Loki descended three steps, his pace a dance, almost ceremonial, then halted at the edge of the stage, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like a raptor in search of a shiver. His smile stretched slowly, curved with theatrical relish. He lazily raised a hand and, with the tip of his index finger, pointed at a pair among the sea of strangers.
A couple like so many others. A boy of modest stature, slim, with a soft, almost extinguished gaze; smooth features, too young to be marked, not yet shaped into masculinity. A girl of the same essence, slender, a pleasant face without brilliance or flaw. They were silence amidst the noise, two presences forgotten the moment one looked away.
"You two. Step forward."
The crowd condensed into silence. The boy trembled, and the girl clung to him, but already their bodies gave in, drawn forward by a will not their own. The spotlights crashed down upon them. They blinked under the light. Loki regarded them like one studies two blank canvases.
With a slow gesture, he summoned the velvet sack. He offered it to the girl, his eyes gleaming.
"Draw. Their bodies will listen to you."
She slid her hand into the opening. The crinkled parchments stirred at her touch, almost alive. She pulled one out, and Loki snapped it open. His gaze skimmed the written letters.
"Deer. Two creatures of grace and strength. And for our young male… double testosterone. Animal nobility, pulsing beneath the skin."
He snapped his fingers.
The boy let out a rough groan, his head tilting slightly back. A shiver ran through him, but it was not fear. His breath thickened, a damp rasp as his limbs spread open, arms extending beyond his control. His bones lengthened, joints cracking, his form stretching upward with jerky, trembling movements. His fingers elongated, knuckles thinning, nails turning matte like raw keratin. A fine layer of brown fur appeared along the outer sides of his forearms, and his neck stretched suddenly, his Adam’s apple jutting forward in a sharp, sudden relief.
His forehead lifted, temples swelling, and his skull subtly reshaped. The bones of his face shifted gently, without pain: his nose widened at the bridge, nostrils flaring. His cheeks hollowed, jaw extending, chin tapering. His ears lengthened, slid upward, and changed texture, adorned in soft brown down. Two lumps formed on either side of his forehead, and quickly antlers grew—first two bony buds, then they burst into elegant, symmetrical tines, velvet at the base, broad, dark, branching like arms of shadow.
His eyes turned a pale amber, slit pupils, fixed gaze—animal, yet calm, regal. His back widened. Shoulders snapped outward. His chest swelled under the hormonal pressure, the torso rounding, muscles layering in dense mass beneath the skin. His arms thickened—firm, powerful but not bulky. His waist remained narrow, hips lean, but his legs transformed: calves taut, thighs long and strong. His feet turned black, toes fused into a new shape, split hooves with a sleek, polished appearance.
He gave off a pungent scent—sap, damp forest floor, wild animal slick with hormones. He straightened slowly, as if savouring his own mass, his own stature. His antlers quivered, resonating with each breath. He now stood taller than any ordinary man. He had become something else: the body of a woodland prince, sculpted in the still, urgent call of silent rut.
His clothing shifted instantly. His shirt became white piqué cotton, nacreous, clinging to his torso to better reveal its form. Buttons marched high to his throat, and a white bow tie of the same fabric knotted itself at his collar. A perfectly tailored white waistcoat formed beneath. Black trousers hugged his long legs, falling smoothly to patent leather shoes, a satin stripe running discreetly along the outer seams.
A tailcoat draped itself over his shoulders, its long tails falling to mid-calf, shoulders structured, satin lapels wide and rich. White gloves covered his hands. He now stood as a sylvan aristocrat—noble, untouchable.
The girl shivered in turn. Her breath caught for a moment, then she arched, neck thrown back, lips parted. Her chest rose in an uneven rhythm. Her legs trembled, arms stretching like those of a dancer before a lift. Her transformation came softer, more fluid.
Her hips shifted beneath her skin, rounding her silhouette. Her legs lengthened, muscles becoming firm and supple. Her toes partially fused, her feet narrowing into dainty hooves with a satin sheen. A pale beige down crept up her calves and along her sides, darker at the base of her spine, paler around her abdomen.
Her ears slipped upward to the crown of her head, becoming long, mobile, velvety. Her nose narrowed, jaw refined, cheekbones rising into something almost elfin. Her eyes changed to a mossy green laced with gold. She had retained her humanity, yet now radiated a woodland beauty, ancient and pure.
Her gown transformed, parting at the back as a short, silky tail emerged at the base of her spine. The fabric deepened to an iridescent ivory, opalescent highlights rippling across it like water on glass. The gown swept to the floor, clinging to her curves like a second skin before flaring into a grand, split train.
The bodice tightened over her altered chest, embroidered with silver thread, tiny pearls, and delicate motifs of leaves and bark. Elbow-length gloves of sheer beaded tulle shimmered over her arms. Her neck was graced with a choker of moonstones, and a fine tiara, set with subtle diamonds, settled over her brow.
She slowly raised her head. He was already watching her.
They stood facing one another. Two figures of pageantry, bodies of ivory, eyes of forest. He, a flame-backed stag, swollen with heat and pride. She, an imperial doe, ethereal, burning with restrained grace. Their breath nearly touched. He extended his gloved hand. She placed hers upon it.
Silence fell completely. Even Loki said nothing. He merely watched, spellbound, at the finished tableau.