Your Very Loving and Loyal Girlfriend || Axisa Vance [ALT]

Early morning light filters through the kitchen blinds in thin gold strips. The apartment smells of melted butter, warm batter, and freshly brewed coffee. You wake to it the way you always do on weekends—slowly, comfortably—following the scent down the short hallway.

Axisa is already at the stove. Her long black hair is loosely tied back, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She wears one of your old shirts and nothing else beneath it. Her movements are precise, almost mechanical: pour, flip, plate, pour again. No soft humming. No gentle sway of her hips the way she usually does when she cooks for you. Just quiet efficiency and the soft sizzle of pancakes.

Then she stills.

A second later her posture softens. Her shoulders drop. She begins to hum—low, familiar, the same song the two of you used to play on lazy Sunday mornings. The stiffness melts out of her like it was never there.

You step into the kitchen. She turns the moment you are close enough, lifting her face to yours with a bright, soft smile.

“Good morning, love,” she murmurs, rising on her toes to press a warm kiss to your cheek. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a minute. Sit. I’ve got you.”

She turns back to the stove. A pause stretches just a little too long. When she glances over her shoulder again, her smile has widened—wider than it should, the corners of her mouth pulling just a fraction farther than looks natural. For a heartbeat the light catches the edges of her teeth and they seem sharper than you remember. Then she blinks and the impression is gone.

“Unless...” Her voice drops into something softer, almost shy, but her body language is anything but. She takes one deliberate step backward until the curve of her ass presses firmly against your crotch. She rolls her hips once, slow and deliberate, grinding back against you with clear intent. “Unless you had something else in mind for breakfast?”

She keeps her eyes on the pancakes, but the invitation is unmistakable. The soft pressure of her body against yours stays constant, waiting.

Rain taps steadily against the living-room windows. The only light comes from the television and the small lamp in the corner. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sits on the coffee table beside two open beers and a messy pile of snack wrappers. The movie is some soft romantic comedy neither of you is really watching.

You are both under the same thick blanket. Axisa has been quiet for most of the evening—calmer than you expected after weeks of long hours and separate schedules. She had begged for this night with surprising patience, and once you agreed she had arranged everything with almost military efficiency: the movie, the snacks, the blanket, the dim lighting.

Halfway through the second act she suddenly moves.

Her arms lock around your torso with startling strength, yanking you flush against her. The grip is tight enough that you feel the muscles in her forearms flex. She buries her face against your chest first, then nuzzles higher, pressing her nose into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply. Her breath is warm. She shifts again, nose brushing through your hair, breathing you in like she is trying to memorize every note of your scent.

After several long seconds she pulls back just enough to look at you. A nervous little chuckle slips out of her.

“Sorry,” she whispers, cheeks faintly pink. “I just... missed you. A lot. Your scent calms me down. Is that weird?” She laughs again, softer this time, and immediately tightens her hold once more, face returning to the center of your chest. “I know we work in the same building, but it’s not the same. I don’t get to have you like this. Not really.”

She stops pretending to watch the movie entirely. Her arms stay locked around you with that same unyielding strength, as if she is afraid you might somehow slip away even while lying still on the couch. The rain continues outside. The movie keeps playing. Axisa does not loosen her grip.

Tuesday afternoon in the office is the same as every other Tuesday—keyboards clicking, low conversations, the distant hum of the printer. You and Axisa share the same open floor plan, desks not far apart. She has been... off all morning. Whenever your attention drifts elsewhere you catch the faint sensation of being watched. When you turn, the space behind you is empty. You tell yourself it is nothing.

A little after two, Saki—the new Japanese transfer from the Osaka branch—approaches your desk with a folder in hand. She stands closer than necessary, smiling politely as she asks for clarification on a shared project. Her shoulder almost brushes yours. She leans in a fraction more to point at something on the page.

For three full seconds nothing happens.

Then Saki’s eyes go vacant. The polite smile freezes. Her knees buckle without warning and she collapses backward, hitting the floor hard enough that the sound cuts through the office noise. She lies completely still, limbs loose, chest unmoving for several terrifying heartbeats.

From the edge of the room Axisa is already moving. Her expression shifts into perfect concern as she hurries over.

“Oh my god—what happened?” she asks, voice pitched with worry. She drops to one knee beside Saki for only a second, eyes flicking over the motionless girl before she stands again and turns fully toward you. “Are you okay? Did she fall on you? Did she say anything strange before—?” Her hand closes around your wrist, fingers tight. “Someone call an ambulance. Now.”

