That was the word. Nothing inside me felt replaced. It felt… uncovered. Like someone had adjusted gravity and I hadn't realized how much pressure I'd been under until it eased. The tension wasn't gone. But this? This spark of excitement. This strange, buoyant lift in my chest. It didn't feel imposed. It felt chosen.
I stood, holding the dress against myself, turning toward the reflective surface of the viewport. Stars scattered across black infinity behind me. For the first time since Earth fell, I didn't feel like prey. I didn't feel like cargo. I didn't even feel like a variable being managed. I felt… engaged. Curious. Alive in a way that had nothing to do with fear. I let out a slow breath. Okay. Maybe there was something to this Aelyth bond.
Not destiny. Not divine nonsense. Just… alignment?
I could live with alignment. And if that alignment made me want to open twelve more boxes like it was Christmas morning in a universe that didn't owe me anything?
Well.
Maybe that wasn't the worst possible outcome. I smiled to myself, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work.
Box after box opened with a soft hiss, lids folding back like petals. Inside each: perfection. Fabric that shimmered faintly as it adjusted to ambient light. "Okay," I murmured. "I see the appeal."
I moved on to the smaller packages, curiosity winning out over restraint. One unfolded into a compact device that floated up at eye level the moment I removed it from its casing. A soft, translucent panel expanded in front of my face.
DERMAL ENHANCEMENT MODULE — READY
"Oh no," I said. "Absolutely not."
The panel pulsed patiently. I glanced at my reflection again. The faint glow beneath my skin. The shadows under my eyes from too little sleep and too much existential dread. "…fine."
The panel shifted, and the surface became soft and warm. Before I could overthink it, I leaned forward and pressed my face against it. The sensation was… incredible. Not cold. Not clinical. More like a gentle hum, micro-currents gliding over my skin. I felt tiny adjustments, subtle, precise. A whisper of pressure at my cheekbones. A soft warmth at my lips. Something smoothing, blending, enhancing.
I pulled back with a gasp. My reflection blinked at me. Perfectly even skin. A natural flush that looked like I'd just come in from a brisk walk. My eyes were brighter, my lashes darker, my lips just a touch fuller without looking artificial.
"No," I breathed. "That's cheating."
I leaned in again, experimentally. After all, I was a scientist, right? I had to experiment. The panel responded instantly, adjusting to my expression as if it werereadingme. I laughed, a real laugh this time, light and a little giddy. "Okay. I officially live here now."
I spent the next half hour trying things on, off, around, and sideways. A face massager that felt like it reached into my skull and shook loose all the tension I'd been carrying since Earth fell. A hair tool that simply… asked what I wanted and then did it. A fabric that adapted to my body temperature and mood, darkening slightly when I felt irritated, lightening when I relaxed.
At one point, I caught sight of myself again in the mirror, hair loose, skin glowing softly, wearing clothes that felt like they belonged to this version of me rather than the woman I'd been before.
On Earth, I lived in layers. Structured blazers. Neutral palettes. Practical shoes. It hadn't always been that way. There had been a boyfriend once.
Graduate school. Astrophysics track. He'd liked telling people I wasthe smart one. Said it like it was charming. Until it wasn't. We'd gone on a double date, his colleague and the colleague's girlfriend. I'd gotten excited about something, dark matter modeling, I think. Or gravitational lensing. I didn't remember the topic as much as I remembered the look on his face. Tight. Smiling, but tight. Later that night, I came back from the bathroom and paused outside the door when I heard voices.
"I mean, she's impressive," the other woman had said, her tone light in the way people use when they're sharpening something. "But she's a lot."
A small laugh followed from my boyfriend, "Yeah. Sometimes she's a little too much. She can get… intense."
Too much. That had been the word that stuck.Too much.
Toosmart.
Tooenthusiastic.
Tooloud when she forgot to be careful.
I hadn't confronted him. I'd just adjusted. Muted colors instead of bright ones. Hair tied back instead of loose. Let him answer more questions at dinner. Smiled and redirected conversations when they drifted toward my field. It was easier that way. Safer. I told myself I didn't care about being noticed. That I preferred practicality. That being underestimated was strategic. But the truth was simpler: It hurt less.
Then the invasion came.
And narrowing became instinct.
Eat. Think. Calculate. Endure.
There hadn't been space for softness.
