Steamy Stress Relief

“This is outrageous! Simply outrageous!” came the shrill voice of an old, uptight-looking woman whose thin, bony body was squeezed into a grey business suit so remarkably bland that it made her professional, yet outdated haircut seem positively glamorous by comparison. “Your proposal for a two percent tax on alfalfa goes too far!”

Sitting across the table from this rather unpleasant woman was an equally unpleasant woman of equally decrepit physique whose wardrobe was nearly identical to that of the first, the only difference being the slightly differing shades of grey that it featured. “And I say,” declared the second woman in a voice as shrill as her counterpart's, “your proposal for a two percent tax on alfalfa doesn't go far enough!”

Just a short distance away from these two specimens, seated at the head of the large, ornate table the two were currently glaring at each other across, was a third woman of wholly different appearance and temperament. Where the diminutive stature of the two shriveled old biddies before her might have allowed them to pass as mere children in the right light, this towering pillar of woman could have dwarfed even the tallest of men. Where their wiry forms looked as if they might snap if they exerted themselves too much, her jaw-droppingly voluptuous body boasted so many plush, feminine curves that she would not have been out of place in the fantasies of the most imaginative of adolescents. Where they wore the sort of drab attire one would expect of a couple of stuffy old politicians, her radiant form was clad in a gossamer gown of gleaming white that somehow managed to look professional and elegant at the same time. Where their pale, wrinkled skin looked rough enough to give sandpaper a run for its money, her beautifully bronzed flesh was as silky smooth as the day she was born. Where their antiquated arrangements of greying hair would have made even the most resilient of stylists cringe, her long, flowing locks wafted slowly in a gentle ethereal breeze, shimmering with all the colors of an aurora. Where their sharp features were contorted into sneers of frustration and rage, her serene visage boasted a practiced businesslike smile and a pair of big, pink eyes that gazed patiently down at the two before her.

The thoughts running through the mind behind that beautiful face, however, were anything but serene.

When will this end? When will it end? How long can these two possibly keep this up for?

Such was the scene as Her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia of Equestria, took part in her seventh meeting of the day, suffering through the mind-numbing absurdity of it thanks to a steel will forged over the course of centuries of politicking. Even the strongest of wills, however, are still capable of breaking.

While the two representatives continued to bicker aimlessly before her, Celestia's eyes wandered over to a large grandfather clock situated against one wall of the grand meeting room they were currently gathered in. Her luscious lips did not even quiver, but in her head, the overworked princess screamed.

Two hours!?! Over two hours of this? How? How are they still going on like this?

Looking back to the two women before her, Celestia saw clearly that neither one had any intention of backing down from the argument. In fact, she guessed that the two would have gladly sat there all day bickering were they allowed to. The exchange had already been going on for so long that Celestia could not even remember what the original point of discussion had been. She had given up on trying to steer the conversation a long time ago, hoping the two would eventually wear themselves out and be willing to discuss things more cordially. Unfortunately, it was beginning to look like she would have to wait until the next Summer Sun Celebration before that would happen.

Celestia kept her eyes on the two, watching them as if they were dangerous animals that might lash out at her at any moment, while she slowly withdrew her hands from where they had been folded on the table before her. She discreetly reached underneath the table, her fingers quickly locating a small button built into the wood and pressing it. Just as discreetly, she rested her hands back on the table, folding them neatly, as if they had never budged.

Please hurry.

Several long, agonizing moments later, Celestia heard the tiny click of a door opening somewhere behind her, and then the soft pitter-patter of two high-heeled feet as they approached her. Out of the corner of her eye, Celestia saw a young woman dressed in a business skirt, a modest blouse, and wearing an adorably bulky pair of glasses step up and stand beside her. After pausing a moment to brush a strand of her thick, brown hair behind her ear, the woman leaned in and whispered into Celestia's ear.

“Y-Your Highness,” she squeaked, “the, um...the C-Captain of the Guard requests an immediate audience with you to discuss a matter of national security.”

Celestia nodded in silent acknowledgment, and the bespectacled woman withdrew, standing ramrod straight next to her seat, her hands dutifully clasped before her. Celestia waited an appropriate amount of time before raising a fist to her mouth, clearing her throat in a distinctively princess-like fashion, then parting her full, feminine lips to speak.

“Representatives,” said Celestia, her voice as soft as silk, yet as unyielding as stone.

Somehow managing to hear Celestia's words over the sound of their own bickering, the two representatives abruptly fell silent, visibly calming, as if suddenly waking from a dream. The two quickly turned their heads and looked over and up at the theoretical third participant in the discussion.

