The Start (Part 1)

Esmeralda knew her husband all too well—or at least she thought she did. He was a man of debauchery, self-indulgence, and impulses. And Esmeralda?

Well, she wasn't interested in playing games. No, she wanted something far more thrilling. She wanted control. Not out of some misguided affection, mind you, but out of pure, unbridled pride.

She wanted Argider to beg for her attention. To worship her very existence. And, if she was being honest, to breathe only for her.

After all, who could resist her? She was Esmeralda, the paragon of beauty, grace, and noble blood. Power and prestige were practically woven into her very being. Surely, it was impossible for anyone to think otherwise.

But then came Argider, who apparently didn't read the memo. When they first met, the audacity of that person! They looked at her and said, blunt as a brick, "You're not my type."

Not her type?! How could anyone—anyONE—resist such perfection?

"Maybe it's the bloodline," Esmeralda muttered to herself. "He's clearly got some... lowly blood in him. A former peasant. Son of a mistress. Unworthy!"

Her mind spun with indignation as she stared at the one person in the entire empire who didn't find her irresistible. She hadn't been rejected in years, and here was this impudent creature, looking at her like she was a meal that had gone off.

But Argider was having none of it.

"We agreed you would attend to your duties as Empress and leave me to my own business, did we not?" Argider said firmly, pulling away from Esmeralda's overzealous grip.

Esmeralda narrowed her eyes. "But you've changed! You've been transformed, not by your own will, but by the gods themselves! Can't you see this is a sign that this farce needs to end?"

Argider waved her off dismissively. "Oh, please. You're hardly any different from me. You've got your fair share of men in your bed, just as I've got women in mine."

Esmeralda's eyebrow twitched. "Well, now that you're a woman, I'm not particularly inclined toward women. You're unconventional, sure, but not in the right way. At least now you can't be... well... that kind of dog. You know, the kind that just mates with anything that moves." She chuckled, a glint of mischief dancing in her emerald eyes.

It was a low blow. A sarcastic jab wrapped in a velvet bow. And yet, Argider couldn't help but snort at the audacity.

This woman, she thought. Even when throwing a tantrum, she still somehow managed to exude a sense of dignity. It was like watching a cat throw a fit while maintaining an aristocratic air. You couldn't help but be slightly impressed by the ridiculousness of it all.

Argider clenched her fists, her eyes narrowing. "I'll turn back into the man I was. You'll see."

Esmeralda raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? How fortunate you are. The gods have given you a rare opportunity to be a man again. If only I had your privilege."

 "You act as if you don't have privilege yourself."

"And you act as if you didn't burn everything to the ground!" Esmeralda snapped. "The harem is a disaster. The empire is a disaster!"

For once, Argider actually acknowledged the truth in Esmeralda's words. She had indeed messed things up. The harem was a mess, and the empire? Also a mess.

It was a peculiar paradox, but it was the situation they found themselves in. The only way out? Well, manipulate the people around her to do her bidding, of course.

"Well, my Empress," Argider said with a sly smile, "I shall depart now." She inclined her head slightly, ready to take her leave.

Esmeralda's hand shot out like a hawk's talon. "Wait!"

Argider sighed, bracing for whatever nonsense was coming next. "What now?"

Esmeralda gave her a sweet smile, almost too sweet. "I've been informed that you need personal tutors. As your primary spouse—and Empress, mind you—I know just the people who can help you. Although…" She paused dramatically. "I do wonder if you can handle it. Even when you were a man, you couldn't hold a sword to save your life."

Argider stiffened. Ouch. She had been dreadful with swords. To say she was uncoordinated would have been an understatement.

"As long as they're suitable," Argider replied flatly, turning away. "I don't have time for this nonsense. I've got more important things to do."

Esmeralda smirked. "You've got a long way to go, sweetheart."

As the night arrived and deepened, Argider couldn't find comfort in the room where she had been slain so she relocated to a smaller room, finding security in the presence of guards outside its door.

It had been an eternity since she had felt true comfort, whether in the clothing she wore or the bed she slept in as she nestled beneath a snug blanket.

