This is a work of FICTION, made by and for adults. The following chapter includes embarrassment and significant misgendering/deadnaming of a closeted, repressed, unrevealed, and/or questioning transgender woman, non-binary individual, and agender individual. Reader discretion is highly advised.

The blood moon tinged the twilight in red as it climbed over the towering trees. A young incubus emerged from the concealing thicket and flew down into a clearing. The sanguine tone in his clay-like skin shone particularly deep under the rich moonlight, while his golden eyes and matching short hair seemed bright ginger.

‘By Brigit,’ Meranarax balked, ‘I thought my father’s manor was big, but this is HUGE!! Just how many slaves could… Calliope have?’ After stumbling the landing, he retracted his batish wings and quickly snuck through the garden. ‘I suppose he must be quite influential to have procured The Poetess’ contract.’

Meranarax heard faint singing as he neared a window and his heart leapt upon recognizing the melody. ‘Is that—!’ He rushed closer, carefully ducking under the glass before peeking over the sill. Inside he saw dozens of humans forming a clearing around a woman dancing and sweetly singing beautiful verses.

‘That’s—,’ already entranced, he stared until she finally passed through a gap in the crowd. The flow of her dress as she spun matched the gentle waves of chestnut hair tied neatly in a bun, but it was the tender smile on her light-tan cheeks that warmed his heart. ‘That’s— Psápphō. Oh, Brigit— she’s gorgeous!’

Hardly wandering from view, Psápphō’s lyric came to a close before those surrounding began to applaud. Their cheers intensified as she opened her eyes and bowed with a smirk. ‘She— they all look— happy,’ before he could reflect further, Psápphō looked towards the window and their sights locked.

Wide-eyed and frozen upon meeting her hazel-brown irises, he heard her think, ‘Huh, a lost kitten seems to have found her way here.’ Already flustered, he nearly jumped back when Psápphō grinned and added, ‘That girl—she’s actually quite cute.’

“C-cute!?” The group turned just as Meranarax realized his exclamation, barely having time to duck in a panic.

“What was that?” a muffled voice questioned.

“O-oh, nothing!” Psápphō caught their attention. “There was a cat on the windowsill; I guess she got scared off.”

He caught his breath during a long silence, but the pounding in his chest didn’t cease. ‘Lost kitten? C-cute— girl!?’ He hesitantly peeked and found everyone looking at The Poetess, though their eyes immediately locked.

With a quizzical look, Psápphō wondered, ‘Can— you read my thoughts?’ Uncertain how to react, Meranarax shyly nodded.

“Saph?” A man out of view asked, “Is everything okay?”

—Spoiler—

Okay, so I knew planning out Ritual of the Blood Moon that writing Saoirse as a “cis boy” was going to be difficult, but that not only sucked, it hurt. When I sat down to choose the most cringing demonic deadname I could think of, “Meranarax” stuck because 1) it’s based on her narcissistic/abusive father’s name (Meranlynx, who’s name actually sounded okay), 2) it’s annoying for me to type, 3) it’s even uglier to say out loud, and 4) my spouse said it sounds like marinara. I’m very glad I only decided to write a few chapters like this, and I might condense it down into even less than what I was planning. Saoirse’s journey to discovering her womanhood comes both slowly and painfully, and it’ll be months before the next crack in her shell forms. The next chapter starts with Saph’s “50th” birthday six months later, so look forward to that at least!

—End spoiler—