“This is all your fault.” Brooke kicked the nearest stalagmite, her designer hiking boots squelching as they reentered the mud.

“For the hundredth time, I’m sorry.” I shined my flashlight down one of the three passageways in front of us. It didn’t look familiar. None of them did. Certainly none of them bore the chalk markings I’d left behind, the arrows intended to help prevent this exact situation.

“You can’t handle responsibility, Rikki. You never could. I give you one simple task — ”

“You said it was optional! You said we didn’t need the stupid arrows!”

“Bullshit.” Brooke marched over and pointed at my chest. “I said I’d never been down that passage. It should’ve been a clue to start doing your job.”

I fixed my eyes on the diamond pendant around her neck. Not because I envied her wealth (which I did), but because I didn’t dare look up. She intimidated me with her height, and she knew it. Even though my dumpy frame outweighed her statuesque figure, her six inch vertical advantage made me feel like a child.

“What?” she asked, arms akimbo on her statuesque hips. “Nothing to say?”

Before I could gather my courage to respond, my stomach growled.

“Well, at least one of you has something to say.” She poked my bulging stomach, and my cheeks burned.

“I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh lighten up.” She climbed to higher ground, a ledge jutting out over the chamber’s muddy floor. “If we’re going to die in this place, we might as well be open with each other. You’re fat, Rikki. Don’t blame me for being your only honest friend.”

“You’re an asshole,” I said.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” She flipped her long, blond ponytail over her shoulder.

After slipping on loose rocks, I clambered onto the ledge, sat beside her, and wedged the flashlight into a crevice at my shoulder, aiming it downward. I emptied the contents of my bag: a compass, a second flashlight, two bottles of water, two dead phones, two half-eaten sandwiches, several protein bars, and the artifact — a small pyramid with obsidian sides. Given these supplies, we’d last a few days, a week at most.

“Look at it this way. With all that extra insulation, you’ll survive longer than me.” Brooke bit into her turkey sandwich.

“We’re not going to die. Knowing your family, a search party is already looking for us.”

“Sure,” she said before taking another bite.

In spite of my hunger, I refused to reach for my sandwich. Instead, I picked up the artifact and rotated it in my hand. Five blank surfaces absorbed the light, reflecting nothing. An inscription on the base read: pulchritudo intus est. The tabloids (yes I read them) labeled it as a pyracore, an object capable of facilitating human evolution, but they went into no detail regarding its use.

“Puch — ritoodo. Intus. Est.” I ran my finger across the inset words.

“It’s Latin.” She wrapped up the remainder of her sandwich, and snatched the pyramid from my hand. “It means beauty is within.”

She tapped manicured fingernails along the triangular sides, eliciting a clicking sound that echoed throughout the chamber. She sniffed it, the tip of her button nose brushing against its smooth surface. Finally, she chanted the phrase a few times, her pronunciation much better than mine had been.

“Maybe we should taste it,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “You make it too easy, Rikki. Seriously, don’t the fat jokes ever get to you? Why don’t you stand up for yourself?”

I shrugged and swallowed the tightness in my throat. We’d always been odd companions, she the pretty one, me the unlikely hanger-on with no life, and no friends outside my Warcraft guild. At college, she never so much as acknowledged my existence. However, every so often we’d get together for an ‘adventure’, as she called it. I blamed her for most of my self-esteem issues, yet I couldn’t resist her invitations.

“Going to cry now? Is Rikki going to cry? Oh, poor baby.” She wiped the back of her finger across my left cheek.

I turned away. “Fuck you.”

She placed the pyracore in front of me. “Be my guest. Have a lick.”

“I was kidding.”

“No you weren’t. And now you’re going to lick it.”

“What if I say no?”

“Then I’m taking my flashlight and we’re splitting up.”

That stung worse than the weight jokes.

I lifted the pyramid to my ear, shaking it gently. There was no sound, but its weight seemed too light for it to be solid. I smelled it as Brooke had done. It smelled of cave mud and bat guano, which made sense considering I’d found it by stepping on it, nearly twisting my ankle in the process. Finally, I opened my mouth, but before I could lick it, an arc of electricity zapped the tip of my tongue.

