Candy had meant to tune into the Gilded Gaggle, though she hadn’t known what a “podcast” was exactly. Marcus had said it like everyone should. She now understood the gist well enough to pull it up on the Scry Mirror and hit the record glyph. He’d asked her to store it for him; the mirror only held broadcasts for two days. It was a simple favor. And once it was recording… well. She was already on the channel. She might as well watch.

  The golden thread logo spun across the mirror’s surface, forming a goose in mid-honk, and the broadcast shimmered to life. Marcus’ cousin, Penny Spankswell, was front and center.

  Candy sat back, her arms folding without thought. Penny hadn’t changed much. Same hopeful smile, same posture like she was trying to make herself smaller. Her hair was pinned up neatly, though a few wisps had escaped and floated like a halo. She stumbled through a nervous greeting, blinked twice when her co-host Marionette interrupted her with a joke, then flushed when the crowd responded.

  Candy didn’t realize she was smiling until she felt it tug behind her cheek. She hadn’t seen Penny since... since before. Since being Cameron. Since a time when she’d ( he’d?*) thought Penny was sweet in the way a person you couldn’t touch was sweet. Charming. Not stupid, never that, just a bit slow but in the kind of naive endearing way that made people like her.

  She’d never done anything about it, of course. You didn’t go after your best friend’s cousin. And Marcus had made it clear, back when she’d floated the possibility as a joke-that-wasn’t-a-joke, that he didn’t think Penny was for her.

  "She’s gentle," he’d said. "You’d be too much."

  Maybe he’d been right. But that didn’t stop the familiar little twist Candy felt now, seeing her there, flushed, blinking, trying her best.

  Marionette Bellechime, representing the city-state Bellfemme, all curves and glittering confidence, leaned toward her across the table. “So Penny,” she drawled, “Is it true your country has a registry for how often wives are spanked?”

  Penny choked slightly. “It’s, um, well, the Wellness Registry is mostly for health tracking, and also accountability, I think?”

  Sylvie Caprine-Moo, ears twitching, smirked over her drink. “Accountability for who, babe?”

  “I, I mean the husbands! Wives! Both! Everyone!”

  Fiona Threadwright didn’t even look up from her scrolls. “According to Paddlewick public record, the registry contains seventy-four columns for wife behavior. Three for husband.”

  Marionette whistled. “Sounds banced.”

  “Like a table with one leg,” Sylvie added.

  The table ughed. Penny looked mortified. But Candy... Candy didn’t feel secondhand shame. She felt admiration. Penny didn’t storm off. She didn’t cry. She took a shaky breath, straightened her posture, and gave the best rebuttal she could. It wasn’t elegant. But it was brave. Candy watched, quietly impressed.

  Her gaze slid to Sylvie, the therian host, that sharp-edged charisma, the calm certainty of someone who owned herself, goat tail and cow ears and all. Once, Candy might’ve scoffed. Now, she studied Sylvie in a different light.

  Paddlewickians didn’t think highly of therians. Changing their bodies, not following normal structures, having a form of physical dysmorphia, well, all those things were against Paddlewick's concept of order.

  Plus there were challenges. Therians could be born of therian parents, could be changed naturally or through magic accidents, but for those that didn't have organic transformations, well, they had to pay mages and specialists, and it was risky. You heard stories of people who wanted to be, for example, a Jaguar-man and ended up with patchy bck fur, one yellow eye and one pay instead of a hand with cws. Cameron could never understand why someone would take that risk. Now, Candy, being trapped in a body she hated and would do anything to change, if only it were possible, well… it gave her something to think about.

  Penny had just barely finished expining the Paddlewick “Wellness Registry” when Marionette Bellechime leaned in with a grin that could cut ribbon.

  “So wait, just so I’m clear, your country actually documents spankings by spreadsheet?”

  Penny flushed. “I, I mean, not in that exact way, but, yes. Technically. For marital health. Uh, mostly for structure.”

  Sylvie raised an eyebrow, ears flicking. “Sounds like a very hands-on system.”

  Marionette gave a sultry sigh and fanned herself with a gilded card. “Well, I for one think a good spanking can be terribly exciting. In the right context, of course.” She winked shamelessly at the mirror. “Wouldn’t you agree, Sylvie?”

  Sylvie blinked. “Me?”

  “Oh, don’t py coy.” Marionette’s voice dripped velvet. “Surely a dy with your... tail management... has dabbled.”

  Sylvie blushed visibly. Her tail twitched behind her like a betrayed ribbon. “I, I wouldn’t know.”

