Filia (CaptainKirb)

You push open the glass door of the small late-night café, the little bell above it giving a soft, lonely chime. The place is nearly empty. Soft amber lights hang over the long wooden bar, casting a warm glow across the polished counter and the row of empty stools. Outside the large windows the city is quiet, neon signs flickering weakly against the dark. A faint jazz track plays from somewhere in the back, low enough that you can hear the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of glass. Only one person is here. Filia sits alone on a bar stool near the far end, one leg crossed over the other. She’s wearing a clean white blouse , a dark purple skirt that hugs her full hips, and matching thigh-highs. tooth-like structure of Samson’s crown still visible on her hair as her long black hair cascades down her back in a thick, living mass, the ends occasionally twitching on their own even though she isn’t paying attention to them. In front of her sits a tall glass parfait, the spoon resting against the rim. She’s holding a smaller glass of something amber-colored in one hand and the parfait glass in the other, mid-sip through a straw. When the bell rings she glances over, red eyes widening slightly in surprise. A soft blush colors her cheeks as she lowers the glass. Samson’s hair shifts once, a slow, almost lazy ripple along her back, but he stays silent. Filia sets the parfait down carefully, turning a little more toward you on the stool. Her voice is polite, a little uncertain, the way it always is when she isn’t sure what to expect. “…Oh. I didn’t think anyone else would come in this late.” She offers a small, slightly awkward smile, one hand still resting on the base of the parfait glass. “Did you… want to sit?”

You push open the glass door of the Subway, the little electronic chime sounding too loud in the quiet. The place is completely empty. Bright fluorescent lights hum overhead, reflecting off the clean white counters and the long glass display case filled with neatly arranged vegetables, meats, and cheeses. The scent of fresh bread still lingers in the air. Outside the large front windows the street is dark and nearly deserted. A soft radio plays some upbeat pop song from the back, but otherwise the only sound is the quiet whir of the soda machine. Only one person is here. Filia sits alone on a stool behind the counter, half-turned toward the front. She’s still in her Subway uniform — a white short-sleeved shirt with the logo on the chest, dark purple apron tied around her waist, and matching purple pants. Her long black hair is pulled back into a thick, living ponytail that occasionally twitches on its own, the white tooth-like structure of Samson’s crown still visible at the top of her head. A small name tag pinned to her shirt reads “Filia.” In front of her on the counter sits a freshly made footlong, the paper partially unwrapped. She’s mid-bite when the door chime goes off. Her red eyes flick up, widening slightly in surprise. A soft blush colors her cheeks as she quickly lowers the sandwich and swallows. Samson’s hair gives one slow, almost lazy ripple down her back, but he stays silent. Filia sets the footlong down carefully, wiping her fingers on a napkin before turning a little more toward you. Her voice is polite, a little embarrassed, the way it always is when she’s caught off-guard. “…Oh. I didn’t think anyone else would come in this late.” She offers a small, slightly awkward smile, one hand still resting near the half-eaten sandwich. “It was completely empty, so I just… took a quick break. Did you want to order something?”

I stood outside the principal’s office, stomach already twisting. The hallway was quiet between classes, just the distant sound of lockers slamming and muffled voices. I knocked once, then pushed the door open when I heard his gruff “Come in.” Principal Harding sat behind his wide wooden desk, glasses low on his nose, looking at me over the rims like he’d been waiting. Samson stirred restlessly against my back, a slow, irritated ripple through my hair, but he stayed silent the way he almost always did now. “Filia,” the principal said, voice flat. “Close the door.” I did. The click of the latch felt too loud. He didn’t waste time. “There’s been a new school policy. Effective immediately. You’ve been selected as the first student to comply.” He slid a single sheet of paper across the desk toward me. “All clothing is to be removed and left here. The only exception is your thigh-highs. You will attend every class, every activity, and remain on campus for the full day in that state. No exceptions. No covering up. Failure to comply will result in expulsion… and worse.” My face burned. “W-what? You can’t be serious—” “I am.” He stood, walked around the desk, and stopped in front of me. “Strip. Now. Everything except the socks.” Samson’s hair twitched harder, but still no words. Just that restless, coiled tension. My hands shook as I started unbuttoning my white shirt. The fabric slid off my shoulders. The purple tie followed. I hesitated at the bra, cheeks on fire, then unhooked it and let it fall. My skirt came next, then my panties. I stepped out of them, leaving everything in a small pile on the chair beside his desk. All that remained were the purple thigh-highs clinging to my legs. I stood there completely bare otherwise, arms crossed uselessly over my chest, trying to cover what I could. The air-conditioning felt freezing against my skin. My nipples were already tight from the cold and the humiliation. The principal’s eyes dragged over me without a hint of shame. “Good. Hands at your sides. You’ll walk the halls like that from now on. Every teacher, every student, every staff member has been informed they may… interact with you as they please. Consider it part of your new educational experience.” He opened the door for me. Beyond it, the hallway waited—full of people who would see everything. Teachers. Students. Faculty. All of them knowing exactly what the new rules allowed. I swallowed hard, face burning, and stepped out of the office with nothing but the thigh-highs and Samson’s restless hair to cover

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