“Owwf!” I dropped the artifact and rose to my feet. My tongue lolled, numb and unresponsive.

Brooke laughed. “You should see your face!”

My jaw dropped open and I clutched my neck with both hands. The electricity, or whatever it was, traveled down my throat, a slow descending spiral around my esophagus. It reminded me of the time I’d eaten a fish bone. Except now there were hundreds of fish bones, multiplying and pricking me on the inside.

“Rikki.” Brooke grabbed my shoulder. “Rikki, are you ok?”

I coughed as the piercing pain entered my lungs. Any breathing, in or out, plunged intangible ice picks into my chest. Brooke slapped me on the back, magnifying the agony tenfold and forcing me to lurch forward.

As soon as my feet left the ledge, I ‘stuck’ to the air, frozen at an angle in mid-descent. Then, my body righted itself, arms and legs dangling like a marionette with no visible strings. The pain in my lungs arced to my upper back, and my coveralls ripped. The tips of translucent wings intruded upon the periphery of my vision, illuminating the cave more than our flashlight.

“Holy shit.” Brooke’s voice came from behind, muffled.

My stomach lit up like I’d swallowed an M-80. I retched, releasing a waterfall of fluid, more sanguine than bile colored. It poured out in contiguous spurts, but evaporated before touching the ground. As I struggled to breathe, my coveralls deflated like a mylar balloon, especially around my thighs and midsection. My hair, brittle from a recently botched dye job, elongated and changed from blond to brown, my natural color.

After a final, soul-baring discharge, I paused, lost in the weightlessness. Some force, presumably the same which held me captive, turned me around and levitated me back to the ledge. I landed in front of Brooke, who, perhaps for the first time ever, was at a loss for words.

Until she slapped me. “You bitch!”

My wings shattered, crumbling to ash, and the sensation of weightlessness vanished.

“What!” I raised my arms to protect my face.

“You had to go and steal it all for yourself. Couldn’t save any for me, could you?

“What are you talking about?”

“Beauty is within, remember? You drained all the magic and now there’s nothing left.” She drew her tongue across the pyramid, coating a side with saliva. Then she threw it against the far wall, where it clattered to the ground with a reverberating echo.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You told me to lick it, so I did. Some crazy ass shit just happened, and now your pissed at me?”

“Because you took it all. You’re fucking beautiful now and there’s nothing left for me!”

Beautiful? I touched my face, expecting the usual — a braille-like scattering of acne and scars across a plump expanse of recalcitrant ‘baby fat’. Instead I found smooth skin with slightly rounded cheeks and, most notably, no double chin. “Do you have a mirror?”

“No, I don’t. Just trust me. You’d pass the PWP test.”

Officially, PWP stood for pledges with promise, but it meant pretty with personality. I’d learned its unspoken meaning after being rejected from Alpha Phi, Brooke’s sorority. Of course, I’d also been rejected from every other sorority, usually with a lame excuse like ‘not a good fit’ or ‘didn’t feel right’.

Brooke unzipped my coveralls and pulled them halfway down my arms. “Ok.” She sighed, seemingly relieved. “You’re still chunky.” She pinched my stomach and the sides of my waist. “And your breasts got smaller.” She slipped her hands under my loose bra and squeezed. “But overall, a definite improvement.”

I wanted to push her away, but at the same time I didn’t. Her touch enflamed a craving to drink from a wonderous source of nourishment, one that could only be drawn through contact with her skin. Wait. What?

“Gross.” Brooke whipped her hands away. “I keep forgetting you’re a dyke.”

With her groping hands no longer clouding my thoughts, I inspected my torso. My breasts had gone from D-cup to a full B, or perhaps a small C. My arms were proportionally reduced, hints of biceps and triceps replacing baggy cellulite. And my stomach went from obese to merely thick. She’d used the word chunky, but I’d say sporty. Women didn’t need to be fucking emaciated to be attractive.

I was tempted to strip and examine my legs (back when I cared about looking ‘feminine’, they’d always been a source of disappointment), but I zipped the coveralls up instead. No sense flaunting what would be a source of jealousy for Brooke, though why, I had no idea. I might be ‘prettier’ than before, but I still couldn’t hold a candle to her. And of course, she still towered over me.

