An epic-length, romance/transformation novel about a mighty female-demon, who forces a young man to give up his manhood for the power only a 'female-body' can wield.

Alone and scared, Sylvine must come to grips with his feminine side, for the joy he found in womanhood can not be suppressed. However, because of his contempt for Lady Tania, who granted him his womanhood, he's placed a wall of mannnish pride before him, and refuses to succumb to the temptations of his hidden female-self.

That is, until he meets a girl named Illiana.

Illiana - Prologue

By Kayla Lavander

B eauty like yours should never wither, but bloom into something far greater. She spoke the words in a mere whisper, a soft alluring soprano which dizzied him. To you, my lovely child, I will give all of my power, and all of my beauty.

The boy ran towards his place of residence, his thoughts twisted into a maelstrom of panic and confusion. He could still hear her voice, the seductive chants ringing in his head. Such a pretty boy you are–truly, a child of Lar’Shea. Sylvine, you will be my Sylvine.

Never before, in his fifteen years of life, had Arandis been called beautiful. It felt odd being referred to as such, considering he was in fact, a boy. Even more shocking was the feel of the woman’s lips upon his–a sensation he had never before felt, and wished to feel again.

Dead! That man was dead! The memory woke Arandis from his rousing thoughts, and he coughed, his lack of breath from fear as much as fatigue.

She killed him! His mind reeled. Who was she? What was she?

Arandis neared his cottage, the soft moonlight above, illuminating his way. Not much time had passed since the murder, and he was confident no other villager had seen the corpse–not during these hours of night.

Turning around, he wondered if the woman trailed him, and prayed she did not.

Do not be frightened, dear child. You will see. You will understand. I will show you true beauty and power. The thoughts running rampant twisted his mind and tangled his feet. He tumbled into the cottage before him, his lanky body smacking against an oaken table, shaking the four room abode–just enough force needed to rattle his mother from her peaceful slumber.

The soft swishing of slippered feet heading in direction caused him to sigh. Arandis tried his best to stand, not wanting his mother to catch sight of him sprawled about the floor in a heap of tangled limbs. His kin had already deemed him clumsy, and he did not wish to further his reputation.

“Arandis?” a groggy voice asked with obvious amusement. “Why are you up so early?"

Lifting his head, Arandis met his mother's sea-green gaze–a woman of average stature, standing at about six over five. She had the look of forty, and still beautiful despite her age. Over her body, she wore a rust-brown, patchwork nightgown, woven with her own hands. Such could be expected. Sansly was a poor village with nothing brought, and everything made.

Despite his embarrassment, Arandis managed to smile. They were like twins, his mother and he. Both of them wore the same ocean-green eyes, set into pale faces of ivory. Locks of raven fell over their shoulders, framing delicate features. He stood just two inches over her own head.

“Mother,” Arandis shouted, “come quick!” He jumped to his feet, grabbed his mother's arm, and dragged her outside. The skirts of her colorful patchwork nightgown fluttered behind her.

"What is this, Arandis?" Shanda asked. "Why are you hauling me outside like this?"

The boy ignored his mother’s questions, leading her through the twists and turns of cottages and cobblestone roads. Long minutes later, they reached the edge of the village–where several people huddled about in a circle of chatter

His heart sank at the sight. Somebody else must have spotted the corpse and informed the masses. Arandis felt himself on the edge of panic and clenched his mother’s hand for support.

“Arandis?” she gasped, her free hand covering her mouth. “What is this?” Shanda walked forward, working her way through the cluster of people–a nervous fifteen year old boy shivering behind her.

The events of the night suddenly came to him, and he made a silent prayer to his God, hoping no one could bear witness to the events that transpired.....
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.....At one hour before the mid of the night, most of the town’s residence had already retired from their daily chores. Arandis, however, strolled along the village border on his way home, lost in his own thoughts.

It was very rare for the boy to be out this late, yet one last errand sent him astray for a few hours. Now, as he headed home, it was the sounds of heavy breathing and moaning–echoing along the barren cobblestone streets–that caused him to falter in step. Curiosity struck, and the boy found himself in a quest to seek out the source of these unusual noises.

