Entry: Shadows of Shame

 

Image - https://pixiv.navirank.com/id/100761411/
Writer - https://www.deviantart.com/arcanemyst

João dismounted from the horse-drawn carriage in Peniche, the crisp autumn air biting at his exposed skin. It was All Saints Eve, and shadows cast by oil lamps flickered, guiding him to the small, ancient chapel where Latin prayers filled the musty air. He slipped into a seat at the back, his thoughts heavy with the grave he had traveled from Lisbon to mourn.
Grief gnawed at João's heart. The loss of Miguel tormented him, the serene faces of the congregants seeming to mock his inner turmoil, each whispered prayer a cruel reminder of the unanswered questions that haunted him. Without Miguel's comforting embrace, João's dysphoria had become a relentless torment. Desperately, he prayed for relief, for understanding, as sorrow threatened to engulf him.
As the last faithful filed out of the chapel, João remained, the heavy wooden door groaning shut behind them. Silence cloaked him, broken only by his fervent, whispered prayers. The candles burned low, casting erratic shadows on the ancient stone walls.
A subtle movement near the altar caught João's eye. A noble-looking man in dark attire emerged from the dimness, his eyes glinting with an eerie light. "João," he said with calm authority, "I am Lucian. I cannot bring back the dead; however, I understand you are coping with another problem."
Before João could respond, Lucian raised a hand, conjuring a graceful figure that embodied João's hidden pain and longing. "With this, I do not know the cost, but your suffering shall soon end."
The chapel seemed to hum with an eerie energy as João sealed her pact, irrevocably altering her life.
At dawn, João awoke to an unfamiliar view. She lay in her noble tub, surrounded by the most gorgeous flowers. Once too small, the tub now fit her perfectly. She pressed her legs together and giggled.
Her hand emerged from the water, caressing her cheek. Brunette hair fell gracefully down her sides. There was no world like this one. She curled her toes on the porcelain edge of the tub before adjusting herself, sitting up, and then standing. The water slipping off her smooth, unblemished skin sent tingles of joy through her.
Her breasts, now perky, responded to gravity, signaling the need for a bra. An unfamiliar towel waited by the bath, as if she had done this many times before. Taking her first step on solid ground, she noticed her toenails painted rose red, matching the last petal clinging to her leg.
Brushing it off, she stared into the mirror. A woman of pure beauty stared back. "This is me?" she whispered, doubting. Even in her prior body, she had never been this spectacular. Magic truly was extraordinary.
After drying off, she expertly clasped on a bra from her new cabinet. The morning air felt different, every sensation heightened and new. She dressed quickly, each garment fitting perfectly, and for the first time, she felt truly herself.
Stepping outside, Joana breathed in the crisp morning air. The world around her was brighter and more vivid. Walking through the familiar streets of Peniche, her heart danced with newfound freedom. She greeted the day with open arms, reveling in her new euphoria.
She walked through the town for almost an hour, skipping in her new feminine footwear. The shoes, delicate and pretty, accentuated the gentle sway of her hips. Each step felt light and purposeful, her movements fluid and elegant. Her dress swirled around her legs, the fabric soft and delicate against her skin.
The gentle breeze played with her hair, making her feel whimsical and free. She noticed the admiring glances from passersby, and for the first time, she felt truly seen. She felt girly, and it was everything she had ever dreamed of—pure, unrestrained joy in her own skin. Everything was calm for a moment, and she was graceful.
The tranquility of the morning shattered as distant cries echoed through Peniche. Joana rushed to the town square, where a terrified messenger relayed the catastrophic news: an earthquake and its tsunami had devastated Lisbon. Peniche bore its own scars—cracked walls and scattered debris testified to the distant disaster's wrath.
Drawn to the untouched chapel, Joana sought solace within its walls. Kneeling, she wept as the price of her desires seemed clear to her. The air turned icy, and Lucian emerged from the shadows, his eyes filled with ridicule. "Joana," he whispered, his voice a cold wind through the sacred space, "Did you actually believe this is the best of all possible worlds?"
Joana stared at Lucian in disbelief, opening her mouth but finding no words to speak. Lucian reached into his pocket, pulled out a rose gold knife, and dropped it onto the church floor with a clatter. The echo of his dress shoes filled the room as he walked away, leaving Joana in shock.
Drawn to the dagger, she picked it up, its cold weight heavy in her tiny hand. With a trembling breath, she plunged it into her heart. Her blood flowed freely, soaking the church floor red.