“I regret to inform you that an urgent matter has arisen that requires my immediate attention,” said Celestia. “I am afraid we must adjourn and resume this...very important discussion at a later date.”

“Oh, but of course, Your Highness!” said the first representative, speaking in a markedly more polite tone than she had been using moments earlier. “Whatever you wish!”

“As you wish, Your Highness!” said the second, smiling widely. “We are at your beck and call.”

“I thank you for understanding,” said Celestia as she gracefully rose from her seat, standing head-and-shoulders above the others. “I shall have my secretary arrange for a follow-up meeting at an appropriate time. Until then, I bid you good day.”

The two representatives rose to their feet as quickly as their old, knobbly knees would allow, then promptly dipped into deep curtsies. “Good day, Your Highness,” they said together.

The two managed to keep their forced smiles on their faces until they turned away from the table and began making their way towards the door. Celestia stood statuesquely as the two walked side-by-side, shooting each other angry looks when they thought the princess couldn't see. Eventually, they reached the heavy, sound-dampening door of the meeting room, opened it, then quickly stepped through, pulling it closed behind them.

The instant she heard the sound of the door clicking closed, Celestia's knees gave out beneath her, and she fell back into her seat, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the plush cushion behind her, and let out a long sigh.

“Thank you, Raven,” she said, her tone uncharacteristically weary.

Standing at her side, Raven smiled softly, then quickly curtsied. “It was my pleasure, Your Highness,” she said.

A few moments later, Celestia raised her arms into the air and stretched out the tired limbs, unintentionally letting out a few ladylike grunts of exertion. At the same time, she leaned forward in her seat, allowing her to stretch out the pair of aching limbs that had been neatly folded against her back throughout the entire meeting. Raven quickly made way as the two immense feathered wings that sprouted from Celestia's back, each one as pure white as fresh snow, slowly unfurled, stretching out to their full extent. The little secretary could not help but feel a sense of awe as she watched those regal wings flex and shiver, each one looking so remarkably delicate, despite being bigger than her entire body. After a few moments of this, Celestia sighed again, re-folded her wings, then leaned back against her seat.

“Shall I...bring you some chamomile tea?” said Raven. “Or perhaps some jelly scones?”

“Thank you,” said Celestia, “but no. I am afraid tea will not do me any good right now.”

“Oh...very well, Your Higness,” said Raven.

A few silent moments later, Celestia spoke again. “Raven,” she said, looking over at her secretary, “what does my schedule look like for the rest of the day?”

“Oh! Um...” began Raven, quickly fishing a small notepad from her pocket and poring over it. “You have...a meeting with Representative Sharp Point to discuss the ongoing pencil shortage.”

No.

“Then there's the presentation on proper tooth-brushing techniques you told the Dentist's Guild you would attend,” Raven continued.

Please no.

“Oh! And then this evening,” said Raven, “you have a state dinner with Minister Persnickety and Chancellor Fussypants that— ”

“Stop,” said Celestia, raising a hand to silence the barrage. Raven dutifully fell silent, awaiting her princess's next command.

I'm not going to make it. I don't think I could make it through even one more meeting. If I have to hear the word “regulations” one more time today...

Celestia slowly raised her hands, reaching up past the long, spiraled horn that jutted proudly from her forehead. With one hand, she took hold of the golden crown that sat atop her head and carefully removed it; with the other, she slowly ran her fingers through her hair, finding some comfort in the gentle touch. After a few moments of this, she readjusted her luscious locks, then returned the crown to its rightful place atop her regal head. She sat up straight in her seat, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“Cancel it,” she said.

“Cancel it, Your Highness?” said Raven. “W-Which one?”

“All of it,” said Celestia. “Clear my schedule for the rest of the day.”

Raven was momentarily stunned at hearing such an unorthodox request from the normally workaholic princess, but Celestia's authoritative tone spurred her on regardless.

“Uh...y-yes, Your Highness,” said Raven as she whipped out a pencil and began scribbling in her notebook.

Celestia looked over at her loyal assistant, smiling warmly as she watched her work.

She's as much of a workaholic as I am. I wonder what she does to relax?

“Raven?” said Celestia.

Raven paused her scribbling for a moment, looking up at Celestia. “Yes, Your Highness?” she said.

“Do you ever go to the spa?” asked Celestia nonchalantly.

“Th-Th-The spa?” said Raven, blushing as if Celestia had just asked what color her panties were.

