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Crystal Core

By Tachyon Feathertail

17 Nov, 2009

I wake up after five minutes of oblivion.

Not five minutes of sleep. I wasn’t unconscious. Just five minutes of laying there, not feeling my arms or my legs or being able to see anything.

When I explain it to people, they think it’s terrible. But it’s not. It’s actually kind of refreshing. It feels genuine somehow, like meditation or introspection. I always "wake up" wishing that I didn’t have to.

I used to enjoy physical activity. Not so much anymore.

I’m sitting in my dad’s chair, at his desk. To one side is the closed door. To the other are floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun is rising, and light plays off of the zen rock garden and black-and-white paintings. Waves are crashing against the coast. It’s high tide.

The computer in front of me looks like a screen that is floating in midair. It’s not, but they made it look that way. My dad was very proud of it. It’s got his company’s logo, on the metal frame at the bottom.

I look at it, and correct myself. Not his company … my company. The one I own a majority stake in, now. The one that made almost everything that I use in my daily life. My phone … my computer, both hardware and software …

My body.

The screen fades to black, since I haven’t touched it in awhile. It’s glossy and reflective, and I can see myself in it almost like I could in a mirror. There I am … can you see me? The gem, set into my bracelet. The one that doesn’t come off. The gem is deep blue, and if you turn off the lights and cup your hand over it you can just barely see it glow.

That’s me. That’s my soulcrystal. It’s all that I need to think, feel, and remember. Which is good, because it’s all there was left of me after the plane crash.

I still fit into all my old clothes. They’re loose on me now, because I was starting to gain weight from being at college. And I still look like I always did … just more stylized. More plastic. Like a girl crossed with an iPom.

I’d make a great dancing silhouette. I just wouldn’t be able to feel the movement. Not like I could before. Nothing feels right. I didn’t notice it when I stepped on a rock, but five minutes of using the mouse and I couldn’t stand it anymore. It was the same with using the keyboard. I had to adjust the sensitivity, and now I ixxasional

Um.

I occasionally make typos. Because my hands don’t feel the keyboard that well. And my sense of balance works, more or less, but there’s a hair’s-breadth delay between when I lean to one side and when I feel the new direction of gravity. It’s just long enough that it feels "off."

There are all kinds of other things like that. Maybe they’ll fix them in the next model. Maybe they’ll fix me. They’d better.

I’m going to have to have a new model built for me, because I don’t like how this one looks. Not liking how you look … that’s something all girls can relate to, right? And that’s how I felt while I was designing this one, back when I still had a flesh-and-blood body. I had this long list of things that I didn’t like about myself. My nose was too pointy, my hair was too messy, my toes were crooked …

My toes! Can you believe it? I had flesh-and-blood toes, the only set that I’ve ever had, and I couldn’t stand them because they were off-kilter a fraction of an inch. And this was a big deal, because if a guy saw me with flip-flops on he’d think "Wow, she’s genetically flawed. I’d better pass her up as a potential romantic partner." Or something like that. If I sound bitter, it’s because I am.

So now I have perfect toes, and perfect skin, and a perfect face. And I look at the reflection in the blank, shiny screen, and I don’t recognize myself.

I look like an anime character.

I look like an action figure.

I look like a doll.

Has it ever occurred to you how creepy dolls are?

My brow furrows, and that looks genuine. But it’s not my face. I’m doing that, but it’s not me. It’s like I’m remote-controlling someone. Someone with a giant plastic hair ornament, and bracelets that don’t come off. They have to be there, and I have to have this cord plugged into the side of this thing’s neck so that I won’t have to recharge.

I’d normally have to recharge for a couple of hours each day. But I haven’t for the past week. Because I’ve been sitting here the whole time on the Internet.

I remember what it was like to get uncomfortable with how I was seated. I remember needing to get up and get snacks and things. But I don’t anymore. And you know what? I don’t care. I’m rich now. I can do whatever I want. I can spend an entire day watching cartoon hamsters if I feel like it. Boy, can those things dance.

