Chapter 8: The Choice
The void felt different this time. Not just empty, but charged. Nat pulsed with a strange, restless energy. The phantom exhaustion of motherhood still hummed faintly, the biting sting of Anya’s societal battles still sharp. But overlaying it was a raw, almost greedy curiosity.
"It’s… dense, isn’t it?" Nat pulsed, the light swirling within him. "Being a woman. Layers upon layers. The weight, the fight, the joy… it’s complex. Satisfying in ways I never grasped." He paused, the memory of Anya’s fierce pride in her gallery, the defiant "No," echoed louder than the wedding barbs. "But also… exhausting. That constant negotiation."
Siri’s presence shimmered, a warm resonance in the dark. "Indeed. Humanity rarely offers simple paths. Each form, each life, carries its own unique gravity and grace. The potential for fulfillment exists within all, but its shape shifts with the vessel."
Nat pulsed brighter, a decision solidifying. "I want to keep walking this path, Siri. Woman. Definitely." He paused, the image of effortless beauty forming in his mind’s eye. "But this time… I want to design the vessel. I want… ease. Beauty. Not Anya’s sharp edges fighting for space. I want the kind of form that opens doors without needing to kick them down. The kind that draws eyes, admiration… maybe even love, without having to claw for every scrap of respect. Is that… possible?"
A beat of silence stretched, longer than usual. Siri’s resonance held a subtle shift, a nuance Nat couldn’t quite decipher. "Designing your form is always possible, Nat. It is a reflection of intention. A beautiful vessel can grant certain… privileges. But remember, every form invites its own challenges. What you attract may not always be what you desire." Her tone remained gentle, but carried the weight of eons witnessing souls chase superficial keys to happiness. "Shall we begin?"
A point of light blossomed before Nat. Not just a glow, but a three-dimensional silhouette resolving from the void. A female form, sculpted in pure, shimmering energy. Taller than Anya, curves suggesting both strength and elegance. Long limbs, symmetrical features hinted at beneath the light. It was objectively, classically beautiful. A template, waiting for his touch.
"Whoa," Nat pulsed, momentarily speechless. He’d lived lives as men, some handsome, some plain, but he’d never crafted beauty. The power felt intoxicating. He focused, his will shaping the energy. Hair like spun obsidian, falling in a smooth cascade past slender shoulders. Eyes the startling green of sunlit leaves, large and thickly lashed. High cheekbones, a defined jaw softened by a full, naturally rosy mouth. The body refined: waist subtly cinched, hips flaring just so, legs lengthened to runway proportions. Skin like porcelain, flawless. He added touches – a delicate collarbone, elegant fingers, the subtle arch of an eyebrow. Every detail meticulously chosen for maximum aesthetic impact.
He poured his desire into it: Beauty that disarms. Beauty that commands attention and admiration without effort. Beauty that makes people want to love me.
He pulsed his satisfaction. "There. That’s… that’s perfect."
Siri’s voice held a faint, almost imperceptible sigh. "An intention set. The vessel awaits its journey. Prepare yourself, Nat. Remember, perception is a mirror, not always a window."
The void dissolved in a rush of sound and scent.
Sunlight. Warm on his skin. Real skin. He stood on a bustling city sidewalk. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the smooth, unblemished back of his hand. He glanced down – clad in perfectly tailored, impossibly chic linen trousers and a silk camisole that felt like cool water against his new skin. He felt… phenomenal. Sleek. Powerful. An electric current of potential hummed through him. This is it.
He started walking. Confidence radiated from him. He felt heads turn. Subtly at first, then more overtly. A man carrying a cardboard tray of coffees nearly walked into a lamppost. A woman dragging a suitcase stumbled slightly, her gaze lingering. A group of teenagers fell silent as he passed, one whispering, "Holy shit." He caught his reflection in a polished storefront window: the image was breathtaking. He smiled, and the reflection smiled back – a dazzling, radiant thing.
Yes. This is the ease. The adoration starts already.
He decided to lean into it. He entered a sleek, minimalist cafe with floor-to-ceiling windows. The air hummed with quiet conversation and the hiss of espresso machines. He chose a table near the center, aware of the glances following him. He sat gracefully, crossing his long legs. A waiter appeared instantly.
"What can I get for you today?" The young man’s smile was a little too wide, his gaze flickering over Nat’s face and neck.
"Just a sparkling water with lime, please," Nat said. His voice matched the vessel – smooth, melodious.
"Of course. Right away." The waiter lingered a fraction too long before retreating.
