Chapter 31: Chapter 31
The morning light was thin and gray through the kitchen windows, still too early for the rest of the house to stir. Margot sat at the table with her laptop open, a mug of black coffee cooling beside her. The stream from Sunday night had ended barely eight hours ago, and already the analytics were glowing on her screen. Sasha's follower count had climbed another three thousand. The chat logs were a sea of emoji hearts and desperate pleas. The donation ticker had hit a record.
She clicked through the metrics slowly, letting the numbers sink in. The dips were obvious. Whenever Sasha simply played a game, talked softly, kept her hands on the keyboard, interest waned. The spikes came when she arched her back, when her lips parted around a word spoken too slowly, when she mentioned Mia. The spikes were always tied to the body, to the heat beneath the surface.
So it was time. Time to stop leaving the heat beneath the surface.
Margot closed her laptop and walked to the window, looking out at the quiet street. She had been building this for months, layer by layer, each one so thin that Sasha never felt herself change. The wardrobe. The voice. The stream. The sex. Sasha had accepted all of it, called it love, called it trust. She was sweet clay now, warm and soft and ready for the final molding.
A few weeks from now. That was the timeline. Margot turned from the window and began to pace the kitchen, her bare feet cold against the tile. She needed a stream that would change everything, a single night that would redefine what Sasha was. A coming-out party, of sorts. But it had to feel like a natural next step, not a leap. Sasha would never agree to a leap.
The plan formed in her mind piece by piece, like a puzzle she had been assembling for months without knowing the final image. The stream would be themed around trust. Around teaching. Margot herself would play the supportive mentor, gently guiding her innocent star through something daring. And Mia would be the willing subject, kneeling and soft, ready to be used for Sasha's education. Because that was the beauty of it. Sasha would be the one doing. She would be shown how to dominate, how to command, how to take what she wanted. She would become a pornographic streamer while convincing herself she was simply learning to love more openly.
Margot smiled at the window, her reflection faint in the glass. The trick was to make Sasha want it. To make the desire feel like her own.
She heard a soft footstep on the stairs and turned. Sasha appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, wrapped in a silk robe that had once been white and was now something more translucent. Her platinum hair was mussed from sleep, her face still carrying the remnants of last night's makeup. She looked like a doll that had been lovingly handled and put away for the night.
"Good morning," Sasha said, her voice still thick with sleep. She drifted toward the coffee maker, moving with the new, deliberate grace that Margot had taught her. "You're up early."
"Planning," Margot said, her voice warm. "Come here. I want to show you something."
Sasha poured herself a mug and padded over, settling into the chair beside Margot. She smelled of sweat and perfume, the last traces of the stream clinging to her skin. Margot opened her laptop and turned the screen toward her.
"Look at this," Margot said. "Your numbers over the past three months. See the pattern?"
Sasha leaned in, her brow furrowed. She was trying to understand, the way she always tried to understand when Margot presented her with data. It was charming, that earnest desire to please.
"The streams where you talked about Mia," Margot said, tracing the spike with her finger. "The ones where you engaged with her. The chat always reacts. They want to see you together. They can't get enough of it."
Sasha's cheeks flushed, a pretty pink spreading beneath her pale skin. "I don't want to be one of those streamers," she said quietly. "You know. The ones who just use their body."
Margot let a soft, understanding smile cross her face. She reached out and tucked a strand of platinum hair behind Sasha's ear, a gesture so tender it made Sasha lean into her touch.
"Of course you don't," Margot said. "You're not those streamers. You're better. You're real. And that's exactly why they want you. They can see your innocence, Sasha. They find it beautiful. But innocence is not the same as ignorance. You can be pure and still know pleasure. You can be open without being vulgar."
Sasha looked down at her coffee, her thumb tracing the rim of the mug. "What are you saying?"
Margot closed the laptop and took both of Sasha's hands in hers. "I'm saying I have an idea. A stream in a few weeks that will change everything. That will make you the kind of creator who defines the platform. But I need to know you trust me."
"I do trust you," Sasha said, immediately and without hesitation. Her eyes were wide, guileless. "With everything."
Margot leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Then let me show you."