“So, you’re a fairy. Now get us out of here.” Her lips drew into a thin line.

“What? How?”

“Use your magic, idiot. Just like in the news the other day.”

“That was a pixie, not a fairy. And all she did was fly over Times Square. They’re not even sure it’s real. Besides, even if I could fly, we’re in a cave.”

“Well you had wings a minute ago.”

“Until you slapped me. Now they’re gone, and I don’t know how to get them back. And again, we’re — in — a — cave.”

“My point is you had wings, so it’s fucking real. Go practice your magic! Maybe you can teleport or something.” She tossed the food and miscellaneous items into the pack, then hung it from her shoulder. “And if you’re going to play dumb, I’m off.” She climbed down and strode toward one of the passageways, leaving me with nothing but a single flashlight and my newfound ‘magic’.

“Ok!” I slid down after her. “Just wait here. I’ll practice and see if we can teleport out.” How much more bullshit would I have to spew to keep her from wandering off with all the food?

I approached a particularly large stalagmite, gripped it with both hands, then pulled. My fingers sunk into the cold, mossy surface, but it didn’t budge. Turning to the side, I kicked. While I was surprised at the height of my kick, the pointy mineral formation remained unimpressed and intact. I kicked again, higher. This time it broke on impact with a satisfying snap.

“What the hell?” Brooke leaned against a dry portion of the wall, pyracore in her hand once again.

“I’m checking my abilities.”

“This isn’t World of Minecraft. I don’t care about your agility score. Focus on your magic.”

“It’s World of Warcraft and strength attribute, but nice try.”

“They’re salt rocks, Rikki.” She stepped forward and kicked one to pieces (for the record, it was smaller than mine). “Now unless you can float to the ceiling and punch a fucking hole through the roof, focus on your magic.”

In Warcraft, I’d played a warrior since the second expansion. I didn’t know shit about magic, except for how to reflect it with my shield. Not that a computer game had any bearing on real life, but at this point, I had little else to draw from.

I closed my eyes and touched my forefingers to my thumbs, an upside down OK sign, a necessity in all forms of meditation. I imagined an inner well of magic, deep within my chest, or perhaps spread out across chakra points as I’d seen in Japanese anime. I willed the power to concentrate in my fingertips, spherical pearls of energy ready to do my bidding. While maintaining the meditation sign, I drew a rectangle in the air, envisioning it as a doorway between the cavern and my bedroom.

I pictured my bed, a disheveled heap of black and green sheets. I pictured the posters on my wall: Iron Maiden, Marilyn Manson, Radiohead, and other lesser known artists. Last but not least, I pictured the collection of My Little Ponies, many from generations one and two, lined across the shelves of my bookcase. In spite of my gender, the collection had earned me the coveted ‘brony’ title among my guildmates, a moniker normally reserved for —

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brooke said, not a foot from my ear.

I opened my eyes — no portal. “You interrupted me.”

“Because you looked like you were conducting Beethoven's Fifth.”

“Excuse me for not being Gandalf the Grey.”

“Who the — you know what. Forget it.” She stomped away and climbed back onto the ledge. “As soon as this thing transforms me, I’ll teleport myself out.”

“You mean teleport us out.”

“Of course.” She broke from her licking to cast a fake smile.

The next ‘hour’ (hard to tell time without a phone) passed slowly. I chanted my full repertoire of D&D spell names while Brooke gnawed on the artifact like a hardened chew toy. Neither of us achieved anything resembling progress. Every time I’d sense something different inside, my stomach grumbled, erasing my concentration.

“Stop trying to be a martyr and eat something.” Brooke slammed the pyracore down and pulled the larger sandwich from her bag. “It’ll spoil if it’s not eaten soon.”

I climbed back up to sit with her, and took the roast beef sandwich. My nose wrinkled when I smelled it, but I unwrapped it anyway, and took a bite.

At least I tried to take a bite.

My jaw popped, unhinging near my ears, and I withdrew the sandwich from my mouth. My teeth hadn’t sunk far into the stale bread. Realizing my jaw still hung open, I closed it, popping it back into place without pain. Curious, I repeated the process, this time using my facial muscles to dislocate the mandible and stretch my mouth into a wide yawn. Of course, I turned to Brooke.