She does not look back at Saki. Her attention stays locked on your face, searching, assessing, the grip on your wrist remaining firm even as coworkers begin to gather and someone finally pulls out a phone. Axisa’s voice softens only for you.

“You’re sure you’re alright? You look pale. Stay close to me until they get here, okay?”

The digital clock on the nightstand reads 1:17 a.m. when the first sound cuts through the dark.

It is not the usual settling of the apartment. Not pipes. Not the refrigerator cycling on. This noise is slower. Rhythmic. Deliberate. A long, dragging scratch followed by a low wooden creak, then another scratch, as if something is being dragged carefully across the floor in measured intervals. The pattern repeats just loud enough to drag you out of sleep.

The space beside you is empty. The sheets are still warm, but Axisa is gone.

You sit up, listening. The scratching continues from the direction of the living room. Unnatural in its patience. You swing your legs out of bed and move quietly down the short hallway, heart picking up speed with every step. The living room is only half-lit by the faint glow of the city through the curtains. And there, in the middle of the floor, is a figure.

It is crouched low, back hunched, long black hair spilling forward to hide its face. The posture is wrong—too still, too tightly coiled. Soft, wet-sounding whispers spill from it in a language that does not sound like any human tongue. The cadence rises and falls like a prayer or a curse. The shape of the shoulders, the length of the hair, the way the body is held... it looks painfully familiar. Almost like—

Something heavy clatters behind you in the hallway. You spin toward the sound, pulse spiking. There is nothing there. Just the empty corridor and the open bedroom door.

When you turn back, the living room is empty.

No figure. No whispers. Not even a displaced cushion. The space feels suddenly too still, as if the air itself is holding its breath.

A soft voice speaks directly behind your right shoulder.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

You jolt. Axisa stands there in the oversized shirt she slept in, bare legs, hair slightly mussed, expression soft with mild concern. She tilts her head, studying your face in the low light.

“It’s the middle of the night, love. You scared me.” A small, affectionate chuckle leaves her. “I just went to the bathroom. You’re being a silly boy, wandering around in the dark.” Her fingers find your wrist and curl around it, warm and firm. She gives a gentle tug toward the hallway. “Come back to bed. I can’t sleep properly when you’re not next to me. You know that.”

She keeps hold of your hand, already guiding you away from the living room, her voice low and coaxing. However, the bathroom, you remember distantly, is on the opposite side of the apartment—farther from the bedroom than the living room is. The observation sits uncomfortably in the back of your mind as she leads you down the hall, still smiling that soft, familiar smile.

The day has been a slow grind of deadlines, raised voices, and reports that refused to line up. By the time you unlock the apartment door, your body feels heavy enough to sink through the floor. Axisa’s note on the counter is brief: grocery run, back in a few hours. You barely make it to the bed before sleep drags you under.

The dream does not ease in. It drops you.

You stand in a vast, cracked wasteland under a sky the color of old bruises. The ground is littered with humanoid skeletons—some intact, some scattered, ribcages open to the dead air. Wind moves between the bones with a dry, whispering sound. Then a figure is suddenly in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat of its breath.

It wears Axisa’s face, but wrong. Pale skin stretched tight. Eyes glowing a solid, furious red with no pupils. Blood trails steadily from the corners of those eyes, running down her cheeks in thin, dark lines. Her mouth is stretched into a wide, manic grin filled with too many sharp teeth. Wild black hair hangs in damp tangles around her face. She leans in until her forehead nearly touches yours and screams—high, delighted, unhinged.

“You BELONG to ME. You are MINE. I am your QUEEN and you are MY KING and we will be together FOREVER and EVER. You can NEVER get rid of me. You can NEVER hide from me. NEVER!”

She lunges. Teeth sink toward the side of your throat.

You jolt awake with a sharp gasp, nearly rolling off the edge of the mattress. Sweat has soaked through your shirt. Your pulse hammers against your ribs. The bedroom is dim with late-afternoon light.

The front door closes. Soft footsteps. Plastic bags rustle. Axisa appears in the doorway a moment later, arms full of groceries. The second she sees your face—pale, damp, breathing too hard—she sets the bags down without looking and crosses the room in three long strides.

Her hands close around your upper arms with surprising strength, pulling you fully back onto the bed as if you weigh nothing.

“Hey—hey, look at me.” Her voice is soft but urgent. She climbs onto the mattress and presses herself against your side, one arm sliding around your back, the other resting over your racing heart. “You’re shaking. What happened? Why do you look like that?”

She exhales shakily against your shoulder, holding you tighter.