“Yes, the spa,” said Celestia.

“W-Well, I...I...y-yes, I...I do,” said Raven. “I mean...s-sometimes I do. I...I don't go excessively or anything...but I do go...frequently. B-But I don't go that frequently! It's not like I'm...shirking my responsibilities or anything, but—”

“Raven,” said Celestia, sensing the poor woman's discomfort.

Raven ceased her babbling, looking back at her princess. Upon that beautiful face, she saw that familiar warm, motherly smile, a smile that always managed to calm her down when she was upset.

“It's alright,” said Celestia.

Raven blushed at her own awkwardness, but managed to calm her fluttering heart.

“Y-Yes, Your Highness,” said Raven. “I...I do go to the spa.”

“Which spa do you like to go to?” asked Celestia.

“I...I like to go to the, uh...the Radiance,” said Raven.

“The Radiance?” said Celestia.

“Yes,” said Raven. “Er, Regal Radiance, I mean. It's...over in the Ruby District. They...they just have the nicest staff of anywhere I've been and...they have so much you can do there. Massages, mud baths, manicures, pedicures...anything you can think of. Of course, I...normally don't do all of that. I usually spend most of my time in the sauna. It's just...so nice in there...so peaceful and quiet. You can just lay back and...feel your stress melting away.”

If Raven's words had been an insufficient endorsement, then watching the woman's nervousness visibly dissipate at the mere thought of spending time at her favorite spa was more than enough to seal the deal for Celestia.

A sauna. That sounds heavenly.

“Well...I suppose that settles it then,” said Celestia as she slowly rose to her feet.

“Your Highness?” said Raven, gazing up at the princess.

“I want you to send a message to Regal Radiance,” said Celestia. “Tell them that I shall be paying them a visit this afternoon.”

“Uh...y-yes, of course...Your Highness,” said Raven, scribbling something in her notebook.

“And while you're at it,” said Celestia, “I'd like you to schedule a spa day for yourself sometime this week.”

The crack of Raven's pencil echoed throughout the room as it snapped in two. She clutched the broken pieces in her trembling hands as she looked back up at Celestia.

“Y-Y-Y-Your Highness?” she managed to get out.

Celestia smiled down at her faithful assistant. “Take the whole day,” she said. “Get whatever treatment you'd like. My treat.”

Celestia managed not to chuckle as she watched Raven try to keep the joyous expression off of her face.

“I...I...I...” Raven stammered. “Y-Y-Yes, Your Highness! Th-Thank you, Your Highness!” She immediately dropped into an excessively deep curtsy. “I...you...”

Celestia placed a gentle hand on Raven's shoulder, steadying the poor woman.

“You're quite welcome,” said Celestia.

Raven swallowed, managing to regain some degree of her professional composure. “B-But, Your Highness,” she said, “what time should I tell them you'll be arriving?”

Celestia turned towards the door and made her way towards it, her long, shapely legs carrying her quickly across the floor.

“Imminently,” she said.

The air was suffused with the distinctive aroma of freshly brewed coffee, which filled the lungs of anyone who took so much as a tiny whiff of it. Much less pleasant to the senses, however, was the constant din produced by the gaggle of snooty women seated nearby, obnoxiously slurping their lattes. A long line of people was assembled in the middle of the room, consisting of mothers clutching whining children to their breasts, university students listening to music so loudly that it could be heard through their headphones, as well as many other people of the sort who would have time to visit a coffee shop in the middle of a workday. This line stretched backwards far away to the door of the shop, then kept on going, through the door, down the street, and out of sight. Forwards, it stretched to a counter, behind which stood a woman of deceptively mundane appearance.

She was young, but not abnormally so. She was pleasant to look upon, but not eye-poppingly beautiful. Her form was distinctly feminine, boasting a modest bust, a small, round posterior, and a thin waist, but was not nearly voluptuous enough to make her stand out in a crowd. She wore a pair of plain jeans and an unmarked t-shirt light blue in color, the same blue as that which colored the spiraled horn that stuck out from her short, reddish-brown hair. A green apron was tied over her clothing, upon which was pinned a name tag that bore the name “Chrys”. The pale pink skin of her face was unadorned, unblemished, and otherwise unremarkable; the same could not be said of her deep green eyes, eyes tinged with an underlying layer of bitterness and hatred. Despite this, those lips of hers were stretched into a smile that no one around her cared enough to notice was forced.

“Here's your triple-whipple frosty mocha chai latte, ma'am,” she said as she handed the verbose beverage to an impatient-looking woman standing on the other side of the counter.