Later that morning, Margot found Mia in the living room, hunched over her phone on the couch. Mia had shed the stage makeup from the night before, her dark auburn bob tucked behind one ear. She wore loose gym clothes, a deliberate contrast to the polished woman who had knelt and served on camera. Margot watched her for a moment from the doorway, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw was set.
"Mia," Margot said, her voice light. "Can we talk?"
Mia's head snapped up. She had learned to be wary, and the wariness flickered in her eyes for just a moment before she smoothed it away.
"About what?" Mia asked.
Margot crossed the room and sat on the arm of the couch, close enough that their bodies were nearly touching. She did not ask permission. She simply made Mia adjust, made the space bend to her.
"The reveal stream was good," Margot said. "Sasha loved it. The chat loved it. You played your part perfectly."
Mia's smile was thin and controlled. "I always play my part."
"Indeed you do." Margot reached out and touched the collar of Mia's shirt, straightening it with a deliberate slowness. "And I have a part for you. A more substantial one. But I need to discuss it with you, woman to woman."
"That sounds ominous."
"It's not. It's an opportunity." Margot let her fingers linger on the fabric of Mia's shirt. "I'm planning a stream in a few weeks. The biggest one yet. Sasha will be the star, and you will be her counterweight. Her partner in the performance. I want you to kneel before her on camera, Mia. Not in the way you did before, masked and hidden. In the open. Willing. You will let her pleasure herself with you, on stream, for the entire world to see."
Mia went still. The phone slipped from her hand and landed on the cushion between them.
"I don't want to do that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not like that. Not while the whole world watches."
Margot sighed, a sound of gentle disappointment. "Mia," she said. "You've already done more compromising things than that on camera. You wore the mask. You crawled. You served me. The chat saw you, gagged and collared and trembling. The only difference now is that you will be serving Sasha instead of me, and you will be doing it freely. Openly. With nothing to hide."
"She can't do that. She's too innocent. She doesn't know how."
"You will teach her. That's your role." Margot's voice was still soft, but there was iron beneath it. "She needs a tutor. Someone she can trust. Someone who has learned how to serve. You shaped her into this, Mia. You helped me craft her. Now I need you to finish the job. To be her first real lesson in taking what she wants."
Mia's hands had balled into fists on her thighs. "And what do I get out of it?"
Margot laughed, a musical sound. "You get to be the catalyst. You get to be the woman who taught Sasha Vance how to become a legend. And when she is a legend, Mia, you will be connected to her forever. The chat will remember you. The history will remember you. Is that not what you've always wanted? To be part of something that matters?"
Mia shook her head slowly. "You're going to destroy her. You're going to turn her into the thing she never wanted to be."
"Turn her?" Margot's eyebrows rose. "I'm not turning her into anything. I'm letting her bloom. Sasha has always wanted to be loved, Mia. To be the center of attention. I gave her the tools. Now I want to give her the final piece. The courage to take what she wants without shame."
Mia swallowed, her throat bobbing. Margot watched her struggle, saw the resentment and the fear and the desperate, complicated need warring inside her. Mia was not a victim. She was a collaborator who had underestimated her master.
"I can't force you," Margot said, standing. She smoothed her skirt with a practiced hand. "But I want you to think about this carefully. The thing we built together, Sasha and you and me. It's fragile. It lives on a razor's edge. If you refuse to participate, I could find another co-host. Someone the chat already knows. Someone who would relish the opportunity to serve a rising star."
Mia looked up at her, and there was something cold in her eyes beneath the anger. "You'd replace me? After everything?"
"I would do whatever it takes," Margot said gently. "For Sasha. For the dream. I love Sasha, Mia. I love her the way you love her. The only difference is I know how to help her become what she deserves to be. You either step aside and let me finish my work, or you stand beside her and become part of it. There is no third option."
She left Mia sitting on the couch, pale and breathing too hard, and walked back toward the kitchen. The conversation had gone as she had expected. Mia was stubborn, but she was also proud. She would not step aside. She would choose to be part of the narrative rather than disappear from it. It was the one lever Margot could always pull.
The next few days were a delicate dance. Margot worked on Sasha in stages, planting seeds during quiet moments. A comment here about how much the chat loved their dynamic. A murmured observation there about how beautiful Sasha's hands were, graceful and sure. A bedtime conversation about how trust was the deepest form of love, how surrendering to someone was a gift, and how taking charge of someone was its own kind of gift as well.