Nat pulled out his phone, a slim, expensive-looking device that felt natural in his elegant hand. He pretended to scroll, basking in the subtle buzz his presence created. He saw the sideways looks, the quick nudges between friends. A woman at the next table openly stared, then looked away, flustered, when he met her eye. Adoration. It’s working.
The waiter returned with the water, placing it carefully before him. "Here you go. Can I get you anything else? Pastry? Our croissants are amazing." Again, the lingering look.
"No, thank you. This is fine." Nat gave him a brief, dismissive smile.
He sipped the water, the bubbles tickling his throat. He watched people. A man in a sharp suit glanced over repeatedly from the counter. A group of women at a corner table seemed to be debating whether to approach him. He felt like a rare bird on display. Beautiful. Admired. It was exactly what he’d designed for.
Later, he wandered into an upscale boutique. The sales associate practically tripped over herself to assist him. "That color is stunning on you!" she gushed as he tried on a jacket. "It’s like it was made for you!" He bought it without checking the price. The associate beamed, her eyes wide with the commission.
As evening fell, the city lights glittered. He felt invincible. He walked towards a trendy bar he’d spotted earlier, drawn by the pulsating bass and the promise of a crowd. This was the arena. He pushed open the heavy door. The noise hit him – music, laughter, the clink of glasses. The air was thick with perfume, cologne, and the warm scent of bodies.
He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dim, strobe-lit interior. He saw heads swivel. Conversations paused. A path seemed to clear slightly as he moved towards the bar. He could feel the weight of dozens of eyes. Discreet. Not so discreet. Assessing. Hungry. He felt a familiar thrill. This is the power.
He reached the bar. It was crowded. He waited, projecting an aura of serene confidence. The bartender, a harried woman with tattoos snaking up her arms, glanced his way, then back to the orders she was filling. Nat waited. A man leaned in close beside him, the smell of whiskey strong on his breath.
"Hey there," the man slurred, his voice too loud. "You look… incredible." His gaze raked over Nat, lingering on his chest. "Like seriously. Wow."
Nat gave him a cool, distant smile. "Thank you." He turned slightly away, focusing on the bartender.
The man didn’t take the hint. He leaned closer, invading Nat’s space. "Can I buy you a drink? Something strong? You look like you could handle it." His smile was predatory.
"I’m fine," Nat said, his voice losing some of its melody, gaining an edge. He caught the bartender’s eye. "Sparkling water with lime, please."
The bartender nodded, moving to get it.
The man chuckled, a low, unpleasant sound. "Sparkling water? Come on, gorgeous. Live a little. A beauty like you shouldn’t be drinking water." His hand brushed against Nat’s back, unnecessarily.
Nat flinched, stepping sideways. "I said I’m fine." The ease was evaporating, replaced by a familiar prickle of irritation.
"Don’t be like that," the man pressed, his smile turning brittle. "Just trying to be friendly. You’re too pretty to be standoffish." His gaze was no longer appreciative; it was demanding. Entitled. As if Nat’s beauty was a public commodity he had a right to access.
The bartender slid the water towards Nat. He grabbed it, dropping a bill on the bar. "Keep it."
He turned to leave, but the man grabbed his arm. Lightly, but firmly. "Hey, where you going? We just started talking."
Nat froze. The touch was like fire. Not desire. Possession. His meticulously crafted beauty wasn't a shield; it was a target. It didn't command respectful admiration; it invited entitlement. He looked into the man's eyes – bloodshot, glazed, seeing only the surface he’d designed so carefully. Not Anya’s defiance, not Maya’s fierce love. Just an object. A prize.
The noise of the bar faded into a dull roar. He saw other eyes watching the exchange. Some amused, some indifferent, a few sympathetic but doing nothing. The weight of their gazes wasn't adoration anymore. It was scrutiny. Voyeurism.
He yanked his arm free with more force than necessary. "Get off me."
The man held up his hands mockingly. "Whoa, touchy! Looks like beauty comes with a bad attitude, huh?"
Nat didn’t look back. He pushed through the crowd, the stares now feeling like physical touches. Whispers followed him. "What happened?" "Dude probably got shot down." "She’s stunning, though." "Yeah, but icy."
He burst out onto the sidewalk. The cool night air hit him like a slap. He leaned against the building’s brick facade, breathing hard. He looked down at his beautiful hands, trembling slightly. The expensive jacket felt suddenly garish. The ease was gone. Shattered. Replaced by a hollow feeling and the phantom grip on his arm. The void rushed at the edges of his vision, the bar’s pulsing bass morphing into the infinite silence.
He pulsed, the light within him flickering erratically, a single, jagged thought cutting through the dissolving scene: What the fuck have I done?