She pulled her sleeves up, uncloaking the scars that marred her wrists—some old, whispers of past battles, others still raw and tender. As painful as it was, it offered a brief reprieve from the tempest of her emotions.

In that moment, Argider realized something: she had come to accept herself as irredeemable. To think she could ever outrun her sins seemed laughable, like trying to outrun your own shadow.

She had long since resigned herself to her fate, finding a twisted comfort in knowing she could never break free from the very tendencies that kept pulling her back into darkness. The struggle was futile, and yet, it brought a strange satisfaction.

"I'll just sleep," she sighed, closing her eyes, hoping for a temporary reprieve from her thoughts.

And so she drifted into a dream, though one she was acutely aware was far from real. It was too perfect, too pristine to be true, but who was she to turn down a fantasy? She gazed into a mirror and saw... herself. But not quite. She saw himself.

Her past self.

A man. Well, kind of. Averagely tall, a little scrawny, and yet, undeniably attractive. The sort of man who could charm his way into—and out of—anything. Women fawned over him. Men envied him.

He was the ticket to anything and everything. If only she had a fraction of his manliness or shaft, maybe things would've gone differently. But alas, she was a loser. And there it was, staring back at her in the mirror—a man who never had to try too hard.

Before she could wallow in self-pity, three buxom women appeared. Their figures, curvy and soft, pressed against her former self.

They kissed, they nibbled, they practically devoured the poor man, trailing kisses and wet tongues over her neck. Argider's breath hitched as the scene grew more suggestive by the second.

"Oh god, a wet dream," she gasped, suddenly wide awake in the dream. It was getting too real, too... much. Just as things were about to escalate, a voice broke through the haze.

"ARGIDER, IT'S TIME FOR YOUR TRAINING!"

Argider's eyes snapped open, her mind still in a fog, trying to process the blaring intrusion. She squinted against the harsh sunlight streaming through the room, her mind grappling with the remnants of her dream. Who dared to disrupt such... vivid fantasies?

And there, standing at the foot of her bed, was Madam Phirya. The older woman stared at her with a look that could curdle milk, her forehead furrowed with age-old wisdom, and lips that seemed permanently set in a disapproving frown.

"W-Wait, what's going on? What training?" Argider mumbled, groggy and disoriented.

"Oh, don't be foolish, boy," Madam Phirya snapped, clearly unamused. "Now that you're a woman, it's time you learn how to act like one. A lady must have etiquette."

Argider stared at her, blinking. What?!

Madam Phirya, a woman of fierce reputation in noble circles, had the teaching methods of a drill sergeant and the patience of a stone wall. No one escaped her lessons without psychological scars. She was the queen of making grown men and women sob over their manners.

"Are you... one of Esmeralda's trainers?" Argider asked, still struggling to catch up.

"Yes," Madam Phirya answered flatly, her eyes narrowing. "But there will be no Empress or Baroness here. Just a student and teacher. And trust me, I won't hesitate to be harsh. Now, stand up! A lady must be punctual!"

Before Argider could protest, she was yanked from her bed by her ear—literally—and dragged out of the room.

What in the name of all things ridiculous was happening? Why on earth was she being subjected to this madness? How would learning how to sit properly help her get her manly form back? None of it made sense!

Moments later, they found themselves in a library, and Argider was shoved onto the floor. Her hand was smacked with a sharp stick, causing her to yelp in surprise.

"Madam—" Argider began, but was quickly cut off.

"What is it, boy?" Madam Phirya barked.

"Ah, sorry, you may continue," Argider mumbled, still dazed from the absurdity of the situation.

Madam Phirya began pacing, her eyes appraising Argider as though she were some kind of prize pig at a market. "Starting today, you will learn the way of the feminine," she declared with relish. "You will learn how to walk like a woman, to sit like one, to conduct yourself as one, and most importantly, how to stop acting like a man."

Argider groaned inwardly. This was the worst possible way to spend her time.

"Understood?" Madam Phirya asked, her tone unyielding.

Argider's response was a resigned sigh as she thought, Well, this is going to be... something.