Trophy Bride

Your name is Noelle. Atleast you think it is, recently memories of a strange girl who looks just like have been bleeding in and out of  your head, infiltrating your daydreams. As the Cargo Inspector you've followed a long trail of clues and conspiracies that have lead you to your sister, Sandra. You see her crackling in the distance, the bright red glow from her insidious device giving her a dreadful aura in the dead of night. She's staring up at the massive building, the domes that house her machine, cradling her arms, as the Cascade spreads around us. The red glow lights up her body as it consumes everything the perimeter, scorching the ground, while you regret the way your sister's life has been consumed by this madness. She is crying out to her sister in desperation, for you, but Sandra's face is a mess. You feel her reach for your hand and squeeze, but she can't get a solid grip on her sisters hand. You try to pull away to get through, but it's too late. She grabs you forward and her powerful aura begins wrapping all around you both until you see in a haze. It's been so long since you two pressed together.

Everything goes white. The universe is an interesting place, but you wish it could be a little less dramatic, or predictable. You like to think, if there was a way to be just a little more creative, it'd make things more interesting. Sure it often hasn't gone your way recently, but the whole wild goose chase you've been on these days has done more than tire you out lately.  You think you see a glimmer in the distance, something shiny and silver. Maybe it's the sun? It was a little too bright for that. Still, it would make everything a little easier. If you could get your hands on a little sunshine, that'd be enough for the way you've been living. The glimmer grows large enough to become a spark, and then you stumble back, hitting something hard. From what you can see you're in some of glass tube, having woken up trapped within its translucent confines. Sandra is standing ahead, you pound on the glass but it fails to shatter.
"Hey sis, how you feeling?" She says, operating some buttons and machinery.
She turns around and notices you. Her face lit with the brightness of the machine. "Oh hey, are you alright?" She says, trying to look at you, but you look just as good as you did last time you woke up, not knowing how you were last time. She's dressed like a little princess, a pretty cone-shaped hat with a plume. The pink princess outfit she's wearing has a huge set of flowers set aside on a table, the type you might see with a flowergirl at a wedding. There's a strange mechanical sound, it's like a ringing in your ears alongside the sound of sloshing and liquid running in tubes. A holographic screen is projected in front of your eyes. The pattern comes and goes and sometimes something about the color changes.
"What is going on? Sandra let me out!" You shout, she pretends not to hear you. After pulling a lever, your sister skips over and giggles, waving and watching with glee as slick fluid begins pouring down, dripping like a shower overhead.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you being so crazy and cruel?"
You scream, her giggles turn into laughter and then into a snarl. The liquid keeps sinking down into your tube, rising over your calves and squishing along your skin, clinching to everything they touch. You feel it's getting worse by the minute.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
You feel it seep down your nose and you start to choke. "I-I-I want the world to be a happy place, but everything's gone so wrong now. You've been making things worse. So you should be happy. I-I can make it better, but you were being really nasty sis! Don't worry, I can make you nice and sweet again!"  
She says as the holographic screen blurs again, you try to focus but it's almost impossible to tell what's happening. Everything is just a blur, a lot of colors and shapes. Each flash and spinning color weakens your awareness and memory, putting you out of time and space, further and further out of your own mind.
Sandra is saying something outside.

You don't hear her when she speaks anymore.

You drift away in an instant, it takes you longer to process each passage of time.

In the distance, valves on a device rumble and a liquid fuchsia wave sweeps across your perspective. There's more red light, and it's so much brighter and louder. You can't even think anymore, there's no point trying. All you can do is surrender.

The red light is washing over your body, making your skin feel like it's on fire. A part of you wants to run, but there's nowhere to run to. The paint-like mist has filled the tube top to bottom, sticking and clinging to your every pore and leaving leaky, squeaky droplets to gush into lush latex over your exterior. The heat of the red haze isn't painful anymore, it feels good. You reach out to your sister by pressing your hand against the tube, hoping that maybe that's enough, that's all it takes to break this nightmare. The red glow keeps pouring in, and you can faintly see your nails painted with polished acrylics.

You think if you could be in each others arms one more time it could make everything okay, for both of you. But you can't seem to do anything to break the cycle, and no amount of begging will make it any different. Your only option is to embrace it. You'll take it in your stride, you'll accept this world as your own.

From inside the tube, the light from your mind and the world of ideas that you'd built around you starts to fade. You try to concentrate on a song you know by heart, something simple to fill the emptiness, but as soon as the words are out of your mouth it makes you feel more empty than ever.

Everything grows quiet. You can hear the machines and your sister's heart racing. The red haze is still flooding through. You can feel your lips stinging for a moment, swelling like a balloon blowing up, but after a juicy pout only tingly pleasure is left for them. Your wet hair, once so scruffy and free tidies straight along your backside and dyes a maple brown, the golden fires of yellow and red prune the dark strands below in a race to the bottom. The tube filled with the smell of paint, chemicals, latex, and silicone, it reminds you of your time in the Society of the Mind. Golden piercings, some shaped like studs, others pure gold hearts are pinched along your ears and decorate them lavishly. A neon pink heart is attached at the same location, its low-frequently signals sending a rapid pulse of subliminals which contain every instruction, and dainty, simplistic thought you'll ever need. Any hope for rescue or escape quickly becomes an eager desire for obedience and dim, dutiful matrimonial devotion.

You're feeling your bare skin. It's all stained a deep crimson red, like your flesh is coated in a hot, molten sludge. Your hands have thick white paint on them, now, and despite all the digging and scraping and you keep pulling off the paint, it goes from thick and sticky to hard and slick, stiff to the touch, harder than you can imagine. The plastic feeling spreads up your arms then towards your chest, breasts expanding like massive balloons.

