Content Warning: brief mention of IPV

      This world has taken its toll on me. Its evil has created an invisible layer on my skin that I’m itching to peel. Before I cast off this fleshy carapace, the occasion calls for one last night of debauchery. And who am I to refuse? The only saving grace of this sick world is its capacity for sumptuous, delicious sin. Before I shed that which is tainted, I must sink my teeth into what makes this place worth saving. Naturally, that means a trip to Bacchanal.

      I whip out my phone (refurbished, of course, it’s so passé to buy new as a planet burns). Shae and Naomi are always free on a Friday night. Or at least they never fail to make themselves available to me. I send off a message alluding to the finality of this particular night. Not even five minutes later, Naomi’s contact illuminates my screen with a call.

“Mistress, does your message mean what I assume?”

I sigh softly.

“We really should not discuss this without Shae. Meet me at the suite.”

“But-"

“Pet, do not begin questioning me now. You and Shae get ready for Bacchanal and come see me. I promise nothing will be done until we are together.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

As I hang up the phone, I gaze out upon the cityscape before me. Concrete monuments to capitalism, sterility decimating the natural, I had so hoped that humanity would not dive headfirst into its own destruction. And yet, I am not being fair. Just out of sight, there are places of resistance trafficking in care like gorgeous cockroaches evading the boot of the world’s death cult. After this shedding, the cockroaches and caffeinated ants shall inherit the earth.

***

      For this final night in my skin, I’ve decided to show off as much of it as possible. My waist-length locs are piled atop my head with two released in front to frame my face. Adorning my hair is gold jewelry fashioned from my spoils toppling the empires of haughty men. On my human form, I wear a black leather corset top that leaves ample space for my lovers to caress me at their pleasure. I have on matching black hot pants that serve little purpose beside making my ass look good. As for footwear, I choose black platform chunky-heeled boots (for the human-passing creature that wants to serve cunt while still being able to serve a beatdown should the occasion call for one).

      Just in time, a knock echoes through the apartment. As I open the door, I see Naomi’s worried visage next to Shae’s concerned one.

“Is something bad happening?” Shae asks.

I gesture for them to come in and sit on the bed. I lean against the dresser.

“The answer to that depends on your point of view,” I respond.

“But does it mean what I think?” Naomi says.

I sigh.

“What does she think?” Shae says.

“That I will be shedding.”

“And are you?” Naomi probes with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“What does shedding mean?” Shae says.

“I change my skin. But as a lamia, that holds more weight than the act done by my serpentine brethren. When I shed my skin, the world sheds with me.”

They both look at me with a million questions in their eyes.

“Perhaps the clearest illustration is that my last shedding took place at the start of modern civilization.”

“So what the fuck is going to happen to us?” Naomi asks, ever the pragmatist.

     

      I drink them in with my eyes; my gorgeous lovers who have gifted me with the greatest pleasures this mortal plane can offer. Even in her worry, Naomi has donned her cyberpunk accouterments to accompany me to my home away from home. And Shae, ever ready to step out on faith, has come dressed to the nines in her pink, frilly hyperfemme attire. I cup their faces ever so tenderly in my palms.

“My loves, this world as it is does not deserve you. I must tear it down so that we can begin anew, start fresh. I will ensure that profit is the furthest thing from anyone’s mind. This new world will build itself upon the idea of liberation. For everyone. You will have lives befitting your sublime souls. Be not afraid. You have given your bodies and souls to me. In return, I will give you the world.”

Naomi softens, and Shae practically purrs.

“Now, enough discussion of ends and beginnings. I wish to enjoy this present moment. Time for Bacchanal.”

***

Bacchanal is the club if you’re queer, trans, and ready to partake in the plentiful pleasures of such company. Friday nights are one of my favorites because the humans release their workplace shells and truly come alive. As we entered the venue, the thumping bass immediately set my hips to swaying. Before I become too drunk on the exquisite fellowship, I lean until my lips brush Naomi’s ear.

“Tonight, I must feed,” I say.

      She nods and relays the message to Shae. We spread throughout the club to canvas for my dinner. I take the downstairs dancefloor. As I slip myself into the throng of bodies, I keep an eye out for any bad behavior. It doesn’t take long for me to find something. Occasionally, cis straight couples pop up at Bacchanal. Sometimes, we tolerate their presence. Other times, misbehavior must be punished. Right now, this man has a bruising grip on his girlfriend’s wrist. He’s whispering into her ear, and her eyes are full of unshed tears. My heart breaks, and my fangs threaten to appear. I text Shae and Naomi that I’ve found my meal and that Shae will need to connect a woman with Ebony, a bartender used to helping the freed partners of the wastes of flesh that become my food. I slink toward the couple. My hand slides onto the man’s shoulder. He whips around angrily, softening as he takes in my figure. I can practically taste his entitlement. I trace an acrylic down his arm and enjoy him shivering.