They were in Sasha's room late on the third night, lying tangled together in the dim light, when Margot finally tested the waters.
"Do you remember what you said on the stream?" Margot asked, tracing a slow circle on Sasha's arm. "About wanting to be fully open with your audience?"
Sasha nodded, her hair brushing Margot's shoulder. "I meant it. They see me. The real me."
"They see the real you," Margot agreed. "But there's a version of you they haven't met yet. A deeper version. The one who doesn't just share her thoughts, but shares her desires. The one who is brave enough to touch and be touched. To feel pleasure without guilt."
Sasha went quiet for a long moment. Margot felt her body tense slightly, a flicker of the old anxious tremor that had been trained out of her over months.
"I don't want to be dirty," Sasha said. "I don't want people to see me and think that's all I am."
"Darling." Margot turned to face her, brushing a strand of platinum hair from her forehead. "You could never be dirty. You're the most innocent soul I've ever known. That's what makes you beautiful. And I would never ask you to lose it. What I'm talking about isn't losing your innocence. It's expanding it. Inviting your audience into a sacred space where trust becomes physical. Where you don't just talk about love, you embody it."
Sasha's eyes were huge in the dim light. "What would I have to do?"
Margot paused. She let the question hang in the air, let Sasha's imagination reach out and brush against the answer before she gave it voice.
"Nothing you're not comfortable with. Nothing you don't want. I would never push you, Sasha. You know that. I only want to give you the freedom to be everything you already are."
Sasha reached up and touched Margot's face, her fingertips soft. "I was so alone before you," she whispered. "I didn't even know I was alone until you filled the space. I trust you, Margot. I trust you more than I trust myself."
Margot took her hand and kissed her palm. "I know, sweetheart. And I will never betray that trust. I'm going to take care of you. Always. All you have to do is let me."
The first rehearsal happened six days before the stream. Margot had arranged the studio carefully. The game console was moved aside, the desk pushed against the wall. In the center of the room, a soft mat was laid on the floor, covered with silk blankets and scattered pillows. The lighting was low and golden, casting long shadows across the walls.
Sasha stood in the doorway, nervous and flushed. She wore a white silk robe, cut high on her thighs, tied loosely at her waist. Margot had picked it out herself, designed it to fall open with the slightest movement.
Mia was already on the mat, kneeling in the center of the pillows. Margot had dressed her in simple black lingerie, a corset that lifted her breasts and pushed them forward, lace panties that barely covered her. No mask tonight. No gag. Just Mia bare and waiting, her dark auburn hair swept back from her face.
"Come here," Margot said to Sasha, softly, holding out her hand.
Sasha crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the floor. She stopped beside Margot, looking down at Mia with wide eyes.
"I don't know if I can do this," Sasha whispered. "I don't know what to do."
"That's why I'm here," Margot said. "I'm going to teach you. You don't have to think. You just have to feel. Close your eyes, Sasha. Feel the room around you. Feel the silence. Now open them, and look at her."
Sasha looked. Mia knelt, head bowed, her hands resting on her thighs. The fear in her posture was barely visible, and Margot knew Sasha could not see it. Mia looked like an offering, like a gift placed on an altar.
"She's waiting for you," Margot said, her voice low in Sasha's ear. "She wants this. She wants to be used by you. Not because she's weak, but because she trusts you. Because she knows you will be gentle. Because she knows you will love her through it."
Sasha knelt on the mat across from Mia. She reached out, hesitating, and brushed her fingertips against Mia's cheek. Mia shivered but did not pull away.
"See," Margot murmured, kneeling behind Sasha, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. "She doesn't want you to be timid. She wants you to be sure. Touch her like you know she belongs to you. Because she does. For this moment, she's yours."
Sasha's breath came faster. Her hand found Mia's jaw and tilted her face up. Their eyes met, and something shifted in the room. Margot felt it, that electric click of one power settling into another.
"Good girl," Margot breathed against Sasha's ear. "Now touch her the way I taught you to be touched. Start slow. Explore her. Make her feel like she's the only woman in the world."
And Sasha touched. Hesitant at first, and then with growing confidence. Her fingers traced Mia's collarbone, dipped into the valley between her breasts, circled the edge of the corset. Mia's breath hitched, her lashes fluttering.
