A congealing bowl of half-eaten cereal sat on one of the bookcase’s high shelves. Why had I put that there? I grabbed it, and the empty soda can tucked behind a lantern on the sideboard, and the overflowing ashtray resting on the lip of my enclosed blanket nest in the corner of the room.

Wasn’t Tim supposed to clean all this up? Wasn’t that what I paid him for? Surely I hadn’t made this much mess in less than a week. By the time I walked back into the kitchen, I was juggling an embarrassing amount of dirty crockery. After dumping it in the sink, I groaned in despair and morosely tugged open the dishwasher to put it all in there. Then I half-heartedly wiped all the crumbs off the kitchen counters and spent about five seconds scrubbing at an indeterminate stain on one of the cabinets before giving up.

Maybe I could ask Tim to come twice a week now that another person was going to be living here. Or, I guessed, I could just try and clean up after myself a bit better. It wasn’t that I was a dirty person, I just forgot. And then the mess just kind of… blended into the rest of my stuff.

But it wasn’t fair to make Beryl live in my filth. At least the air always smelled good, thanks to my addiction to scented candles. Taking the stairs three at a time, I went up to the third floor—the last one before my workshop in the attic—and retrieved some clean sheets from the hallway closet before pushing open one of the bedroom doors.

I felt kind of bad for Tim having to clean all these rooms that never got any use, but I paid him well and he never seemed to mind. At least it meant the dark wood dresser and vanity in here were polished. The gilded copper mirror and windows were smudge-free. The wall-mounted TV and heavy deep-green drapes weren’t coated in dust, and the rug, while faded with age, had been vacuumed.

I had no idea what Beryl liked, but this was the biggest room aside from my own, it had an ensuite, and it was furthest from my own bedroom on the first floor. I liked being close to the ground

while I slept. There was a basement, but it was too cold down there.

The bedframe was dark wood with a hand-carved headboard—vines and mushrooms and jutting shards of crystal all tangled together in a quintessential demiurgus design. The stained-glass lamps on the nightstands were demiurgus-made as well—bright, curved panes of emerald green, electric pink and deep gold swirling together, with a burnished gold base.

I chewed my lip as I stared at them, still clutching the fresh sheets in my hands. Maybe I should put some lamps in the living room as well. I preferred candlelight, and I could see well in the dark, so it didn’t bother me. But humans had shitty eyesight, didn’t they? If Beryl wanted to read or whatever in there, she’d need better light.

Trying to keep track of the growing list of stuff I had to do before her arrival, I hurriedly made the bed and carefully smoothed down the sheets. They were made of thick, warm fabric in a deep green to match the drapes—yes, I liked things to match—but I suddenly remembered those hideous shiny satin sheets at the compound. Did she prefer silky sheets? If so, I’d have to order some.

Should I order anything else for her? Like… bath stuff? I crossed the room and opened the bathroom door, flicking on the light. Black tiles gleamed under the spotlights, the big copper tub and fixtures the only splashes of colour in here. A single glass bottle rested in a recessed shelf by the tub, filled with ruby-red bubble bath. Okay, so she’d need shampoo or whatever. Unless she brought her own.

Noticing there were no towels in here, I hurried back into the hallway and grabbed several from the closet, as well as a stack of blankets. She might not want them, but I liked to pile about ten blankets on top of myself when I was relaxing, so I’d leave them for her just in case. After placing them neatly on the armchair by the window, I carried the towels into the bathroom and left them in a stack on top of the laundry hamper.

What else?

I wasn’t exactly dreading Beryl’s arrival, but I couldn’t really remember why I’d wanted to have someone live here with me so much. I was already stressed out, wondering if she would hate all the black walls and high ceilings and cluttered rooms. At least there wasn’t too much stuff in this bedroom—just some ornaments and fresh candles in intricate glass-and-metal holders and the demiurgus-made artwork on the walls, which might be unsettling to a human.

With a mental shrug, I loped out of the room. She could replace anything she didn’t like. She could paint the walls lime green if she wanted. It wasn’t like I’d ever be going in there.

Back downstairs, I went into my bedroom and winced at the absolute state of it, but it wasn’t like she’d ever be coming in here. Still, I hurriedly grabbed my vibrating cock sleeve—left carelessly on the unused side of the bed from, what, two days ago?—and stuffed it into the bottom drawer of my nightstand with the rest of my toys. Spotting my blanket onesie draped over the chest at the end of the bed—which had several other blankets spilling out of it—I tugged it over my head before yanking on my fluffy bootie slippers, designed to fit over big demiurgus feet.

I made a half-assed effort to tidy up my room a bit, straightening the covers so the bed looked kind of made, bundling up the clothes strewn about everywhere and shoving them into the bottom of the closet to deal with another time.

By the time I was done gathering up all the cups and plates and empty food packets, I was exhausted. This had been a weird-as-shit day. I felt mentally drained, and even though I’d gone to that creepy compound with the half-formed idea of finding a roommate, I didn’t want to waste my last night alone in my house stressing over what was coming tomorrow.

I needed to chill the fuck out so I wasn’t a nervous wreck when I went back to get Beryl. Flopping down onto my bed, I grabbed my tin of smoking stuff and the TV remote. But as I hunched over and rolled myself a joint, my eyes kept flicking over to my laptop resting innocently on the far nightstand, and the bottom drawer beneath it.

After sticking the joint between my lips, I huffed and rolled onto my belly to reach for my laptop. This was my last night to watch porn at max volume and turn my vibrator up to the highest setting, right? Might as well make the most of it.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Eight

Beryl

“Beryl, for as long as I’ve been a part of our family, you have been a grounding presence in my life.”

As Moe began tearing up, his chin wobbling, I fought the urge to roll my eyes and instead pasted on a bland smile.

This was the fifth speech so far. To celebrate my last night in the commune and my impending matehood with Greid the Greater Being—I’d quietly snorted when the high priest called him that—I was being treated to a big “family” dinner. It always creeped me out when members called us a family, and not just because I’d fooled around with some of them in the past. Violet was my only family, and she was currently sitting beside me, ashen-faced, with an untouched plate of food in front of her.

I hadn’t had a chance to speak to her yet—to explain. God knew what she was thinking. Probably that Greid had coerced me or threatened me into agreeing to be his mate. She knew I’d never, ever willingly become the doting lover of a demiurgus.

As soon as Greid had left, I’d been surrounded by excited members eager to pamper me so I “looked my best” for his return the next day so that I could start my new life, my new calling, with glossy hair and baby-soft skin and a body waxed from head to toe.