I want to dance.

I stand up and unplug the power cord. There’s no rush of blood from my head, and barely any disorientation. One second I’m seated, the next I’m not.

As I’m setting the cord on the desk, I notice it’s covered in dust. Then I notice my arm is covered in dust too. And my bracelets, and my hair, and that thing on the back of my head. I run my finger over it and I can’t feel much, because I turned fingertip sensitivity down. But I bring my hand back in front of my face and the tip of my finger is gray.

Has it really been only a week? How long have I been in here?

I feel like I just crawled out of a grave. I jump away from the desk and shake myself vigorously, running my hands through my hair, dusting off my shoulders and arms, trying to get this stuff off of me. I’m scared and weirded out at the same time, and-

I fall over.

Too much delay, I guess. Too much lag. I couldn’t feel which way was up in time to stabilize myself. Now I’m sitting here on the floor watching dust settle around me, the sun at my back, and thinking how otherworldly it is. The whole room is silent. No breathing … no heartbeat.

You know that sound that you hear when there’s no other sound? That high-pitched whine? I can’t even hear that.

I’m so weirded out that I don’t want to think about it. Instead I get up, reach for the phone on my desk, brush the dust off of the glass screen and touch the on-screen controls. There’s an external speaker on this thing … I want to hear some music.

I put on one of my favorite songs, one that I’ve always loved dancing to. The kind of dancing you only do when there’s nobody else around. And I try to dance, I really do. But I stumble and stagger and fall, just like last time.

I try to adjust my rhythm. I slow myself down. I swing myself more deliberately, more consciously, trying to feel the movement. But I can’t. The feelings just aren’t the same. It’s like eating an unsalted corn chip, or drinking watered-down juice. I don’t know how to explain it. There’s no rush of movement … there’s just movement.

I sigh, but even that isn’t satisfying. And I’m leaning against the wall, but I’m neither worn out nor excited.

I go to pick up my phone, and it occurs to me that the screen is all fogged up. How can that be? I touch the screen to unlock it, and watch the fog melt around my fingertip …

Wait. I think I get it.

My phone runs hotter than my (or my dad’s) computer does because it’s smaller.

The fog is melting around my fingertip because it’s heated too. It has to be … PomPhones have a capacitive touchscreen. That means that they detect body heat. My body is made by the same company, so I have to have warmth in my fingertips in order to use one of our phones. But aside from that, I don’t have any internal warmth. My body temperature is the same as room temperature.

I’m standing here in a freezing room in probably late autumn, and I only just now realized it.

I feel an almost physical chill. As though I walked into a room with a dead body in it. Except this is worse, because it’s my own.

I walk over to the window. There are no birds outside. There are no animals. There’s just sand, and rocks, and a sunrise over the sea. There is a tree, but it’s dead.

I take a deep breath — my first in awhile — and exhale onto the window. Nothing. No fog.

No heat. No life.

Just a room full of objects.

I want to cry, but I can’t.

* * *

I sit, motionless, on the backless couch in the foyer. My hands are clasped in my lap.

I can’t hear anything except the clock ticking. I can barely feel my clothes or my weight pressed into the seat. I’m not uncomfortable. I don’t want to fidget. My nose doesn’t need scratched. I blink, but it’s automatic. Besides that, I’m perfectly still.

I’m mentally retreated way inside my own head … or soulcrystal, anyway. I’ve disassociated myself from the person-shaped object that I’m attached to. It’s carrying me around, but it’s not me and it’s not alive. I’ve accepted that. It’s taken me a few hours, and they’re going to need to replace the upstairs windows now, but I think I’ve accepted that.

My hands and knees are still scratched up. I hope that my friends don’t notice.

The clock ticks.

I hear an electric car outside, softly prowling up the curving driveway to stop in front of the porch. Car doors open and shut, and flip-flops crunch gravel beneath them, then step on the stones leading up to the house.