The village fields, where the streets end and the crops begin, was where the young man found victory in his little quest. Needless to say, that at such a tender age, he was not ready for the sight that befell him.

Arandis froze in place, witnessing the forms of a man and woman, holding each other like two vines entwined in passion–making love right on the cobblestone ground, and just a few yards from his spot. The silver eye of the moon failed to fully illuminate the spectacle, so he found himself squinting to make out the activity. What did stand out with striking clarity in the night was an eerie violet glow which seemed to form a silhouette around the body of the female as she thrust herself upon the man below her.

For a brief moment, the woman paused in her task to give eyes to this new spectator enjoying her show. Arandis felt a cold chill run through his body as the woman’s eyes locked his own in place. With one graceful motion, she raised her arms to the sky. Much to the boy's surprise, the shadows seemed to vanish at her very gesture. He was now able to see everything clearly–perhaps too clearly. The boy saw the woman’s features in perfect clarity, she in turn, smiled to admire his stare.

She threw her head back, sending silky tresses of bright golden glory up into there air, right before cascading down to her slender waist like a stream of molten gold. A few locks remained at her front, to cover up a pair of nipples in convenient tease. Her facial features were fine, almost too fine. A nose, small and dainty rested between a pair of eyes which mirrored the color of the ocean waters under sunlight. She bore an unnatural beauty, with bodily proportions appearing as if Lar’Shea–the Goddess of Beauty–had crafted them herself. The porcelain skin wrapped around her slender frame was completely unscathed, neither was it blemished in the slightest

The woman raised a finely shaped brow at the boy, and parted a pair of sensuous lips the color of faded raspberries. She lowered her hands with a slow, careful grace, then dug her sharp nails into the flesh of her victim’s arms in a savage passion. The man howled out in pain, but the woman appeared to enjoy every second of his suffering. Fingers now deep crimson with blood came lose and wiggled with a sick invitation at the boy watching them. Arandis wanted to scream, wanted to run at the sight, but found his limbs unresponsive.

He was paralyzed–not with fear, but by some unnatural force holding him in place. As if sensing the vain attempt at escape, the woman let out a haughty laughter that echoed along the barren streets.

She returned to her task, and the poor boy watched, helpless as a deer under a tiger’s paw–unable to move, unable to run, unable to even close his eyes. All Arandis could do, was stand there, watching as the woman’s pelvis moved up and down with the man’s in an unseen rhythm. A white light enveloped her body, and one could say she actually looked angelic for a brief moment. The man howled out–something not of agony, but a howl of pleasure unlike any Arandis had heard before. In turn, the woman answered with a sweet call of her own as a thin white stream of light formed between the two. The thin ethereal line emitted from her victim’s body, then moved into her own. It seemed as if she was stealing something from him. Moments later, the man lay there on the ground–pale, naked, appearing much older, much thinner did he did moments ago.

It seemed as if the very life was drained from his body!

Oddly enough, the woman stood up, calm, cool, as if nothing had happened. She took slow strides towards her prisoner and Arandis thought his heart would leap out of his chest with every step she took.

The woman closed in, and Arandis could see her eyes moving up and down, examining the whole of his appearance. He shivered in terror, and she smiled to see it.

“Pretty,” the woman whispered. Her words echoed all around him, a haunting, feminine sound which nearly caused him to feint. “Such a pretty young male.”

The woman stood directly in front of him, and Arandis turned away, tears of fear rolling over his cheeks. “Do you know what I see, when I look at you?” She asked.

When Arandis did not answer, she whispered, “I see a child of Lar’Shea, a creature of beauty that I can not let wither and die.” She paused, narrowed her eyes at him. “I see a boy at the age where adolescent beauty is at its height… I do not think I will allow you to age anymore.”

Lips trembling, Arandis turned to face her, wondering if she would end his life. Under the curtain of his own dark hair, he could see they shared a similar stature. She was maybe just a half-inch below his own height.