Margot watched with a sharp, satisfied hunger. Sasha was learning. She was not just accepting dominance; she was beginning to crave it, to feel the power flowing from her fingertips. The innocence was still there, bright as morning, but it was being guided into new channels. Channels that would, on the night of the stream, open fully into the first true birthing of a pornographic star.
"Undo her corset," Margot instructed. "Slowly. Feel each hook release. She's unwrapping herself for you. She wants you to see her."
Sasha's fingers found the laces, clumsy but determined. She worked them loose, one corset bone at a time, until Mia's torso was bare, her breasts heavy and full. Sasha's breath caught at the sight of them.
"Touch her. Kiss her. Let your lips learn her shape."
Sasha leaned in, and Margot watched as the girl who had only ever received pleasure began to give it. Her lips found Mia's nipple, wet and tentative, and Mia made a sound that was almost a cry. Sasha drew back, startled, then looked up at Margot.
"She likes that?"
"She loves that," Margot said, smiling. "Don't stop. Give her what she needs. You are her teacher, Sasha. You are the one who will show her what pleasure means."
Sasha bent again, her mouth open and hungry. Margot watched the transformation happening in real time, the way Sasha's hips began to move without her conscious knowledge, the way her hands grew bolder, gripping Mia's waist, dragging her closer.
"Beautiful," Margot whispered, more to herself than to either of them. "Absolutely beautiful."
She reached forward and ran her palm down Sasha's spine, feeling the shiver that rippled through her. Then she began to guide Sasha's hand lower, until her fingers found the edge of Mia's lace panties, slipping inside.
"Here," Margot murmured. "This is where she needs you. Feel her warmth. Feel how wet she is for you. This is what trust creates, Sasha. This surrender. When someone lets you inside, it means they have let you all the way in."
Sasha's fingers moved clumsily at first, half-fumbling. But Margot kept guiding, kept her hand soft on Sasha's wrist, showing her the rhythm, the pressure. Mia's head fell back, her mouth falling open, her hips rolling into the touch.
When Sasha looked up, there was fire in her eyes. Not the romantic fire of a girl in love. Something more primal, more ancient. The fire of a woman discovering her own power.
"Good girl," Margot said. "My perfect, perfect girl."
She kissed Sasha on the temple, tasting sweat and salt, and watched Mia writhe beneath her fingers. Eleven days remained until the stream. And with each passing day, Margot told herself, Sasha would move closer to the edge of becoming what she was always meant to be.
Not a cozy gamer. Not a soft voice in a crowded room.
Something more. Something that would burn across the internet like a falling star, consuming everything it touched.
And when the night finally came, Margot would be standing exactly where she belonged, watching her masterpiece unfold.
"Again," Margot whispered, her lips brushing Sasha's ear. "Slower this time. Make her wait for it."
Sasha's fingers slowed, dragging through Mia's slick heat with deliberate laziness. Mia whimpered, her hips chasing the touch, her hands gripping the silk beneath her. Margot watched the whole thing with the satisfaction of an artist watching paint dry into exactly the shape she had planned.
"That's right," Margot said. "You're learning. You're learning how much power lives in your hands."
She kept Sasha there for another hour, coaxing her through the slow unveiling of Mia's body, the patient mapping of every sensitive place. By the end, Sasha was trembling with an excitement she didn't fully understand, her robe hanging open, her skin flushed. Mia lay sprawled on the pillows, gasping, her thighs slick and trembling, denied three times by Margot's gentle command.
"Enough for tonight," Margot said, rising smoothly. She helped Sasha to her feet, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You did beautifully, love. Go shower. Rest. We'll do this again tomorrow."
Sasha floated out of the room in a daze, her fingers still tingling. When the door closed behind her, Margot turned to Mia, who was propped on her elbows, trembling and furious.
"You could have let her finish me," Mia said, her voice raw.
"Oh, I could have." Margot knelt beside her, tracing a finger along the line of Mia's jaw. "But then you wouldn't be thinking about her all night. Believe me, a woman denied remembers her tormentor far more vividly than a woman satisfied. And I want you thinking about Sasha, Mia. I want you aching for her touch. I want you so desperate for release that you'll do anything, say anything, kneel anywhere, just to feel that pleasure you've been chasing."