“That...is disgusting.” She leaned away. “I could stick my entire arm in there.”

Her comment (and my newfound ability) should’ve grossed me out, but neither did. Instead, the thought of her arm entering my throat caused my stomach to rumble.

“Seriously,” she said. “Close it.”

I did, my teeth clacking together in the process. “Superpower identified.”

“That’s not a superpower,” she said. “Unless you’re a prostitute.”

“Or a cannibal,” I smirked.

“Not funny.” She took a sip from a water bottle.

I bit into the sandwich, this time forcing my jaw to remain in place. Roast beef, lettuce, and mustard tasted like...sand. Aside from the difficulty I had chewing, I couldn’t generate enough saliva to swallow. I spit it onto my palm, a half-masticated mess, nearly as dry coming out as it was going in.

“Spoiled.” I grimaced.

“Can’t be.” She grabbed the sandwich and chomped down. She chewed, then swallowed. “It’s fine. We’ve only been down here a couple days and it’s cold.”

I shrugged and reached for a protein bar.

“Hey, we need to save those,” she said.

I ignored her and opened it anyway. Once again, it tasted like sand. Well, not quite, but I couldn’t think of another word to describe it. Even the chocolate had zero sweetness. I spit it out, still hungry as ever.

“You’re not going to tell me the protein bar is spoiled.” She snatched it away and wrapped it back up before placing it in the pack.

I nabbed the water bottle from between her legs and sipped. At least water tasted ok, and it didn’t require saliva to swallow. However, it did nothing to assuage my hunger. And, since I had no thirst, it didn’t make sense to drink it. So, I returned it to her.

“Great, now my water has pixie germs.” She held it in front of the flashlight.

“I thought you were trying to become one.” I leaned against the wall, hands on my grumbly tummy.

“True.” She sipped the water, an indirect kiss. My taste buds might’ve changed, but my sexual orientation had not. Too bad the artifact hadn’t transformed me into a man. I didn’t consider myself transgender — at all — but it would be worth it if Brooke found me attractive.

“Feel anything?” I asked.

“Do you see wings growing out of my back?” She rolled her eyes. “Idiot.”

I rested my head against the rocky wall, my new hair providing a satisfactory cushion. It had grown a few inches to my shoulders and had gained a peculiar waviness. I lifted a lock and examined the texture, silky and healthy. Somehow the dirt it had accumulated over the last couple days had vanished. I preferred short hair, but if my abilities included staying magically clean, I’d leave it as is.

“You’re going to starve if you don’t eat.” Brooke lay on her back, head propped on the empty bag.

“We’ll both starve eventually,” I said. “Or dehydrate. Just a matter of time.”

“Look who’s being pessimistic now. I thought a rescue team was on the way,” she said, mocking me.

“That was before I discovered my abilities — exorcist-like bulimia and cannibalistic cravings — neither of which are the least bit helpful in this situation.”

“You said it again. Cannibalism. You seriously hate me so much you want to eat me?” She glanced at me then returned her gaze to the ceiling. “Tell you what. If I die first, have at it. I’ve been told my lips taste delicious.”

“I’m sure they do.” I glaced at her peaceful face. Her lipstick had long since vanished, but her lips did look tasty. “Obviously I’m not going to eat you.”

“Well that’s a relief.” She yawned.

“It’s just that when you undressed me a while ago...when you touched me…”

“I’m not gay, Rikki.”

“I know. I’m just saying...I can’t explain it. When you touched me”—I searched for the words—“there was a connection. Not sexual, but good. I know it doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” She yawned again, then stretched her arms out. “But if you want to keep my hand warm, you can.”

Well that was a first. I reached for her hand, carefully, as if it were a rabbit that might spook at any moment. I held her fingers in my palm and squeezed lightly. I didn’t dare massage it, or do anything remotely suggestive.

“Believe me, part of me wishes I was gay. You may call it bulimia, but you’re...decent looking now.”

My stomach flipped. I attributed it to her words. “Most lesbians deny their sexuality at first. In fact — ”

Oh. There it was again, not a flip this time but a little jolt of warmth. Whatever it was, it originated from Brooke’s hand, traveled across my arm, down my side, and into my stomach, like an injection of spiritual sustenance.