Somehow I can’t bring myself to get up, even though my friends are here now. I just want to sit here. I’m not sure why.

The doorbell rings.

The servant’s shoes click, louder and louder, then she walks past and opens the front door towards me. I can’t see through it.

"Come in," she says. I hear flip-flops slapping inside.

My old roommates step into view, and I feel like I’m physically tensing up inside. How is that possible? Is it like the feelings you’d have from a phantom limb? Either way, I can’t bring myself to look up at them. My eyes find the floor and their flip-flops, and my hands start to fidget with nervousness. What do they see me as?

I feel a hand on my shoulder. The tension leaves my body … or at least my spirit.

"Are you okay, Claris?" Lena asks.

"I think so," I say.

I stand up and look at her. She’s a bit shorter than I remember her. She and Sam are both wearing loose shirts and knee-length shorts, but she’s dressed in light colors to compliment her hair. Her aquamarine soulcrystal hangs on a pendant around her neck, and unlike mine it glows visibly.

Sam’s wearing a band t-shirt, and her soulcrystal is nowhere to be seen. She brushes her unkempt black hair out of her eyes, before handing me a gift-wrapped box. "Got you something."

"Um … " My eyes flick around, at the marble floor and the black and white modern art on the wall. Then I see Sam’s impassive face, and I know that she knows what I’m thinking. It must be something that money can’t buy.

I take the box from her and open it up, the glossy wrapping paper squeaking and crinkling under my fingers. Inside is a dome-shaped hat, like a cold weather cap, with faux fox ears sewn onto it. It has no tag.

It’s whimsical. It’s silly. It’s also hand-made, and the kind of present we used to exchange when we were rooming together. I take it in my hands, setting the box aside, and it feels soft and organic and real. Then I put it on, and I look in the mirror that spans the wall behind the couch. I like it.

"Thank you," I say, and glance at her face in the mirror.

"Welcome," she says, and examines the couch. Sam never was much for speaking.

I look back at myself. Something about the sight of this object wearing a hat is starting to seem a bit off.

"Your house is nice," Lena says, grasping at straws conversationally.

"It was my dad’s house."

"Ah yes, I’m sorry … "

"It’s okay." I’m still looking in the mirror. Lena’s face is nervous, but mine is impassive as I try to figure out what doesn’t look right. It’s not the hat, I decide. It’s this robot body, and its undetachable accessories and the way my old clothes look different on it. The hat is the kind of thing I always used to wear … it’s very me. But this thing it’s on top of is not.

Looking in the mirror, my appearance matters to me in a way that it hasn’t since high school. But this time, I’m not worried about what others think. I’m worried about what I think. I want to feel comfortable with my appearance. Seeing this thing that looks like me but isn’t makes me uncomfortable.

My friends are uncomfortable too, because I’m staring into the mirror with a blank expression on my face. Out of the corner of my eye, Lena coughs. "So, well, um, you invited us here … "

"Yes. I did."

"What would you like to do?"

I look at the doll that my self is attached to, for another long second. Then I decide. "Let’s go shopping."

Lena is taken aback. "Shopping? We, um … "

"I’ll pay."

"Are you sure this is such a … "

"Heck yeah." I give my fox-eared self an annoyed look. "Let’s go."

"Our car or yours?" Sam looks up.

"Yours. I shouldn’t be driving right now."

We walk out to Lena’s sedan, and I glance around at brown grass and dead trees, and at the rocks of the curving shoreline. Wind blows past my ears, and I watch my roommates shiver before climbing in the back seat, remembering what moist, salt air smells like.

For a second there’s this terrible pang that almost makes me double over, as I realize I’ll never feel that again. I choke it down, though, because I don’t want to have to deal with it right now. Instead, I shut the door and look out at it, and remember.

My friends climb in next, and shut the doors and buckle their seatbelts. With the doors shut, the crashing of the waves is as muffled as my physical feelings are.