“Let me show you paradise,” I tempt.

He nods, and I grab his wrist. I find Shae in the crowd and gesture to the girlfriend with my head.

“Sorry, love. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” I say to the woman.

“She’s just a whore. Fuck her,” the man slurs.

I tighten my grip on his wrist, releasing before I get to the point of crushing bones.

“Bad boys don’t get rewards, so shut up,” I say.

I need to hurry this up before he thinks he can actually talk to me. We head into a back room that Iris, the owner of Bacchanal, tends to keep reserved for me. I lock the door behind me. He starts unzipping his pants. This will be delicious.

“Ah ah ah,” I say. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I’m hard,” he whines.

“We can fix that, but everything tastes sweeter when you savor it.”

“Fine.”

I bring my body flush against his, and he tries to bring his hands to my ass. I slap them away.

“I set the pace or you get nothing at all,” I warn.

He groans. I kiss his neck, and the sound dies in his throat. His pulse feels strong. My mouth begins to water. I tilt his head so that his lips will meet mine. He’s a terrible kisser, soggy and way too much tongue, but he seems sufficiently sedated. I bring my hand up to his chest; I can feel his heart beat. It’s pounding against his ribcage. Poor baby is getting excited. I break the kiss, and he whimpers.

“I’ve known many men like you who think your affection should be dispensed with scars and bruises. You think that a big man like you is owed a ‘weak’ woman to crush beneath your heel. You disgust me. You don’t deserve to breathe the air of the world I will create.”

I plunge my hand acrylics-first into his chest, pushing past flesh then fat then muscle then bone until I reach my bounty. I grip his heart in my palm, delighting in its warmth. I rip it out and blood drips down my forearm. His body collapses on the floor. I begin consuming the only part of that human that was worth anything. I can tell he didn’t have a hard life; his heart is strong and tender. Its juices are succulent and give me a slight buzz. I feel powerful, ready for the shedding that is to come.

A knock at the door.

Who is it?”

“It’s us,” Shae says.

I let them in. They barely glance at the corpse on the floor. I wipe the blood off my mouth.

“How is the woman?” I ask.

“Her name is Star, and she’s doing as well as can be expected! I think she’s developing a crush on Ebony though,” Shae says.

“I’ll follow up tomorrow to make sure she has a safe place to stay,” Naomi chimes in.

“You truly are the best of this world,” I say with all the affection in my heart.

***

      After hours of kissing and grinding on each other (and a few strangers) at Bacchanal, we return to my suite. We are barely through the door before our clothing litters the floor. As if we were a knot of snakes, our bodies intertwine upon the bed. Shae is so soft, a body resplendent with curves and folds, while Naomi is a wall of sinew and muscle, a monument to strength. The contrast lies right at the intersection of sin and virtue; that intersection contains the only holiness I pray to. I thank the Fates each day that I was able to find these two fire lilies amongst the rubbish of humanity. Each moment of intimacy connects not only our bodies but more importantly our hearts. In this bed, I cannot escape the knowledge that pleasure is ever-abundant; scarcity becomes unfathomable. This bed and these beauties taught me to bare my fangs and destroy this world to make way for better.

      With our bodies satisfied and languishing in the afterglow of what we did together, I allow myself to release my human form. My legs fuse and elongate, growing scales, until a thick green snakelike tail appears on the second half of my body. My sclera and pupil turn a golden yellow, and my iris becomes a thin, dark slit. My canines become longer and sharper. Shae and Naomi hardly react except to stroke my tail.

“Is it time?” Naomi asks.

“Yes, my love,” I reply.

“And you’ll be okay?” Shae says, nuzzling her face into my neck.

“I will for the first time in my long life be at peace because I know that you two will finally live.”

A comfortable silence settled in the room.

“Your only charge is to watch over me during the shedding. I cannot control over how long it will take, but I am at my most fragile at this time. Can you two handle that?”

Of course, Mistress,” Naomi affirms.

“We will keep you safe,” Shae says.

A slow smile creeps across my face. I give them each a lingering kiss, committing their taste to memory. Now, a sleep that will change me, remove every inch of my skin until I am raw and new. A sleep that will last minutes or months. A sleep that will carry with it the promise of liberation. And so I close my eyes.

And when I awake, rebirth.