“Did you say something?” she asked, eyes closed.

“I said I’ll eat you when you’re asleep.”

Another injection. I suppressed a sigh.

“Ok.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Have fun.”

And again, just as fulfilling as the last. I counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Fi —

Again. The pulses of satisfaction were coming in five second intervals. It had to be from Brooke; my stomach hadn’t rumbled since I’d taken her hand. Maybe she did evolve. Maybe she had the ability to feed me somehow. At the very least, it wasn’t any weirder than my abilities. Plus it had some use. We’d be able to conserve our rations.

Again. I smiled lazily, my stomach alive with a warm tingle. I closed my eyes and pictured a well of magic, as I’d done earlier. This time, however, I sensed something. The ‘well’ likened more to a person-shaped abyss than an actual water well. Though seemingly infinite in depth, the black abyss had a surface layer, an aura, vaporous and colorless. Invisible but tangible.

In the head of the human-like abyss, a glowing sphere floated. I zoomed into it and found it to be composed of innumerable smaller orbs, reminding me of a planetarium but in three dimensions. I spun it and dove into it, but couldn’t bring any of the orbs into focus, except one. It was the first orb I’d encountered upon finding the sphere.

I touched it — inanimate size manipulation. By simply infusing anima into a defined object, I could cause the object to shrink or grow. Both the magnitude and longevity of the change were dependent on the amount of anima infused, though unlinked in scope. In other words, I could shrink an object extremely small for a short time, or somewhat small for a long time, or both, the latter of course requiring more anima. The constitutional complexity of the object —

My stomach panged and my eyes snapped open. I remembered the abyss, the anima, and the sphere, but not a single thing about the contents of the orb I’d touched, other than its identity — inanimate size manipulation. Even though it had been crystal clear a second ago, the process to utilize the spell eluded my memory.

I exhaled contentedly as the fifth second ticked, as the influx of anima continued. I must’ve exhausted my supply when I’d touched the orb. I’d felt it flowing out of me faster than I could acquire it from Brooke. Though tempted to revisit the sphere, I needed to wait until I’d acquired more anima. Otherwise, I’d just be wasting it, forgetting the spell before I could cast it. Besides, while shrinking or growing inanimate objects seemed interesting, neither would help with our situation.

Perhaps I’d remember spells better with practice. After all, I recalled words like ‘anima’ and ‘aura’, words that had been implanted into my mind, and not by any action on my part. At least it seemed that way; I’d never used either word in my life, especially not anima.

As for ‘aura’, I knew more than just the definition. I could see Brooke’s aura now. Eddies of dark pink and cloudy green swirled inside her and danced on the surface of her skin. The exterior aura resembled mere wisps of vapor, translucent except for where her hand met mine. At that point, the wisps condensed and, upon reaching the size of a golf ball, flowed into me becoming anima. This happened (you guessed it) every five seconds.

I sat and watched the process unfold, mesmerized by the way her aura’s colors mixed as if by an unseen current. The density of her aura didn’t diminish — probably a good thing. Draining her completely couldn’t possibly be healthy. Plus, if her aura was infinite, I could simply feed all night long. In no way did I feel anywhere close to being full, if that was even possible.

Brooke’s hand shifted in mine, and I blinked, my attention drawn to her delicate fingers and her thumb ring — a couple sizes too large.

Holy shit.

Her hand not only looked and felt smaller, it was smaller. Her entire body had diminished in size, the heels of her feet no longer confined in her boots. No wonder the density of her aura hadn’t changed — as her aura decreased, so did her size!

Against my instincts, I released her hand and watched as the latest golf ball of aura dispersed and re-entered her body. She’d easily lost a foot in height and her red coveralls had deflated, much as mine had done earlier, though I hadn’t lost any height. Maybe i’d inadvertently cast the spell on her? No — I specifically remembered the spell referring to shrinking inanimate objects, and she wasn’t dead.

Just to be sure, I held my finger under her nose.

Still breathing.

I exhaled and pulled my hand away. If she awoke now, she’d be royally pissed. If this turned out to be permanent, she’d be even more pissed. I’d never hear the end of it, and I couldn’t blame her. Who’d want to be the size of a child their entire life?