* * *

We spend the next half-hour driving. At first I feel nervous, because of what I am and because this is the first time I’ve spoken with my friends in awhile. But Lena can tell what I’m going through, and distracts me like the good friend she is. Pretty soon we’re talking about her vegan cooking experiments, and Sam’s crush on the lead singer of this new indie band, and that one crazy professor we all love to hate.

"He wears his soulcrystal in his class ring!" Lena exclaims, while driving. "It’s like the school is his life or something."

"I think you could say that he has no life," Sam chips in, from the seat next to me.

"I’m not even alive anymore, and I have more of a life than he does," I say.

They laugh, and they aren’t self-conscious about it. It makes me feel like myself again, just a little. I’m glad for that, but I still feel uncomfortable with my robot appearance. I’m hoping that this shopping trip will help with that.

They go on talking about something else. But right now I’m looking out the window, at the buildings and cars and people everywhere. We’re headed to a downtown mall, and there’s a lot of traffic and there are a lot of stops and starts. Swarms of pedestrians cross the street at each red light, and the sun glints off of windows and worn soulcrystals. I rub my finger across mine, and remind myself that as long as I-

Huh. That’s odd.

Two of the people out there crossing the street are wearing cat or fox ears, like I am. And I think one of them’s wearing a tail. Is there an anime convention in town and I missed it?

We drive past, and I look back at that one. Yep, he’s wearing a tail.

Something inside me feels lighter, as we turn to pull into the parking garage. I may not feel like myself, looking like this, but something tells me I won’t feel out of place.

* * *

As it turns out, I do.

When I get out of the car, I stand there watching a woman getting something out of the trunk of her car beside us. And she glances up at me, then does a very quick double-take because I’m watching her. After that she won’t look in my direction, and her hands are shaking with nervousness.

Sam gets her cellphone out of her messenger bag and checks the time on it, and Lena arranges her purse and shuts the car door. "Alright," she says, "let’s go."

We walk past the woman and her baby’s stroller, and I look back at her. She was watching me go, and she turns back to face her trunk, embarrassed.

"Did anyone see that?" I say, quietly.

"See what?" Sam asks.

"Never mind."

We get inside, and the two of them go to freshen up while I stand there at the directory. I fold my arms, feeling awkward. And while people are still coming in and out of the building, I have the directory to myself the whole time. I guess everyone else knows where everything is already?

I know that I’m not imagining it when we go into the first store, and the clerk there ignores me. She’s talking to both of my friends, laughing with them, but she doesn’t look in my direction even when Lena introduces me. She just sort of nods her head at me. Is this what it’s like to be a member of a minority race? Or wheelchair-bound, or autistic. To be aware of yourself and your surroundings, but ignored by everyone else around you, except when they’re glancing nervously at you.

My friends take me by the hand and smile at me, and we head out into the racks of clothes. But I am still thinking about that, and I’m quiet because of it. And they hold up different items of clothing next to me, and talk and laugh with each other about it, but all I can think of is children playing with dolls.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of them. I’ve always been like this. Sometimes I go quiet for seemingly no reason. I’m glad they didn’t try to prod me to talk to them, or start to act uncomfortable that I wasn’t. Some people do that because they’re oblivious, but they do that because they are comfortable with my presence, even when I’m not talking to them.

I’m not really depressed, anyway. Just sort of resigned. And standing here now in the changing room, trying on all these clothes, I feel like I’m playing with dolls myself. It’s like I’m the biggest, most expensive doll ever.

If I disassociate myself from the object I see in the mirror, it’s actually kind of fun. But it’s fun in a horribly depersonalizing way. And in the end I just stand there staring at myself again, and not thinking anything. Detached from my body, detached from myself, detached from the world around me. A non-person, inside and out.

I remember the ocean floor, and wonder if it might not have been better for me to have just stayed there.

