Vol. I Chapter VI: Flesh to Fur and Fur to Flesh

Melissa walked ahead, her shoulders taut, her steps no longer springy or dancing, but steady and determined.

When they emerged into the clearing, the sun was already gone.

In the center of the clearing stood Dionysus. Alone. No laughter. No wine.

His gaze rested on Lucius for a long time. Silent. Measuring. Like a chess master contemplating the final move.

Lucius stepped forward, sensing Melissa’s presence behind him like a steady pulse in his back.

I have no idea what’s coming next. Only that I’ll do it for her. For us.

“I’m ready,” he said calmly.

Dionysus nodded wordlessly, stepping aside.

Yet his gaze did not rest on Lucius, but rather on his Satyr, his Maenad, who was still his, even now.

“Lucius has made his wish,” the god began, his voice gentle yet heavy with an ancient gravity.

“But before we proceed, there’s a question no trial can answer.”

He paused. Then turned directly to Melissa.

“Do you even want this, my wild one? A mortal at your side? Beyond the festival, beyond the wine, beyond the game?”

Lucius’ heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat, and he dared not look at her.

Melissa stood silent. Her eyes shifted from Dionysus, to Lucius… and finally dropped to the ground, her tail lying motionless on the forest floor.

“I lied to you, Lucius,” she said at last.

Lucius turned his stunned face toward her, frozen in place. He parted his lips, about to speak, but she raised a hand.

A silent gesture: Let me finish.

“I knew you even before the first day we met,” she said softly.

Lucius stared at her, speechless.

“I watched you for a long time… from the mist, between the forest’s edge, where the veil between our worlds grows thin.”

She paused for a moment, swallowing down a knot in her throat.

“At first, I thought it was just curiosity. Or boredom.”

Her voice grew softer, shakier, yet impossibly warm.

“But my heart grew warm when you cared for that injured bird. And I laughed out loud when it left you a parting gift on your head. And… I was terrified the day you fell from the ladder and there was no one there to call your name.”

Lucius stared at her, speechless.

“I didn’t come to you because your circle summoned me,” Melissa said, her voice low and steady. “I came because I wanted to. Because I wanted to know you. And because I was curious… about what might happen when our worlds collided.”

She paused, searching his eyes.

“And when you told me how you felt, I was afraid at first. But now… I’m completely sure.”

She leaned in closer.

“I want you. Not just in the dance. Not just in the wine. But in the morning after.”

Then Melissa murmured softly in his ear, a playful lilt in her tone:

“Oh, and just for the record: your summoning circle wouldn’t have conjured up so much as a rabbit.”

He let out a shaky laugh.

But Dionysus’ voice returned, dry and annoyed, as though he’d expected a different outcome.

“All right, all right. Good to see that settled.”

Stepping closer, his Thyrsus tapping lightly against his thigh, he examined Lucius.

“Mortal… you still don’t truly understand what you’re getting into.”

He raised his hand as though weighing an invisible scale.

“Do you know what love is, human?”

Dionysus’ voice turned suddenly rough.

“It’s not a drunken haze like wine. Not a dance. Not a festival. Not a game. It’s sorrow. And an insatiable hunger for something you can never fully possess.”

He paused briefly, his eyes narrowing darkly.

“And that’s precisely why I hate it, this thing called love.”

His voice sliced the air like glass.

“Up until now, this has all been amusing enough. But I’m growing tired of it. You want to steal my servant from me? Fine. But there’s always a price. For every joy a god grants, he demands something in return.”

Dionysus’ face brightened, a mischievous glint entering his violet eyes.

He turned around, spreading his arms wide.

Suddenly, two clusters of grapes appeared in his hands, one white as light, the other deep purple, nearly black.

He handed the pale cluster to Melissa, and the dark one to Lucius.

“Eat.”

One short glance passed between them. Then they both bit into the fruit.

Lucius screamed as his body convulsed and his bones shifted. A tail grew from his spine, his heart raced, his trousers teared apart as coarse fur sprouted over his lower body. Horns bursted from his skull in blinding pain.

He turned toward Melissa.

She gasped. Her hooves buckled, growing soft. Skin stretched over bone where fur had been. Her eyes widened in panic as her horns shrank away. Her chest rose and fell in a ragged, terrified breath, as though she’d never breathed like this before.