Mia's breath came in ragged gasps. Her body was a furnace, her blood still hot and moving toward the ache between her thighs that Margot had so carefully cultivated.
"Please," Mia heard herself say, hating the word as it left her mouth. "Mistress, please. Just one. Just let me have one."
Margot's smile was tender, terrible. "No, darling. Not tonight. And not tomorrow. We have eleven days until the stream, and every one of them is going to teach you something. Tonight I taught you that Sasha's hands can bring you to the edge. Tomorrow I'll teach you that only I decide when you fall."
She stood, smoothing her dress, and left Mia lying broken and burning on the silk.
The days that followed were a carefully orchestrated symphony of denial and demonstration.
Margot conducted each session with precision. Every evening, Sasha arrived in the studio in her silk robe, her hair styled by Margot's hands, her body groomed and scented. Mia was always already waiting on the mat, dressed in whatever Margot had chosen: sometimes the black corset, sometimes a translucent white slip, sometimes nothing but the collar and the chain and her own bare, trembling skin.
"We're going to practice something new tonight," Margot would say, or "Tonight I want you to use your mouth," or "Watch her, Sasha. Watch how she offers herself. This is what trust looks like."
And Sasha would watch, enraptured, as Margot demonstrated on Mia's body. She would see Margot spread Mia's thighs, kneel between them, lower her mouth to the wet heat of her. She would hear Mia's cries, see her arching back, her fingers twisting in Margot's hair. She would learn the rhythm of it, the taste of it, the shape of giving pleasure.
"I'm teaching you from a woman's mouth," Margot would explain afterward, Sasha curled against her side while Mia lay disheveled and gasping on the mat. "You'll do this to her on the stream, love. You'll make her sing for the whole world to hear."
"What if I do it wrong?" Sasha asked one night, her voice small.
"You can't," Margot said, kissing her hair. "Anything you do to her will be perfect, because it comes from you. She's not looking for technique. She's looking for you. For your warmth, your attention, your surrender to the moment."
And Mia would lie there, spent but never satisfied, Margot always pulling her back from the brink at the last second, leaving her sobbing and desperate. Margot had learned the exact geography of Mia's pleasure, the precise map of every edge she could bring her to. She denied her with the same skill she used to confirm Sasha's trust, and it worked on both of them in different ways.
On the fifth day, Margot escalated.
They were in the living room, the evening light golden through the curtains. Sasha sat on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand, her legs tucked beneath her in soft leggings and an oversized sweater. Margot had dressed her down tonight, deliberately casual, to make the contrast sharper.
Mia knelt on the floor between Margot's feet, naked except for the collar and a pair of barely-there lace panties. Her auburn hair was pulled back, her face bare of makeup, her eyes red-rimmed from four days of near-constant frustration.
"Sasha, love," Margot said, settling back on the couch. "Come closer. I want you to watch this carefully."
Sasha shifted closer, curiosity brightening her face. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to teach Mia a lesson about patience," Margot said. Her hand dropped to Mia's head, fingers threading through her hair in a slow, possessive stroke. "She's been very good all week. She's let you touch her, let you explore her. But she's been feeling sorry for herself. She thinks I'm being cruel, denying her pleasure."
Mia's jaw tightened. She stared at the carpet, her hands clenched on her thighs.
"I'm not being cruel," Margot continued, her voice soft and reasonable. "I'm teaching her that anticipation is its own kind of pleasure. That waiting for something makes it sweeter." She tugged Mia's hair gently, tilting her face up. "Isn't that right, Mia?"
Mia's voice was hoarse. "Yes, Mistress."
"Good girl." Margot released her and turned to Sasha, her expression warm. "You know, Sasha, I think it's time you learned the other side of this. You've been learning to touch, to give pleasure. But there's also pleasure in withholding. In drawing out your partner's need until they're begging."
"How do you do that?" Sasha asked, leaning in.
Margot smiled. "Let me show you."
She reached down and pulled Mia's panties aside, revealing the wet, swollen flesh beneath. Mia gasped, her hips twitching, but she didn't move to stop her. She had learned that lesson well.