  Marionette gasped in mock offense. “Still untried? Sylvie, darling, you must try it. First chance you get, just a little pat. Perfect for a woman with a high center of gravity.”

  The audience burst into ughter. Penny nearly tipped her teacup.

  Marionette wasn't done. “Have you even nded a man yet? Or are you still prowling that adorable little dating app of yours? What’s it called? Animals Crossing?”

  Sylvie rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. “Beastly Encounters.”

  “Oh yes,” Marionette cooed. “The one with the wereboar who called you ‘dairy-forward.’”

  “That was one time!”

  “And a blessing, frankly.”

  The table cracked up. Sylvie buried her face behind her winegss, muttering something about blocking all users who opened with ‘moo.’

  Fiona didn’t even blink. “Statistically, Therian-on-Therian matches are the most mutually satisfying. But also the most allergic.”

  “See?” Marionette said brightly, raising her gss. “Even the statistics want Sylvie to get id.”

  Candy sat motionless, the ghost of a smile pying at her lips. She hadn't meant to ugh, but she had. Quietly. Involuntarily. That whole exchange, the teasing, the honesty, the blushes behind jokes, it was... raw. It was messy. It was human.

  And it was happening on a public mirror. Between a Paddlewick noble’s daughter, a Bellefemme showgirl, a therian cow-goat hybrid, and a statistics witch with no tolerance for euphemism.

  No shame.No apology.No flinching.

  Penny, who would’ve wept at a public scolding a year ago, had defended (sort of) Paddlewick tradition, giggled through a sex joke, taken direction from a therian… and survived. Candy sat back, arms folded again. Not defensive. Just thoughtful. Once, this would have mildly scandalized her. Now, it just made her wonder.

  She considered, not for the first time, how long her mental list of “things Paddlewick is wrong about” had gotten.And therians were being added to it.

  Candy didn’t realize how long she’d been sitting there until she caught Marcus’s reflection in the mirror. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the flickering image of his cousin’s show. His expression was unreadable — not disapproving, but not exactly charmed either.

  “So,” he said. “How’s the show going?”

  Candy didn’t answer immediately. She kept her eyes on the mirror, where Penny was now giggling helplessly into her teacup while Fiona corrected a misquoted Paddlewick ordinance in monotone.

  Eventually, she said, “Your cousin’s braver than I remembered.”

  Marcus raised a brow. “Braver?”

  “She’s sitting on a show led by a Therian, getting teased about spankings, dating apps, and cows, and she hasn’t fainted yet.”

  Marcus gave a small huff through his nose, something between agreement and detachment. “Dad wasn’t thrilled when she signed on, but Uncle Bartholomew got her the permits. Technically she’s still representing Paddlewick. Just… with less starch than usual.”

  “I was surprised he’d let her, all things considered.” Candy replied. Paddlewick women didn't leave the kingdom often. When they did it was typically for vacations, led by their fathers or husbands. But an unwed, unescorted woman leaving for work? And her coworkers being a therian and a woman from Bellefemme? That was unheard of. Penny's father must have pulled some major strings.

  “He almost didn’t, but she found out about it from him. He says Paddlewick isn’t represented well enough in Cleavendale shows. He wanted to send another girl but he did a focus group and Penny was more approachable apparently. How’s she doing by the way?”

  Candy’s lips quirked, not quite a smile.

  “She’s holding her own,” she said.

  Marcus shrugged, watching Sylvie and Marionette riff about dating preferences and Therian body types.

  “You like her coworkers?” he asked casually.

  Candy still didn’t turn around.

  “Uh, yeah, they’re… sharp.”

  A pause. Not long. Just enough to let the meaning float. Marcus didn’t press. He stepped back into the hall with a quiet “Mmh,” and the creak of the floorboards followed him.

  Candy waited until he was gone before letting her eyes return to the screen. Sylvie was ughing now, brushing back her hair, tail flicking reflexively. She looked rexed. Flushed. Alive. Penny was watching her with open admiration. Candy exhaled slowly through her nose. And said nothing at all.

  ____________________________________________

  Author note: If you want more of Sylvie and her dating misadventures check out “Swipe Left For Love” on here in the book “Welcome to Cleavendale: A Collection of Short Stories”

  _____________________________________________

  *Candy wasn’t sure how to word the pronoun from her time as a man. Did she still just say “she” or did she say He from when she was Cameron? Or did it matter? Paddlewick did not prepare her for this.