The customer scoffed as she quickly yanked the drink from Chrys's hands. “It's about time,” she sneered, quickly turning and walking away.

“Have a nice day!” said Chrys politely.

Choke on it, bitch.

Chrys watched the woman for half a moment, but quickly faced forward again upon feeling a very peculiar tremor. Dishes throughout the shop rattled, and rhythmic ripples appeared in the surfaces of otherwise still cups of coffee. Chrys looked forward, then slowly looked up, her smile gradually fading.

Lumbering forward towards the counter was what could only be described as a walking mountain of grotesque, flabby flesh with a pair of fat legs sticking out of the bottom, two fat arms jutting from the sides, and a fat, neckbearded head resting on top. Chrys supposed that calling the thing a “man” might have been technically accurate, but in her experience, men tended to be less than ninety percent blubber by volume. Whatever it was, its mass was miraculously contained within a ragged pair of sweat pants and an enormous t-shirt which bore the words “YOUR WAIFU IS SHIT”. Peeking over the tops of its shoulders was a set of short, stubby wings that Chrys could not have imagined lifting their owner's weight in her wildest dreams.

The trembling of the ground ceased as this rotund fellow took his place, and several others' places, before the counter and set his beady eyes on the menu hanging from the wall behind Chrys. Meanwhile, Chrys struggled to restart her brain, which had spontaneously shut down out of refusal to take part in what was surely coming next.

Why me?

Eventually, Chrys managed to force the smile back onto her face and find her voice once again.

“H-Hello, sir! Welcome to Starbits! What can I get for you?” she said.

Without taking his eyes off of the menu, the man before her lazily licked his fat lips, then spoke in a deep, meandering voice that matched his appearance perfectly.

“Yeah, can you give me a fuckin' uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh...” he began, his vocalization not ending even as the seconds dragged on.

Behind the counter, Chrys waited patiently with a smile on her face and a twitch in her eye.

“Uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh...burger?” the man concluded at last.

A moment of silence passed as Chrys quickly debated hurling herself out of the nearest window.

“Uh...sir,” she said as politely as she could manage, “we don't sell burgers here.”

The man looked down at her, squinting confusedly as if she had just spoken in a foreign language.

“What do ya mean you don't sell burgers?” he said.

Kill me now.

“We have...paninis and breakfast sandwiches,” said Chrys, gesturing towards the glass display case nearby that showcased all manner of delicious-looking snacks.

“You think I know what a panini is?” said the man, growing visibly angry. “Just give me a burger, extra cheese!”

It was at that very moment that something in Chrys's head snapped: a tiny, frail thread of self-control that had somehow managed to hold back an entire ocean's worth of repressed anger throughout countless hours of service industry toil. Chrys's hands, which had been neatly clasped before her throughout this entire exchange, suddenly darted forward, seizing the massive man by his t-shirt and yanking him forward with a strength that would have put most gym rats to shame. Brought down to eye-level with her, the man gazed fearfully into Chrys's eyes, which burned with a green fire he could almost feel on his greasy skin.

“Now you listen to me, you hippopotamic land mass!” hissed Chrys. “This is a coffee shop! Do you know what we sell here? Coffee! Crazy, I know. We do not sell burgers! We do not take expired coupons! We do not honor our competitors' gift cards! And we do not make coffee with fucking breast milk! Now, you are either going to order something right fucking now, or you are going to drag your fat, smelly ass out of that door, because if you're still standing there in ten seconds, then I will personally shove your fat fucking head into the blender and hit frappe! Do I make myself clear?”

Chrys stood there fuming, the sound of her heavy breaths the only thing that permeated the silence that hung over the shop. Thankfully for the man she still held in her clutches, another sound broke the silence before she could make good on her threat. Even through the angry haze clouding her mind, Chrys detected the sound of a throat being cleared somewhere behind her. Her eyes slowly widened, the fire burning within them quickly doused. The angry snarl on her face faded as she slowly turned her head to the side, looking back over her shoulder.

Standing there, just a few feet away, was a very grumpy-looking middle-aged unicorn woman wearing business casual clothing. The woman had her arms crossed before her, and her piercing gaze focused directly on Chrys.

As Chrys met the woman's gaze, she felt her heart suddenly drop down into the soles of her sneakers. Her eyes darted back and forth between the woman and the man she had just finished giving a tongue-lashing.

Chrys chuckled awkwardly. “Uh...this...isn't what it looks like?” she said, looking at the woman with a guilty smile on her lips.