Unsteady on her new legs, she collapsed onto her bare backside. Her hands flew to her human cheeks and forehead, searching for her horns, finding nothing.

Her eyes were wide with shock.

“What… what did you do…?” she whispered.

Dionysus laughed. Deep. Long. Satisfied.

“Now you’re equals. A bond between two worlds can’t be forged if only one changes. You want his life for yourself? Then taste it. And you, Lucius, want her love? Then become like her!”

And then, without warning, the earth yawned open beneath them, splitting apart with a thunderous roar. A rush of wind swept them off their feet, plunging them helplessly into the darkness.

Lucius felt the chill of moss-covered stone beneath him as he regained consciousness.

His legs were powerful, muscular, covered in dark brown fur and he could feel strength in them. Part of him felt strong. Another part felt as though he’d lost his own body.

He struggled upright, but had little control over his new hooves and nearly toppled again. And his once-smooth face now sported a thick, proud beard.

“Melissa…?”

He scanned the gloom.

There, just a few steps away, Melissa lay slumped against a mossy tree stump.

Lucius staggered toward her.

She was slimmer now, more upright. No fur, no hooves. Just a human woman.

He shook her gently until, groaning, she finally opened her eyes.

“You’ve got… horns,” she murmured, staring at his transformed face.

“And you don’t,” he shot back.

Her gaze drifted down over her own body. Her fingers traced over her own legs in disbelief, touching only smooth, human skin, just like her upper body.

She scowled and muttered:

„Ugh… everything feels so… sensitive down there. How do you tolerate this every day?”

A cool breeze swept over them. Melissa shivered and rubbed her legs.

Then she snapped her fingers out of habit, but nothing happened.

She tried again, more forcefully this time.

But no leaves appeared. No playful vines to wrap around her body as they once had for Lucius.

“Is this your revenge?” she called sarcastically into the mist overhead.

No answer came, only the distant echo of laughter reverberating from somewhere far above them.

And there, high overhead, yawned a gaping hole in the cavern ceiling, through which a pale, otherworldly light spilled down upon them.

“You’re human now,” Lucius said dryly. “We don’t have powers like that.”

In response, Melissa stuck out her tongue at him.

But Lucius paused, a thought flashing through his mind as he stared at his new body. Because something pulsed inside him, a strange energy.

“Let me try something…”

Melissa tilted her head curiously as Lucius straightened up, focused, and snapped his fingers in her direction.

At first, nothing happened.

Then a rush of wind surged around them, sweet and musky, scented with amber and spice.

Suddenly, vines erupted from the ground, wrapping themselves around Melissa’s bare body, covering her in a swirl of green and red leaves.

She blinked in astonishment and looked at him.

Lucius grinned, proud of himself.

“A little tight…” she remarked, tugging at the vines clinging to her hips. “…but for a part-time satyr, not bad.”

They wandered for some time through the underground realm, where broken statues lay entwined in roots and overgrown ruins sank into darkness.

A cracked road, as old as time itself, led them deeper into the gloom.

“Do you know where we are?” Lucius asked.

Melissa shrugged.

“Could be close to the Underworld. Or just one of Dionysus’ illusions. Who knows?”

Eventually, they reached a towering wall of smooth marble.

In its center yawned a narrow, doorless entrance — barely wide enough for a single person.

Above it glimmered a golden inscription:

“Whoever sees himself shall lose the path.
Whoever sees the other shall find the exit.”

The two of them stared at it.

Lucius looked thoughtful.

Melissa just looked annoyed.

“Of course it’s a labyrinth,” she muttered. “It’s always a labyrinth.”

She let out a loud, exaggerated yawn, clearly trying to provoke Dionysus.

“Whatever you do in there… don’t be fooled. You know who I am — and I know who you are.”

Lucius nodded.

They both took a deep breath and stepped through the opening.

Lucius squeezed his broad, muscular body through the narrow gap with considerable difficulty.

“This really isn’t a body built for tight spaces…” he grumbled, trying to turn to look at Melissa.

But she was gone.

“Melissa!?”

No answer. Only the echo of his own voice bouncing off endless stone walls.

And suddenly, he was alone.