A knock on the door. "Claris, are you okay in there?" It’s Lena’s voice.

I don’t say anything.

"You should come show us how you look," she says, nervousness in her voice.

At that I start changing clothes again, putting back on the things I was already wearing. When I come out, I hand her the pile of things they picked out, and she takes it all, confused.

"This was a bad idea," I say. "Sorry."

Then I walk out, and stop in front of the store, waiting for them to put everything back and apologize to the clerk. I’d feel bad for them if I weren’t overwhelmed by-

That guy walked right past me wearing a tail and ears. And his girlfriend was wearing them too.

I look after them, and way out down the walkway I see what looks like someone wearing one of those sports mascot-style costumes. It looks interesting. Why can’t my eyesight zoom in on things? I’m a robot, aren’t I?

I want to go look, but I’m waiting here for my friends. Either way, I’m fascinated by it. Something is definitely up.

"Sorry," Lena says, hurrying out with Sam to come join me. "I-"

"Does anyone know if there’s, like, an anime convention in town?" I’m not looking at her, but am watching to see if that suited person will come out from behind a kiosk.

"No, why?"

Sam coughs.

I glance over at her. "Yes?"

She seems awkward, and looks away. "There’s, um, this thing, for like, artists and costumers and stuff … " Her voice trails off.

I’m looking at her expectantly. "Yes?"

She stumbles over her words. "They, like, draw people as animals, and dress up as them … "

Lena’s eyes light up. "Is this that furry thing you were talking about?"

"Yes." Her face turns red.

"What’s that?" I say.

"It’s a convention Sam wanted to go to," Lena says. "But you called us and asked us to come over there, and we hadn’t heard from you in over a month."

Sam kicks at something on the floor.

I glance back over my shoulder, briefly, trying to see the costumed person. Then I look back at Sam. "Did you want to go to it?" I ask.

Sam coughs, and this time she sounds a bit more confident, even though she’s not looking at me. "No, I’d like to spend time with you."

"I’ll come," I said.

She makes a sound like she’s choking. "Er, what?"

"Sounds like fun!" Lena says. "Can we go get something to eat first, though?"

"Sure thing," I say.

Lena leads the way, and Sam looks like she’s in a daze. I find myself wondering why.

* * *

Piles of fried noodles and vegetables behind glass, and a woman’s accented voice asking people to take free samples. I can smell grease and sauces, but it seems dry and distant without being able to feel the warm, wet steam inside my nostrils.

Sam and Lena are hesitant about getting in line. "You don’t have to wait here while we’re eating," Lena says.

"It’s okay," I tell her. "I wanted to look at something, but I’ll come back once you’re sitting down."

"Okay," Lena says.

I walk back towards the entrance to the food court, around packed tables and people carrying trays of food, trying to find a place to sit. Most of the people are my age, and a lot of them are wearing ears and a tail or some other animal-themed accessory.

I reach up to the top of my head, and feel the ears-hat as best as I can with these fingers. I look like I’m here for the convention, I realize, even though I’m not a "furry." And I don’t have one of the badges these people have, with the illustrations on them, but it’s plausible that I could be hiding mine somewhere.

Can an object be a furry, I wonder? What do these people think of me?

I look out at an emptier spot in the main corridor, near the information booth and the motorized cart pool. There’s a person there wearing a gray wolf … no, fox suit. And he’s hugging people and doing a pantomime routine for them. There’s a girl standing nearby him, watching, and I wonder if they’re some kind of duo. Like how they have the buddy system for outdoor activities.

I stand there watching for some time, from far enough away that they don’t notice me. There’s a strange feeling inside me as I watch, and I’m not sure what it is. The sight just seems fantastic, in the literal sense … like something straight out of fantasy.

How is that, I wonder? How come it feels real … how come these fabric suits and accessories seem so magical? Is it just because I don’t normally see people wearing them? Or is it because somehow, it’s just close enough that it feels like it would in real life, to be around such characters? Even though they’re not really real … they’re just people wearing an object-

Something clicks.