Before the woman could reply, the awkward silence was banished by the sound of loud, childish wailing. Chrys quickly looked forward again, only to see the big man was currently busy bawling his eyes out like a baby. Momentarily stunned by the sight, Chrys's grip loosened enough for the man to escape her grasp and flee the counter. The man made a beeline straight for the front door, knocking over several innocent bystanders like bowling pins on his way out. Chrys watched as he ran as fast as his flabby legs could carry him down the street, his cries eventually fading away.

“Chrysanthemum,” came the voice of the woman standing behind her. The woman uncrossed her arms, placing one hand on her hip, while holding the other one out before her, palm upwards. “Turn in your apron. You're fired.”

Chrys felt the color drain from her face, and felt her clammy skin crawl. “B-But I...he...y-you...” she stammered, racking her brain for any words that could salvage the situation. Before too long, however, she gave up, and shut her mouth. “Fine,” she said through clenched teeth.

Reaching behind her, Chrys quickly untied her apron, then pulled it off of herself. Rather than hand it to her boss, however, she spitefully balled it up and threw it onto the floor before her. She pointed an accusative finger at the woman, scowling venomously. “You will regret this!” she declared.

Chrys's former boss raised an eyebrow at this. “Oh, really?” she said.

“Yes!” said Chrys. “You will regret defying me! You and all of you pathetic fools!” She turned her gaze on the customers still filling the shop. “Just you wait! Enjoy your disgusting beverages while you can, because someday soon, I shall have my revenge on all of you! Your puny kingdom will be mine, and your princesses will kneel at my feet! Just you wait. Just you wait!”

With that, Chrys hopped over the counter and down onto the floor on the other side, the customers around her stepping back to make way. Chrys stomped her way towards the door, balling her hands into fists and muttering angrily. Chrys stomped her way right out of the shop and onto the street, then stomped away, glaring at anyone unfortunate enough to cross her path. She stomped her way through the streets of Canterlot, gradually moving away from the beautiful commercial areas of the city, making her way towards the closest thing that sparkling metropolis had to a slum. She stomped her way down deteriorating streets and past dusty convenience stores, right up to an old apartment building that looked as if it might crumble to dust if someone were to look at it wrong. She stomped her way up to a familiar door, the numbers of which had gone missing long ago, and which bore a mysterious stain that she had never dared to contemplate for too long. She angrily fished a key from her pocket, jammed it into the door, threw the door open, then stomped her way inside, slamming it shut behind her.

Chrys felt the anger drain out of her as soon as she was back in her own private corner of the universe, isolated from the aggravations of the outside world. She breathed a heavy sigh, leaning back against the door, then slowly sliding down until she was sitting upon the dirty carpet beneath her. As she stretched out her tired legs, she took a moment to look around at her apartment.

Four dirty walls with chipping paint surrounded her, and a water-stained ceiling sat above her head. Against one of these walls sat an unfolded sofa bed, the ominously stained mattress of which was covered with a ratty blanket, dirty laundry, and an old pizza box. Scattered throughout the rest of the room were a few other mismatched pieces of furniture that looked as if they had been fished out of a dumpster, mainly because they had been. There were a couple of chairs covered with more dirty laundry and a few old magazines. On one wall hung a cheap clock that always managed to be an hour late, no matter how many times she adjusted it. Over in the kitchen, surrounded by moldy tiles and buzzing flies, was a sink filled with a pile of precariously stacked dirty dishes. In the corner stood a tall lamp with a bare bulb; she considered turning it on, but the light seeping through the closed blinds of the room's single window kept the illumination at a pleasantly dim level.

The strangest feature of this particular dwelling, however, had to be the vaguely phallic-looking hunk of lavender-colored wood sitting on the side table next to the bed. Chrys glared at the wood, narrowing her eyes at it.

“Why yes, I am home early,” said Chrys. “How observant of you.”

A moment of silence passed, then Chrys scowled at the wood.

“So what if I got fired?” she said. “I didn't need that job! I didn't need them! I don't need anyone!”

Chrys rose to her feet, taking a few steps forward.

“Those fools,” she said, “treating me like that. They should be groveling before me and kissing my feet! If only they knew who they were dealing with.”

Suddenly, on the ground at Chrys's feet, a bright flash of green light appeared, which quickly spread to surround her shoes, then continued to expand, moving upwards and swallowing up her whole body. Within a fraction of a second, the woman had been completely enveloped in a column of green light, and just as quickly, the light faded away again, starting at her feet and gradually moving upwards. By the time the light had vanished completely, Chrys had disappeared, and someone entirely different had taken her place.

