Futa-Witch

This is my first story, so go easy on me, okay? Tell me what you think.

Futa-Witch

Chapter One: Discovery

I sighed as I looked at my new home, once more cursing my mother’s employer. It was his fault I had to move here. It wasn’t that I was particularly fond of my old place. In fact, I have no real regrets about leaving it. It was more about the hassle moving was. Packing up all my shit, driving across the states, then unpacking it all. In protest, I decided to not help with the unpacking. Those apes could do it themselves.

I’m not like this all the time, in case you’re wondering. Bitchy, I mean. I was just in a bad mood that day. I had no idea that this would be the day my life changed forever. It’s funny how the worst day of your life can suddenly become the best. But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? My name is Carol. Carol Daniels. I’m a senior in High School…though I should have graduated by now. I’m already eighteen. It wasn’t my fault. This wasn’t the first time I’ve had to pack up my life and move. It’s hard to study…hard to concentrate knowing that you’d only have to leave soon. So I fucked up quite a bit, you could say. Again, not my fault. Anyway…I have short blonde hair that I dyed black a long time ago. I hated being a blonde. Nobody ever takes you seriously. It’s also why I cropped my hair so short. I’m not too tall. I’d be mistaken for someone much younger if it wasn’t for my breasts which were 38D. You might think that’s lucky. You’re not the one who has to do all these special exercises to avoid backaches.

What else can I say about myself…? I’m told I’m gothic. I think it’s like insanity, though. You never know you’re gothic until you’re told you are…well, that’s how it is with REAL Goths. If you’re dressing in black because you want to be goth, then you’re not a goth. Trust me. I wear a lot of black and my skin is very pale. I burn too easy to try and get a tan. Just a waste of time and a thin layer of skin. I don’t pancake my make-up on. A little black lipstick, some crimson red fingernail polish on some fingers, jet black on others, and I’m good to go. I don’t use eyeliner. I don’t need it. Well, that’s really all there is to say about me. I’m not all that interesting. Or rather, I wasn’t all that interesting then.

After unpacking the boxes that contained all my belongings, I decided to explore the dump that, for the time being,