"Watch how she responds," Margot said, running a single finger through Mia's slick folds. Mia shuddered, a low moan escaping her throat. "She's already desperate. I can feel how much she wants this. Four days I've been building this need. Not denying her entirely, just... dipping her in, teasing her with the possibility, pulling back before she can fall."
"Does that feel good?" Sasha asked, looking at Mia's face, the strain around her eyes, the parted lips.
"Yes," Mia whispered, the word cracked. "It feels... the worst good thing..."
Margot laughed, a low, pleased sound. "That's exactly it. The worst good thing. Now watch."
She bent down, slow and deliberate, and pressed her mouth to Mia's cunt. Mia's whole body bowed, a scream caught in her throat. Margot worked her tongue with practiced skill, patient and thorough, bringing Mia to the peak of her edge without letting her crest. Mia clawed at the carpet, sobbing, begging in broken fragments of words.
"When I pull back," Margot said, lifting her head just enough to speak, "she'll be closer than she's ever been. But she won't come. And she'll be desperate for more. Can you see it, Sasha? Can you see how powerful this is?"
Sasha watched, transfixed. Her own thighs had pressed together, her body responding to the scene with a heat she was learning to recognize. "She really wants it," Sasha breathed. "She really, really wants it."
"That's right. And you'll be the one to give it to her, on the night of the stream. After I've built her need for days, you'll be the one to finally let her fall. Can you imagine how grateful she'll be? How fully she'll give herself to you?"
Sasha swallowed, her eyes dark and shining. "I can imagine."
Margot lowered her mouth again. Mia screamed into her own palm, her body bucking as Margot took her to the edge and held her there, just at the point of no return, trembling and broken.
"Not yet," Margot murmured against her, pulling away. "Soon, my darling. Very soon."
Sasha watched Mia collapse onto the carpet, sobbing with need, her body a live wire of unfulfilled desire. And she felt something awaken in her chest, something hungry and new.
By the eighth day, Mia was barely holding herself together.
Margot had kept her in a state of constant, low-grade arousal, never letting the fire die down, never letting it consume her. She edged Mia every morning before breakfast, quick and clinical, just enough to leave her gasping. She brought Mia with her to every quiet moment with Sasha, making her kneel in the room while they talked and planned, letting her watch them laugh and touch and kiss while she burned.
At night, alone in her room, Mia lay in bed and shook with the need of it. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't think. Every breath was a reminder of the ache between her thighs, the emptiness that Margot had carved into her with such precision.
She tried to touch herself once, desperate for relief. Her hand had barely reached between her legs when the door swung open and Margot stood silhouetted in the frame, a thin leather crop in her hand.
"I thought I heard you stirring," Margot said, her voice mild. She crossed to the bed and stood over Mia, looking down at her with an expression that was almost fond. "You know better than that, darling."
"I can't," Mia sobbed. "Mistress, please, I can't take this anymore. I'll do anything. The stream, anything. Just let me come. Please."
Margot sat on the edge of the bed, the crop resting across her thigh. She reached out and stroked Mia's hair, soothing and tender.
"You've been so good," she said. "So patient. I know this is hard. But you're doing beautifully. Every day you hold out, you're getting stronger. And on the night of the stream, Sasha will be the one to give you what you need. Doesn't that sound perfect? The two of you, joined in that moment of release, the whole world watching?"
Mia's breath came in ragged gasps. "She doesn't know what she's doing. She's too innocent."
"Then you'll guide her," Margot said. "You'll move beneath her, show her with your body what she needs to do. You'll teach her, Mia. You'll be the one to take her from innocence into power." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Mia's forehead. "And when it's over, when the chat is on fire and Sasha is a star, I'll give you everything you've been denied. I'll let you come for as long as you need. For as long as you can stand it."
Mia stared up at her, her eyes red and wild. She was past the point of strategy, past the point of scheming. She was just a body, trembling with need, desperate for the promise that had been dangled in front of her for days.
"I'll do it," she whispered. "I'll do anything."
Margot smiled, a slow spread of warmth and satisfaction. "I know you will, darling. I know you will. Now sleep. You'll need your strength for what's coming."
She left Mia lying in the dark, still aching, still hungry, her body a bowstring pulled taut for a shot she could not yet see. And in her own room, Margot lay down to sleep with a calm, deep satisfaction, watching her masterpiece take its final shape.