The pressed her naked body up against his, and seemed to take joy in his sudden fit of shivers. Reaching up, she gently tucked a few dark locks behind his ears.

“You should not hide your face behind your hair,” the woman whispered, brushing a long, red nail across the length of his cheek, She waved a pale, slender arm, and something gave way–Arandis founds his limbs free.

The mystic grip that held him in place faded, and he seized the opportunity right away. He turned around to run, but only made it a few steps before a soft hand grabbed the lower end of his forearm, locking him in place. He struggled, strained to break the grip but failed.

To his embarrassment, he noticed it was only the woman holding his arm. This dainty, pale creature locked him in place, non-straining, unmoving, as he tried to match his strength against hers. It proved to be a futile struggle. The woman was strong... unnaturally strong.

With great ease, she shoved him against the stone surface of a nearby dwelling. The woman took his hands in hers, raised both those hands high into the air, and pressed them against the wall. “You’ve never been overpowered by a woman before, have you?” She laughed, bathing in the joy of her own carnal pleasure.

The boy, however, was terrified of his life.

“Do you know what I am?” the woman asked in a whisper, and the soft allurement of her voice was unlike anything, he had ever heard before.

Arandis trembled in her grasp. “I don’t... know,” he stammered. "Please..."

Her naked chest shook with laughter. “I am something greater than you can ever imagine. Do not be frightened dear child. I will not hurt you.” She released one of his hands, and grabbed a lock of his long raven hair, twirling it around her fingers. “Beauty like yours should never wither, but bloom into something far greater.”

The woman leaned forward, brushed her lips against his ears, and whispered, "To you, my lovely child, I will give all of my power, and all of my beauty."

In a futile attempt to get this woman off of him, Arandis placed his free hand on her right shoulder and pushed with everything in him. Like a mighty statue, she stood there, not budging one inch. The woman released his tresses, lowering her fingers to sensuously trace the line of his lips. “Such a pretty boy you are, truly a child of Lar’Shea.”

“What are you?” Arandis breathed, giving up the struggle.

“You will see, you will understand. In time, I will show you the beauty and power of my people.” The woman narrowed her eyes at him in concentration. Her faded lips thinned into a smile of satisfaction. “I have seen your soul. You are touched by Lar’Shea, my child. Do you know what that means? You belong with us; you will do well with my people... I will... save you.”

Arandis cocked his head sideways, stealing a glimpse of the dead man in the distance. The woman cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look upon her

“Sylvine...” she whispered, her voice slow and seductive.

“P..Please... let me go...,” the boy pleaded. “You mistake me for another, my name is not–”

“Sylvine,” she repeated, cutting his speech, “a pretty name for such a pretty boy.” Tightening her grip on his face, she forcefully brought his lips towards hers. “Your name will be Sylvine... my Sylvine.” She smiled as the boy clenched his eyes in fear. “Have you never... kissed a woman before, my beautiful Sylvine?” she breathed.

If Arandis had an answer for the woman, she would never get to hear it. She crushed her lips upon his, forced his mouth open, and kissed him with a passion he never experienced. Her hands found a place on his torso, and she caressed his slender form, her hands teasing his young body, thin fingernails tracing enticing patterns along his chest.

The woman curled her lips up into a smile of delight as she felt Arandis' body give in to his boyish desires. No longed did he resist her, now, he began to kiss her back. Her excitement heightened when the boy–of his own free will–raised his arms and swung them around her body, holding her tight.

Suddenly, the boy felt a body within his arms no longer. He lost balance, crashing into the cobblestone road in a heap of tangled limbs. A gray mist rolled and swirled around his body. From that mist a feminine laugh came fourth, erupting along the barren streets.

A glance at the naked corpse in the distance, and the boy’s senses came back to him. He stood up, shooting off towards his cottage like a bolt from crossbow...
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.....Arandis’ thoughts were brought back to the present, as the crowd stared at the dead body in awe–everybody questioning the next person at the nature of this man's death. It was all the boy could do, to keep the secret to himself, and hope nobody witnessed the events of the night.

 
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