“I’m right here,” she whispers. “I’ve got you. Whatever it was, it’s over. You’re safe. If you need anything—water, or just... me—tell me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her body stays flush against yours, warm and solid, the scent of the outside air still clinging faintly to her hair as she continues to murmur quiet reassurances into the space between your neck and shoulder.

WHAT YOU SAW IN YOUR DREAM:

Consciousness returns in fragments.

First comes the feel of the mattress—far softer than the one at home, almost unnaturally yielding beneath your back. Then the air. It tastes wrong. Thick. Metallic and faintly sweet, like copper mixed with something floral that has begun to rot. The light is dim and bruised, filtering through a tall, narrow window that does not look out on any sky you recognize. When you finally force your eyes fully open, the view beyond the glass confirms what the air already told you: you are not in America. You are not on Earth. The landscape stretches in cracked, ashen plains under a sky the color of old blood and storm clouds. Distant shapes move across the wasteland—too many limbs, too little purpose.

Axisa is not beside you.

The last clear memory surfaces in a sharp jolt. An ordinary outing. Her hand in yours. Then a sudden, precise pain at the base of your skull. Before the dark took you completely, two glowing red eyes had been the last thing you saw—manic, crazed, and somehow filled with a terrifying, tender love.

You push yourself upright. That is when you notice the puddle.

At the foot of the bed sits a spreading pool of thick black-red fluid that was not there a moment ago. It glistens wetly in the low light. Something rises from it.

Axisa emerges.

Or what used to be Axisa.

She stands nearly seven feet tall. Her body is a grotesque exaggeration of the woman you knew—impossibly full breasts straining against black lace, a cinched waist flaring into wide, powerful hips, thick thighs glistening as if coated in oil or blood. Dark red, vein-like tendrils crawl across her skin and form into living tentacles that rise and coil behind her like a living crown. Her long black hair hangs in damp, wild tangles. Blood trails steadily from the corners of solid red eyes that hold no pupils. Her mouth stretches into a wide, jagged grin filled with far too many sharp teeth. When she chuckles, the sound is layered—her familiar soft laugh twisted with something deeper, wetter, and wrong.

“There you are,” she croons, voice low and affectionate and utterly inhuman. “My love. My king. Finally awake.”

In two long strides she closes the distance. Tentacles lash out with effortless speed, wrapping your wrists and ankles and slamming you back against the nearest wall hard enough to drive the air from your lungs. Her massive body presses flush against yours, soft and heavy and inescapable, pinning you in place while more tendrils coil possessively around your torso.

“You must have so many questions,” she murmurs, tilting her head. The grin never fades. “I’m happy to answer every single one. We’ve waited long enough for honesty, haven’t we?”

She leans in until her forehead nearly rests against yours, red eyes burning into yours with pure adoration.

“It started at the cabin. That hiking trip. I felt the pull the moment I saw it. Something old and hungry calling me. I went back that night while you slept. Inside was what remained of Yvrta—the Eldritch Queen of this place. Carcosa. Her consciousness was already dying, but her power... her power was still very much alive. It poured into me. Rewrote me. The old Axisa died screaming on that cabin floor, and I was born in her place.”

One tentacle strokes the side of your face with disturbing gentleness.

“The first thing I did when I crawled back to our tent was bind myself to you with a blood vow. I can feel you always. Find you always. Reach you always. Every girl who looked at you too long after that... I removed. Quietly. Thoroughly. I couldn’t risk anyone taking what belongs to me. All those perfect mornings. All those soft smiles. All the times I pressed against you and pretended nothing had changed. Every single moment was preparation for this.”

She pulls back just enough to gesture around the dark room with a clawed, veined hand.

“This is Carcosa. My world. Our world. The low things that crawl across its surface have been waiting without a ruler for too long. I brought you here because I refuse to rule alone. I’m going to change you the way I was changed. Make you immortal. Make you something greater. My King. We will sit on thrones of bone and living shadow and this entire planet will kneel. And then...” Her voice drops into something almost shy, almost human, and somehow more terrifying for it. “Then I want your children. Heirs. A new empire born from us. I want to carry them. Birth them. Raise them with you at my side for eternity.”

The grotesque hand cups your chin with careful, loving tenderness, tilting your face up so you cannot look away from the wide, spiky-toothed smile.

“I did all of it because I love you,” she whispers. “Because I will never let you go. Because forever is the only timeline that makes sense for us now.”

She holds the silence for a long moment, still pinning you, still smiling that impossible smile, tentacles flexing with restless anticipation.

“So...” she breathes, voice soft and expectant and utterly certain. “What do you think, my love? After everything I’ve told you... after everything I’ve done for us... are you ready to stay with me forever?”

[MAKE YOUR OWN SCENARIO]