No one moves.
No one speaks.
But the moment is over.
And everyone reacts.
Mom – Heather
Heather’s already on the move. She isn’t yelling—she’s acting.
She grabs the throw blanket from the back of the couch, bunches it in her hands, and rushes forward with nothing but instinct guiding her.
“Sweetheart,” she whispers, crouching beside her. “Emma, baby—let me—let me help—”
She drapes the blanket around her daughter’s exposed waist, trying to shield her from the rest of the room. But it barely covers the curve of her hips. The tail twitches again, flicking the cloth off like it’s nothing but static.
Heather pulls back, eyes wet. Not from tears yet—just disbelief.
“This isn’t happening,” she says, more to herself than anyone else.
Dad – Rick
Rick couldn’t look at her body.
He wanted to. But he couldn’t.
Because she was standing there—upright now—shoulders rigid, hoodie bunched around her ribs, black shorts still tangled uselessly around her thighs. And in her right hand?
She was holding it.
The tail.
Not like she was hiding it.
Like she was trying to understand it.
Her fingers wrapped around the soft length of it, gripping it halfway down. It curled slightly past her hand, twitching like a muscle with a mind of its own. The skin looked smooth. Warm. Still a little damp from whatever had pushed it out of her.
His daughter.
Holding a tail.
On her body.
His stomach turned.
“This isn’t funny,” he said. Loud. Sharper than he meant to. “This isn’t a joke anymore.”
No one answered.
The game didn’t move.
But he did.
Rick stepped forward fast—too fast. His hand came down on the board with a flat thump, trying to shove it away. The cards shifted but didn’t fall. The surface didn’t budge. It didn’t even wobble.
He pressed harder.
“Emma, take your hand off that thing. We’re stopping this. You hear me?”
His voice cracked on the word thing.
She didn’t move.
Her eyes flicked toward him—but just barely. She didn’t answer. She didn’t let go.
She just stood there. Holding it. Breathing quiet. Her knuckles pale around the tail’s base like she didn’t trust it to behave on its own.
He looked at her—really looked.
And it hit him all at once.
This wasn’t just some trick.
This wasn’t fake.
It had muscle. It had weight. It grew from her.
Rick’s throat closed.
He stepped back.
“What is this?” he whispered. “What is this thing doing to my daughter?”
But the board didn’t respond.
It only glowed.
Waiting.
Kayla
Kayla hasn’t moved since the transformation started.
Her mouth is still half-open, her fingers white around the table’s edge. Her eyes are locked on the tail, but her gaze is all over the place—tracking the sway, the exposed skin, the rhythm of Emma’s shallow breathing.
“That’s not fake,” she finally whispers. “That’s growing out of her. That’s hers.”
Her voice shakes, thin and terrified.
The game doesn’t respond.
But the die floats.
Just a little.
Tyler
Tyler can’t move. He doesn’t want to.
He’s sitting on the far end of the couch, one hand clutching his knee, the other curled around the armrest. He knows he should look away.
But he can’t.
His sister’s tail curls again—right above her bare ass, the movement sending a gentle ripple across her lower back.
He’s never seen that much of her before. He shouldn’t have seen that much of her.
But it’s not just the skin.
It’s the movement.
The softness of the tail’s flex. The slow tension it carries. The quiet ownership of her posture—like some part of her likes it. Or wants it.
He doesn’t know what he’s feeling.
But the warmth rising in his stomach isn’t fear.
And that scares him more.
Emma
The blanket didn’t stick. Her hoodie doesn’t reach. She’s still half-naked.
And everyone’s still looking.
She reaches back.
Fingers touch the base of the tail.
It twitches under her hand—muscle flaring, skin taut and warm. It feels like a part of her. Like something she’s always had, just waiting to surface.
And when she grips it?
It responds.
Smooth. Alive. Hers.
Emma’s breath hitches. The tail curls tighter around her calf. It listens.
She jerks her hand back.
Stands.
Silent.
Face flushed. Eyes wide.
She doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t have to.
Everyone saw it happen.
And the board has already moved on.
🎲 The Turn Passes
The glow fades from beneath Emma.
The deck lowers.
Another tile glows red.
This time, it’s not random.
A name appears, curling in glowing script at the top of the board:
NEXT PLAYER: KAYLA