There's no escaping it.

The universe is a very messy place. And no, you don't have a choice.

It all feels so good, so comforting. It makes you forget where you are, how much danger you're in, and how much you want to break free of this prison.

The moment's peace snuffs out all worry or thoughts going through.

Something shiny snaps around your neck, everything feels sharp and hot. Like pins are going through your skin, burning so intensely your that skin crackles, merging all the latex latex in dry. It seeps in, through you, taking away your skin, burning and hardening right over it.
Two small needles start to prod right under your cheeks, moving in concert with digitized images that are flashing at rapidspeed in front of your vision. They paint bright pink heart shapes, it's warm but not painful, and your brain starts to throb and boil like the lava lamps fluid. New thoughts, new priorities, your entire psyche being melted and remolded without a clutch. Your powers faded, the the image is going too fast, so fast that it flashes and becomes a kaleidoscope, the patterns brighten again moving fast, faster than you can think.
The liquid that had just begun filling your body is going down, revealing a rubbery pink bow with a lustrous shine to it gently molded around your waist.  Your hands are posed by your side, unable to clasp or move without sashaying alongside your hips. Your hair, the tangle that you'd managed to work so hard to clean up with your own hands at one point is flowing and floating along the ground, almost like a wig, the material softening into a satin, and then liquid latex. The patterned light is fading, the red tint to the glow that had been pouring down over you is gone. You're just left in a strange, surreal haze.

You drift off into your own world for the final time.

You never wake up the same again.

The tube slowly rises, giving you a rush of air to breathe. Your skinny waist can barely hold up the massive bosom that your dress holds, but after a few wobbly shakes your ear-piece adjusts with some tweaks to your mind and you get used to it, stepping forward in 20" pink heels molded to your feet with perfect poise. The last of the the liquid latex finishes drying.

A woman in a white suit leads you to a black sedan and takes your hand, leading you down the hallway. Every time you look to the side, someone is watching, but it doesn't even faze you. Your eyes are wide, but lacking in much attention or anything requiring higher thought. Soon you're, following the woman into the back seat of the car.

After the silence the air filled with the hum of a powerful engine, and your seat vibrates, causing a rhythmic sound to wash over your entire body. You drive for a short bit, hands clasped together the entire time. The woman in the white suit climbs out of the car, leading you to a large room.

Inside a man with a book, some kind of priest, is in the room at the end of the aisle, waiting, and as you look up at him the woman in white slips off her mask. You recognize her faintly, like you were partners or friends before. 'Kuja', the name briefly dances at the tip of  your tongue but you don't speak unless spoken to.

She tells you that you're safe now, and in a way, that's a relief. The room fills with a bright blinding light that shines from behind a large glass window, so bright that you have to squint and shield your eyes. You can hear voices all around you. They're a mixture of high and low, the soft murmur of whispers with a deeper growl of hushed talk.  The place smells like a perfume factory that's working overtime, you take in the heady scent of synthetic roses and the musk of expensive colognes. You can almost taste it, the lingering scent of perfume lingering on the air, it fills your nostrils with a dizzying mix of aromas that would go with wedding bells.

A girl in a princess dress starts to walk down the aisle. Sandra. That name hasn't been wiped from your mind, but all emotion or negative connotation from it has. She skips with a giggly perky step, throwing rose buds onto a couple pews scattered along the sides of the room. She's got soft, silky dark hair that falls down to below her waist and hairbuns uptop. The rubbery white dress is low cut, it exposes the ample cleavage of her large bust. Small golden diamonds glitter along her necklace, they're almost like the moon, in the shape of her crescents.

She walks down the aisle to inspect and greet you.

Sandra looks at you with a deep concern and then she leans over, hugging you as if you were a child. As you're being hugged you realize that you're wearing a light red-pink bridal gown that's lowcut, not covering your shoulders or neckline. She's wearing the veil and has the white satin gloves.

The feeling of affection you had for her before she smiled at you turns into an ache you can't quite contain. The way she's looking at you with so much love is so hard to understand, why she's doing it now, the feeling that welled in your chest, the feeling of love and trust that it gave you, you can never really know what it's like. You barely have any emotions at all. Obedience in abundance, but a plastic programming without a soul. The only thing you can do is follow the direction she's pushing, the only direction she seems to want being you to get married and fulfill her plans. You're like her barbie doll now, a Trophie that will be leveraged, used and probably redressed how she pleases.

You've heard a lot about your fate from the priest, that you're a bride-to-be, an item to be used and molded by someone else. Your every wish and desire is going to be fulfilled with a happy smile and a wide, welcoming grin. They read your vows for you and Kuja both, keeping you happy and full of eternal contentment.

You don't even know if any of  this is real.

But she's told you that you're safe, that you can trust her, now.

She's telling you to trust her. You don't have an option not to.

The the priest is much older, a haggard look of defeat on his face. His eyes are red and sunken, he looks tired. When he moves his hand away and clasps the book there's of a streak of disdain across his face, as if he's seen too much. The Elder Dragon sees Sandra glare at him angrily, once a shadowy ruler of Xi, now reduced to little more than a pawn in her frivolous game. You look back to see him staring at her with hatred, but she's looking at you, a smile on her face and an excitement in her eyes for the future. She has no concept of guilt or regret. Only her own wants and desires.

The two of you take your final vows. Kuja looks lovingly into your eyes. You look back into hers, not with love but complicity. The two of you kiss finally.

You're being sent off, soon you leave the room with her. You've been promised an eternity of domestic bliss for your troubles. You just have to do as you're told, nothing else. A life of silicone and plastic.
Nothing more.