Where once there had stood a plain, unremarkable girl of modest appearance now towered a giant of a woman who could not have been called “modest” by any stretch of the imagination. Acres of creamy, pale flesh extended over a jaw-droppingly curvaceous body befitting of a true broodmother. Her ample assets were covered by nothing more than a low-cut black tank top and a pair of green panties, upon the back of which was emblazoned the word “QUEEN” in big, bold letters. Sprouting from her back was a set of large, translucent, insectoid wings of ragged, misshapen appearance that twitched sporadically. Tresses of long, greasy hair of dull blue color fell from her head, stretching down almost all the way to her butt. Jutting from her forehead was a jagged, twisted horn of black chitin sharp enough to pierce the strongest of armor. On top of her head rested a spindly, black crown which did little to give her an air of nobility. Her sculpted features boasted enough matronly beauty to have made even the strongest of hearts swoon, had her plush lips not been bent into a scowl and her brows furrowed over her burning green eyes.

After letting loose a sigh of unending agitation, Chrysalis, former queen of the changelings, strode across her apartment. Setting her gaze on a dartboard that hung on the wall nearby, she stooped and snatched up a number of darts sitting in a cracked coffee mug on the floor. She took her place before the board, glaring angrily at the smiling, happy faces featured in the photographs that had been pinned to it.

“I'll show them!” she said in a sinister, yet sultry voice that reverberated in a strange, unnerving fashion. “I'll show them all!”

Taking a dart in her hand, she drew back her powerful arm, setting her sights on an image of a young woman with a pink horn and wavy hair of purple and green. “Starlight Glimmer!” she snarled as she sent the projectile hurtling towards the picture, landing it right in the middle of one of those big blue eyes.

“Twilight Sparkle!” she said, throwing another dart into the face of a woman with neatly cut blue bangs and a horn of soft purple.

“Cadance!” she said, sending another dart flying for each name she spoke. “Shining Armor! That treasonous Thorax! Luna! Celestia! I'll have my revenge on every one of them!”

She continued to send dart after dart flying, until she had exhausted her supply. She balled her empty hands into fists, breathing heavily as she looked at the darts buried deep in the dartboard, every one of which had found its mark. Suddenly, she whipped her head around as if reacting to something, despite the room being as still and quiet as it had been a moment earlier. She zeroed in on the hunk of wood, her piercing gaze boring a hole through it.

“Quiet, you!” she snarled. “I haven't forgotten about you either!”

A silent moment passed before Chrysalis spoke again.

“How dare you speak to me that way!” she said, quickly making her way over to her side table. “I am your queen!”

Chrysalis seized the hunk of wood, turned, and threw the wood as hard as she could. The wood zoomed through the air before colliding with a wall, ricocheting off of it in a random direction. It bounced off of a chair, the ceiling, and the mattress, before finally hurtling back towards Chrysalis. So fast was it moving that she had no time to dodge the projectile before it struck her in the head, sending her reeling backwards. Her foot found an unfortunately placed glass bottle, upon which she tripped, sending her toppling down onto the floor face-first.

She lay there for several moments, her nose buried in a pile of discarded newspapers, silently fuming. Eventually, she raised her head, scowling down at the floor, cursing it for not being softer than it was. As she lay there, however, something in the scattered newsprint before her caught her eye.

“Stressed?” read one of the pages in big, vibrant text.

Yes, I am fucking stressed.

“Tired? Overworked? Underappreciated?” continued the page.

Yes, yes, and definitely.

Her rage momentarily forgotten, Chrysalis reached out and grabbed the page that had caught her attention. She held it before her, poring over it as she pushed herself back up into a sitting position.

“Massages,” she murmured to herself. “Mud baths...manicures, pedicures...sauna.”

For the first time in a while, a genuine smile appeared on her lips.

“The royal treatment you deserve,” read the page, “only at Regal Radiance.”

Chrysalis chuckled softly as her smile slowly widened. She quickly folded the page, slipping it into the long valley of her cleavage, then rose to her feet. With a confident stride, she made her way to the door, a column of green light enveloping her as she reached for the handle. The handle was seized by the hand of an ex-barista named Chrys who quickly threw open the door.

“I'm going out,” said Chrys, glancing back at where the hunk of wood lay on the floor. “Don't wait up for me.”

With a wicked smile on her lips and a chuckle in her throat, Chrys stepped through the door, slamming it shut behind her.