This robot shell has been driving me crazy, because it does such a bad job of pretending to be human. But I don’t have to pretend to be human.

People are scared of me because I’m handicapped. I’m scared and nervous and frustrated with myself, because I’m handicapped. My body’s an inferior copy of a real human one, in so many ways that it’s aggravating. And imagining going through life like this is driving me to despair.

But I don’t have to do that.

I don’t have to be less than what I was. I can just accept that I’m different.

And for the first time, I’m starting to see how being different could be very, very fun.

They’re starting to walk away now. Without thinking, I stride towards them, trying to catch up.

"Excuse me … " I say, within about ten feet. They don’t hear me.

I step around them, towards the girl that the suiter is with. "Excuse me," I say.

She’s a little surprised, and he feigns shock, acting like he’s taken aback and putting one paw over his muzzle. "Yes?" she asks, smiling at me.

"I, um … " I can barely look at them, I’m so nervous.

The costumer gestures with his hand-paws, to invite me in a cheerful way to continue. I take my hat off and clutch it to my chest, wringing it in my hands as the words spill out. "I was, um, in a bad accident recently … as you can tell … "

He puts both paws to his muzzle, as though he’s sorry to hear that.

"And I’m not really a furry, and I’m not even going to the convention that you are, but I thought … I, um … "

"Yes?" the girl asks.

I close my eyes, and force myself to hold still. "It’s so frustrating not being human anymore. I want to cry sometimes, and I can’t even do that. But I’m looking at the costumes that people are wearing here, and … "

"You want to get your own fursuit?" she asks.

"No." I shake my head, and look up at her. "I want to … I … "

Now, I know my new body can’t cry. But I must have sounded like I was about to tear up, because the fursuiter spread his arms wide just then.

I hugged him tight, pressing my face into his shoulder and imagining myself crying on it.

Sort of like how he was imagining being a fox …

But for me, and for him, and for the people around watching us, that was enough.

* * *

I have a tail. I can feel it behind me, laying on the same hard surface I’m sitting on.

But I don’t have a head. It’s a little disorienting.

I kick my feet and swish my tail experimentally, and I feel my tail brush up against things. I swing it more vigorously, and I feel them being knocked away and sent flying. This is fun! I keep doing it for a few seconds until something raps on my knee, and it occurrs to me that I’m making a mess. I hold still.

I feel something lower onto my neck, and a second later there are hands on my shoulders, holding me in place as something locks onto me and is tightened. Then-

*blink*

I’m inside Sam’s parents’ basement. There are stone walls, and windows up near the ceiling. I can see Lena’s arm holding me still, and Sam standing there holding a tool of some kind, and wearing overalls. She’s folding her arms, and giving me an unamused look.

"Welcome back!" Lena says, just outside of my field of vision.

"Thanks," I say, and swish my tail happily. It knocks something off the table and onto the floor, rattling and clanging.

"Stop with the tail!" Sam exclaims, and goes to pick up the thing I knocked off.

I put one hand behind me so I can turn around and look, careful not to bump my tail. I can see my muzzle in front of my field of vision, but it’s blurry because I’m not focusing on it. I blink twice while looking at the jar of tiny nails that Sam sets back on the table, and there’s a rushing, disorienting sensation as my eyesight zooms in until I can read the label.

I blink once to go back to normal vision, with another rush of false movement, and shake my head to clear it. "I think the zoom lenses need to be calibrated," I say.

"Feels like you’re accelerating?" Sam asks, tapping controls on her tablet.

"Yes," I say, and nod.

"That isn’t hardware-related." She looks up for a second. "It’s ghost sensations from your soulcrystal. You’re used to being inside a body that feels that way when it accelerates, so even though your accelerometer stays still your core thinks you’re whooshing forward."

