Everyone underestimates the diminutive ones. Everyone had always underestimated you. A small, lost little girl, abandoned and left for dead in the city streets when your parents died and you couldn’t cover the perpetually rising rent. The landlord called the cops as soon as you missed the third month: they dumped your few belongings in a trash bag and threw you both out into the pouring rain.

Months passed. You lived off what you could. A year passed. You’d killed someone for the first time, then spent the next hour vomiting into a bush. He deserved it, you told yourself, but it didn’t help. The image of the man with your pocket knife buried in his throat never left your memory.

Another year passed. You killed a few more – never in cold blood, but you were beginning to be numb to it. Enjoy it, even, after the first few times. The variety of ways in which you could kill someone with the same, simple tool. And when it came to whether or not you had food for the evening? You became willing to do just about anything when you were hungry enough.

You’d lost count of exactly how long it’d been when you finally made a mistake. There were two, this time, and the second one had a gun. You’d only just sunk the blade into the closest’s flank when you heard a deafening crack, and your leg fell out from under you. The armed one said something about leaving before the police arrived, but you were more concerned with the fact his friend ran off with your beloved knife.

You tried to stand, to give chase, but fell even harder. This time you noticed the pain, and the wet warmth running down your thigh. You struggled to stop the bleeding, to do anything, but your fingers were already cold and you were already so weak from hunger.

Your heartbeat felt so loud, and as you laid there, everything felt so distant and dim. Before consciousness left you, you heard a woman’s voice.

“Ah, what little thing do we have here?”

You woke with a start. You were…in a bed? A very large, very soft bed, complete with curtains, concealing the details from the room from you. You looked down at your leg. You were…fine, actually. No bandages, no splints, nothing.

“Hello? Am I dead?”

No answer. You cautiously sat up, realizing you were dressed differently too – the pajamas you’re in are so soft, is this silk? Your leg felt fine, and took your weight without issue as you stood up. In fact…you felt better than fine, your body had none of the aches and pains you’d come to associate with living, and even your hands looked pristine and clean – well-manicured, and even the color you’d always dreamed of painting them.

Maybe you really were dead.

You took some time to explore the accommodations and found them equally as rich and well-furnished as the bed and clothes, but still no clues as to where you might be. Heaven? Hell? Some other assorted afterlife of the many spiritualities you’d dabbled in?

A knock at the door interrupted your introspection.

“Come…come in?” You answered, hesitantly.

The door openly smoothly, silently, and a tall, older woman strode through. She was impeccably beautiful – waist-length, raven-black hair, and an imposing presence one would think belongs to a politician or general. When she spoke, her voice felt like ambrosia in your ears – no, wait, deeper than that. It felt like you were healing her voice in your head. In your very being.

“Oh, you’re already up and about! How wonderful, I didn’t think you’d recover that quickly.”

“Who are you…ma’am?” That was weird. You never used honorifics before. Not even for your parents – especially not for your parents.

“You know that already, deep down. Just think,” she said, with a smirk.

…And she was right. You already knew her name. How did you know her name?

“Of course, Miss Arco!” You said, barely even thinking about your response.

“Are you acclimatizing to your body well, Cobalt?” That wasn’t even remotely your name, but…it felt nice. You didn’t feel a need to correct her. Wait, though – body? Acclimatizing? What was she talking about?

Your confusion must’ve been apparent, as she smiled softly and beckoned for you to follow. “Come with me, dear thing.”

She led you down the hall – where the hell were you, some kind of mansion? – and to what looked like a dressing room. A tall, full-length mirror stood in the corner. “What are you waiting for? Go on, dear.”

Ignoring the pet names she insisted on calling you, you stepped up to the mirror.

And screamed.

What looked back at you was barely recognizable as you – at least, the you you had glimpsed in puddles and windows over the past couple of years. This you, the one in the mirror, looked like…the desires you couldn’t bring yourself to admit. You had a small, slender, lithe figure and wavy, blue hair that went just past your shoulders.

Perhaps more alarmingly and yet welcome, you had an extremely feminine figure. Chest, waist, hips…everything you’d dreamt of. There were also small seams on your skin – you didn’t remember having wrinkles there, but your tears were quickly beginning to overwhelm your vision.

“H-h-how did you do this?” You managed to stammer out, before the tears overtook you.

“I can do many things, pet.” She approached, draping her arms around your shoulders. Her touch felt electric – you gasped softly and pressed your back into her warmth. You’d not been hugged in years, she smelled so nice, she felt so nice…

You didn’t question why it felt so right, so natural – you didn’t need to. You just knew.

“Stay with me, and you’ll find out just how much more we can do together.”

Some years passed, and you didn’t really bother keeping count: time seemed to flow together into a swirl when you were with Arco – Miss Arco, as you’d come to call her – and that suited you just fine. Your new body didn’t seem to age, and you were still finding its limits. She was more than happy to help on that front: “finding your Purpose,” she’d called it. It suited you just fine, and the feelings you felt in your belly when she cooed “good doll” and “good girl” at you were more than enough incentive to carry out whatever task of the day she’d assigned you.

Sometimes it was as simple as cleaning the manor. Sometimes she told you to eliminate some man that had offended her – those were some of your favorites. The opportunity to test the limits of the human body against your new, better form and delight in taking some small act of vengeance against the world was too much to pass up.

The best “chores,” though, were when she specifically summoned you to her bed. That was a true test of both your mind and body, as Ms. Arco’s appetite would be generously described as “insatiable and violent.” You preferred things that way. The nights she threw you around and viciously dismantled you before lovingly putting you back together over the course of a few hours were some of the best nights of your life.