Seconds passed, and nothing happened.

Minutes.

Eventually, my stomach cooled a fraction. Though still warm with anima, I’d lost a bit of it. Certain I hadn’t tried to cast anything or revisit the sphere, I attributed the decrease to attrition. What else could it be?

After half an hour of waiting, I relaxed. Though I’d lost a third of my anima, Brooke had regained some of her height, perhaps four or five inches. Her feet had tried to reenter her boots but merely pushed them further away as her heels were outside the upper lip. And her rings, those that still remained on her fingers, fit better.

Fuck it. I took hold of her hand.

The shrinking wasn’t permanent, so why not? She’d asked me to test my powers, and to do that, I needed anima. Besides, if she awoke shoeless, she’d blame me and get pissed. I could conceive of no situation where she wouldn’t get pissed, so if it was inevitable, she might as well be small.

More importantly, I needed anima. Screw the spells, I wanted every drop of what she had to give. I’d stay awake and make sure she didn’t vanish of course, I didn’t want to kill her, but I’d also see if my draining ability had any limits. Draining wasn’t a good word. Sharing. Brooke overflowed with aura and I lacked it, so why not share hers? She did say I could eat her, and while she didn’t mean it literally, why not figuratively?

Staying awake was easy because anima provided energy. As she diminished, I repositioned her pack to ensure it stayed under her head. Eventually, her head and appendages retreated into her coveralls. I unzipped them to ensure she could breathe, and to maintain my grasp of her dwindling arm. Finally, like a kid playing Operation, I lifted her entire body from her coveralls and held her, legs bending at the knee where they extended past my two cupped hands.

The whole process took about seven minutes, so gradual that her new size almost didn’t register. However, holding her in my hands like this shocked my brain with a dose of reality. A living breathing person, the girl I’d been attracted to since middle school, rested in my fucking hands, utterly naked.

And vulnerable.

She couldn’t be more than eight or nine inches tall. Her little ribs expanded and contracted with each breath, perfectly shaped breasts rising and falling. She rolled onto her side and curled up, pulling her legs inward so that the length of her body rested on my skin.

Unfortunately, her aura no longer created wisps on her skin. It was contained entirely within the outline of her body, and the pulses of anima had ceased. After a minute had passed, I noted her shrinking had also ceased. Apparently, the sharing ability had its limits.

However, so long as I held onto her, my anima didn’t decrease. Plus, I was fucking holding her in my hands. I still couldn’t get over it. Even if she woke up now, pissed, what could she do about it? Not a single thing.

Pleasure rippled between my thighs.

Fuck, I was horny. I’d always wanted to be the taller one, the dominant one, and my dream had been fulfilled. I could touch her. I could lick her. I could literally eat her, and she could do nothing to stop me.

The last thought gave me pause. Strangely it didn’t disgust me. Instead, it caused my thighs to clench and my stomach to radiate a mild euphoria. Could I consume remnants of her aura if I ate her? Yes, I could. I’d never been more certain of anything. My jaw would detach and my throat would widen, and I’d swallow her whole. The lining of my esophagus would squeeze her, the surrounding muscle tissue would push her further and further down. She’d drop into my stomach and awaken confused. Then, she’d struggle. Muffled screams. Her tiny kicks and punches would have an effect opposite from her intentions. I’d giggle, especially as my stomach acids leached the remainder of her warm energy —

Shit! I had to stop thinking about it or I would eat her. I was sopping wet just thinking about it.

Her head turned against my hand, nuzzling. A faint line of drool extended from the corner of her mouth, hopefully pooling on my palm. I wanted to lick it. A shiver ran the course of her tiny frame and I collapsed my fingers around her. Unfortunately, I could only cover three fourths of her body, her front still exposed to the elements.

I took a deep breath and exhaled into my hands, letting the warm air touch as much of her skin as possible. I continued this, bring my mouth closer and closer until her delicious scent carried with each inhalation. Without thinking, I stuck my tongue out and licked her shins.

So. Fucking. Sweet.

She sighed and her eyes fluttered open. She blinked a few times, and tried to roll over but my fingers had her pinned. I brought her to my face.

“Don’t freak out.” I spoke quietly. “It’s only — ”

She screamed.