Back with another release, this one is one I’ve wanted to do for a while to give some spotlight to a side character of mine. Melody is trans and was helped towards this goal by her benefactor and mistress, Penelope. So I wanted to do this cute scene of The Baroness teaching her how to do her make-up + show a more gentle side of her that most don’t get to see.
Special thanks to Siren/Serenity for their help/input on the story.
Melody knew there was far more to The Baroness than she’d ever really know, but she held a particularly special place in her house that others did not. Perhaps it was because she was of Ravenshire, the small town that lay at the foot of the hill below the Brightwood family manor, and had done so for as long as anyone could remember. After all, Penelope cared for her charges more than most, and Melody counted herself among the townsfolk who loved their Baroness.
She never really understood why Penelope took a liking to the shy and reserved "boy", desperate and longing for something none could provide. Melody was the name true in her heart, and in the years since that fateful night, she had long forgotten the one that came before, what she would not forget was her gratitude to the Baroness. What price was too high to live true to yourself? To become a loyal maid of a most powerful woman, indefinitely? A cost trivial to the alternative, a price she would have paid ten times over.
It was like learning to walk for the first time, with all the stumbling and pitfalls. The magic had worked, and she was born again, a roll of the dice to get it right this time and take fate into her own hands, it would be a journey nonetheless. Melody recalled a fond memory, the morning Penelope had stood with her in the mirror, their bodies softly pressed together. She felt the gentle squeeze of her strong fingers around her own, steadying her hand as she worked the brush, mindful not to smudge or poke out her eye.
The rare softness and matronly tone of voice as her Lady whispered sweetly in her ear, speaking of proper technique and the more arcane subtleties of womanhood. A laugh escaped her sometimes when she looked at herself in the mirror as she remembered Penelope’s choice words.
“Remember, Melody, a practised hand and knowledge of your own features is the difference between turning heads at the gala and looking like a jester whore who catches cum on her tongue at the Darkmoon Faire.” Though crudely delivered in that matronly deep upper-class voice, it was advice she would not soon forget.
One rarely remembers the moment of their birth, but Melody’s rebirth happened in the days after meeting Penelope. After the magic had worked through her body and changed her into who she was always meant to be. She recalled it fondly as she slid off the bed and stepped in front of a mirror to see herself for the first time. “And what should I call this young woman I’ve helped create?” Penelope had asked.
“Melody. My name is Melody.” The young maiden replied, a full heart and a smile upon her true face.
