didn't know I was doing it! Why would I do this to myself?"

"Because this is all you think you deserve. This is all you think you'll ever amount to. A pitiful whining bitch."

"You're wrong! You're wrong!"

"That monster is about to take you. Then all the others will, when he's finished. Then when they're all done, they'll probably still end up devouring you. If you don't do anything to prevent it."

"What can I do? What am I supposed to do?"

The other shrugged. "That's for you to decide. You're the one with the medallion, after all. Aren't you enjoying this scenario any longer? Well, change it."

Just for a moment, the wolf changed, or started to. Ripples moved across its body. Then the dark shape wasn't a beast any longer, or not the same sort of beast. Instead it was a man behind her, crouching in the mud. A man with a wolfskin cloak, the upper jaw of the creature fitted over his head as a hood. The cloak was all he was wearing. His cock was no less prominent nor formidable than the wolf's had been.

And the man's face—it was incongruous. Because it seemed kind. Kind and questioning. And then Swift recognized him. He had the face of one of her guards. The newest of them, the youngest, the handsomest. The one she'd liked the best, though she'd never told him so and never would have. Such a thing could never be said. And anyway that man was dead—she'd seen him die when the coach was attacked. The wolves had brought him down with all the other men. Which meant the creature behind her was just disguising itself to look like that man. Making itself more attractive for her.

As soon as she realized, the disguise dropped away. The monster changed back into a wolf. Yet she knew in a moment it could change itself back, if she wanted it to. If it sensed that from her.

Was that what she wanted? No! Of course not! Never!

"You prefer the wolf?" asked the other. "That's your choice?"

"No it's not! It's not! I'm not choosing this! I'm not!"

"Then why are you still bent over down there in the muck?"

"I don't know! I don't know! I can't help it!"

"Decide, princess. You must decide once and for all. Do you want to escape or do you want to submit? Choose, princess. Accept that it's your choice, and choose. Do you want the wolf to fuck you or not? Do you wanna be weak or do you wanna be powerful?"

"I want power!! I want to be powerful! I don't wanna be weak and pitiful anymore! I want to be powerful like you!"

"Then you have to be free. If that's what you really want. Is it, though? I'm still not sure. You have to be sure, in your heart. In your guts. Do you wanna be free? Do you? Can you handle it? Fine then. Show me. Show me! SHOW ME!"