Stanley Obsert to Bradley Obsert
Sent: Fri, April 2, 2010
Subject: My project
Success! Complete, total success! And in a manner so charming, so entertaining, it's impossible to stop smiling about it. I've written Peter and the rest of the Committee. They'll find complete reports waiting in their offices when they arrive in the morning.
After reading Peter's message to you I have a better understanding of the problem. It's not what he says, it's the volumes he doesn't say. I told you he was jealous. So I'm breaking protocol and telling you about my success directly, rather than waiting for you to hear a non-report from the Committee.
Do you remember fat Kimberly from our starting class? She's the one Joshua recruited from Germany, the hypnotist from that macabre traveling circus that fell apart in Berlin. The one who always whined about her weight, insisting she was the victim of a glandular condition even self-hypnosis couldn't cure. Like the soda and Twinkie binges had nothing to do with it.
You wouldn't recognize Kimberley now, not as Kimberly. She's slimmer, taller, and has the silkiest pale blonde hair. As a matter of face, Kimberly now bears a striking resemblance to that cataphile you found so attractive. What was her name? Rose....something.
Surely you recall the last time you saw the cataphile. A club had just opened in the basement of a building near the Champs Elysees. There was a line twisting through streets and alleys, despite the fact the opening was by invitation only. We didn't need invitations; we found a back door from the catacombs. No doubt the cataphile and her friends did the same.
You picked her out immediately, your eyes seeing her immediately through the pulsing crush of clubbers. After stalking her for weeks in the catacombs, you knew her face well.
I watched your expression. Your eyes lit up, and you smiled. How much you wanted her. You pushed your way through the crowd, dominating them all with your height and solid charisma. You took a spot next to her a the bar, and offered to buy her a drink.
She shot you down. Not a teasing rejection, suggesting you should try again. She blew you off and walked away. Has that every happened to you before? I don't think it has.
Do you understand where I'm going with this? Isn't it too fantastic? I've proven the viability of my Matryoshka spell with a fat chick and a Parisian Barbie. I opened each of them, extracted their minds and souls, and swapped them into the other's body.
The rush of pure satisfaction I felt when the cataphile's eyes opened to reveal the dark glint of Kimberly's soul...it defies description. This much I can say: I know what it is to be God. And that's exactly what I was thinking as I stood by the laboratory table and looked into Kimberly's new eyes. I laughed. I thought, if only Father could see me now. If he only knew what I'd become, he be truly horrified. That stodgy preacher, steadfast leader of God's frozen chosen, would be shaken to his core, at last.
Kimberly's immediate delight in the results surpassed my own. She jumped off the table and shrieked with glee. She ran to the mirror in the corner and stripped off her clothing. It was the first time I've seen a woman ravish her own reflection.
About that time, the cataphile began to wake up in Kimberly's old body. It was an annoying by-product of the experiment. Since I didn't need both women for evidence, the cataphile had to go.
Don't you think that I killed her. Remember what I told you before. Vildru at our level don't perform menial tasks.
Though Kimberly began training the same time we did, she has yet to master mid-level spells. That's one of the reasons I selected her for the Matryoshka trials. Kimberly can still get her hands dirty.
I called Kimberly away from the mirror and told her to clean up the experiment's remnants. She did, with eagerness. Kimberly plunged the knife into her old body again and again. She neglected to put any clothes on first, and the results was hilarious. Imagine the pristine flesh of new Kimberly splattered with old Kimberly's blood. There was even some running down the locks of pale blond hair, and dripping onto her shoulders.
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