"Interesting … "

Lena steps back and looks at me. I feel a little self-conscious, and start kicking my legs off the edge of the table again. I want to see what I look like, but I haven’t been offered a mirror yet, and I’m too nervous to just look down.

There are interesting displays along the edge of my field of vision, though. (I asked for them this time around, because I wanted to see what was going on with my hardware instead of having it isolated from me.) One of them looks like a gauge, and this red line is rising on it.

"Um … " I look over at Sam. "I think I’m starting to overheat."

"That’s because you’re a gaming PC on stilts wrapped in a fursuit, and I haven’t turned on your cooling systems yet." She taps the screen on her tablet with what looks like a pen. "Engaging air cooling … "

I’m startled by a sudden rush of breath, as air comes pouring in through my nostrils.

" … and now, liquid cooling."

I hear a gurgle of flowing liquid, and look around to see where it’s coming from, finally taking hold of the tube that’s plugged into my back along with the cables. A moment later I feel the extra weight, and the cold flow of liquids inside me. It feels like drinking a glass of ice water, after a day in the sun.

"When it gets too hot, it’ll evaporate out through your fur and your breath," Sam tells me. "You’ll need to refill it with bottles of liquid coolant, although water will do in a pinch."

"How do I refill it?" I ask, in between breaths.

"I’ll set up the external tank in your house, and show you how to use it. If you’re out and about, though, you can just drink it. Carry a bottle with you, so you don’t have to-"

She goes on about galvanic corrosion and tap water, but I’m just sitting there kicking my feet and swishing my tail a little, and grinning like an idiot. I know all the parts that went into me; I paid for them myself. There’s nothing special about them. But sitting here feeling my chest rise and fall with each breath as delicious, cold fluid pumps through me, I feel something that I haven’t in months.

I feel alive.

And I have a tail now. I run my hand over it, and feel how fluffy it is. I’m not going to get over that anytime soon.

"Would you like to see yourself in the mirror?" Lena asks.

I nod to her, and Sam unplugs me from the coolant tank and her PC. Then they both help me down, and I try to walk on unsteady legs. It feels like I’m walking on the very tips of my toes, and my brain- well, my soulcrystal thinks they can’t possibly support my weight. I stumble and catch myself on the table, and Lena catches my elbow and helps me back upright. But then I take the leap of faith, balancing on digitigrade feet as my tail swishes behind me, and it works just fine.

I walk, slowly and carefully, around the table to the full-length mirror, as my friends follow behind me. Then I stop right in front of it, hesitating even though I’ve already seen my new hardware from outside. It was so beautiful, and the thought of facing the fact that I am that now makes me nervous.

"Go ahead," Lena says.

I hold my breath, and step in front of the mirror.

There I am, looking for all the world like a bluish-gray fox fursuiter. One with a swishing tail, and twitching ears, and eyes that track what they’re looking at. Artificial fur covers me from head to toe, soft and luxuriant, except for my pawpads and the soulcrystal set into my chest. I suddenly want to hug myself.

I turn around every which way, staring at myself in awe, admiring the craftsmanship and unable to get over how it moves when I do. The realism is stunning … I lean in close and stare at my face in the mirror, watching my eyes track and muzzle drop open. I look almost like a real animal. But what I resemble most is a life-sized, very high-quality plush toy. I’m safely outside of Uncanny Valley.

"Is it to your liking?" Lena asks.

"One second … " I take a deep breath, and then exhale on the mirror.

It fogs up.

I want to cry now, but I still can’t do that. So instead I just hug them both. "Thank you," I say.

It feels like hugging an enormous plushie, and is the best feeling I’ve ever had. Because this time I’m the plushie, and I can’t think of anything else that I’d rather be.

* * *

Originally posted on BecomeYourFursona, a website once maintained by Tachyon Feathertail and Yurodivy Kiranov. This writing is not mine in any way, and is reposted here for archival purposes. If either author of BecomeYourFursona reaches out and requests its removal, I will comply.

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