After all the transformations and returns from the other side, the hardest work still remained.
I had to try to take off the mask.

I sat there, swinging my legs, and started thinking about how meanly the world down below is set up.
When they tell you: be strong — and you are soft.
When you are kind — and they explain to you that you’re stupid and naive.
When you are sensitive — and that gets called weakness.
And these contradictions — there aren’t two or three of them.
There’s a whole pile.
Piled up like old boxes in a basement.
How did we even end up here?
I spread my hands.
Only the one who placed me here knows the answer.
As if someone up above said, “Let’s see how you handle this,” and turned away.
And I didn’t even have time to say, damn it — wait, just wait.
They say:
— Men don’t like dependent women. You need to have your own life. Don’t cling to him.
Do you even have your own life? My God — can I at least hug him, or is that already too dependent?
Such a strange thing…
As if one thing must cancel out the other.
As if closeness and independence are enemies.
They say:
— Men are strong. Unbreakable.
But in reality everything turned out completely different.
Fragile.
Anxious.
Often — confused.
They say:
— If you depend on him, he’ll leave you.
— Better pretend to be cold.
But why?
Why does love need to be disguised?
Why does warmth have to be hidden?
And these “why?” questions echoed back to me again and again.
Because when I asked questions — I got scolded.
For being naive.
For being straightforward.
For not doing things “the proper way.”
And the proper way never worked for people like me.
Adults are always like that…
Assholes. So sure they’re right.
They know how things should be.
They understand documents, money, what’s going on in the world.
They always watch the news.
Read the news.
Discuss the news.
They’re supposed to know what’s happening in the world.
Supposed to.
But in nothing else can adults answer a child’s questions.
Because they’re scared —
to admit that they don’t know either.
Sometimes it seemed to me:
if children had money, we’d kick the adults out.
Just so they wouldn’t nag.
Wouldn’t interfere with their nagging.
And with what they call responsibility.
But today was a special day.
Today the adults were on the front line.
The child was on stage.
The little girl stepped back into the big world again.
As always — with her soul wide open.
With trembling hands.
Desperately hoping the adults wouldn’t eat her alive
with their anxious, jerky, prickly energy.
She walked slowly.
Without armor.
Without a mask.
And maybe for the first time, she wasn’t trying to seem like someone else.
Phew… come on, Nazokat, you can do this.
I said it out loud — almost in a whisper, like a spell.
And I looked down.
My knees were wobbling uncontrollably.
I’d already run to the bathroom six times — my body was honestly betraying me.
Deep inhale.
Slow exhale.
I am an adult.
I have to pretend I’m an adult.
As if adulthood were a costume you put on at the last moment, when you’re scared.
I started going down the stairs.
Shaking.
Stumbling.
Each step — like a separate act of will.
Come on, Nazokat, come on — we’ve been through worse than this.
Way worse.
This is my first article.
For HarperCollins.
The first one — for real.
The one you can no longer hide behind. Ever.
The one where you can’t say, “this is just a test,” “this isn’t serious,” or “this wasn’t written by me at all.”
This article is about my own.
About all of my own.
About my pain, my tenderness, my boldness, my naivety.
Breathe. Breathe.
Sophie is next to me.
She’s holding my hand — firmly, calmly, the way you hold someone when no words are needed.
Her palm is warm.
Real.
Grounding me.
I’m terribly nervous.
What if they don’t like it?
What if they decide I write badly?
That it’s too strange.
Too honest.
Too against the rules.
Everything is too much.
What if they see me as a talentless writer?
Say that I’m a bad writer?
That thought hurts the most.
Because if they don’t like it, it won’t just be a rejection.
It will be a blow to the most vulnerable part of me.
I squeezed Sophie’s fingers tighter.
— Everything will be fine, she said.
And in her voice was the quiet certainty of someone who is standing beside you and isn’t going anywhere.
I took another breath.
And went on.
One more step.
Finally — the living room.
Everyone is here.
All of mine.
I didn’t even have time to inhale.
Something inside snapped — and I burst into tears.
Immediately.
Sobbing.
Like a child.
I turned around and ran away, because I didn’t have the courage to look at them.
Not at a single one.
I won’t be able to handle it if they judge me.
If they say I’m a terrible writer.
That I write badly.
That they didn’t like it.
I won’t be able to handle that.
I really won’t.
Nate rushed in after me.
— Kitten…
I had already locked myself in the bathroom and was crying.
The tears were flowing on their own.
— Little mouse…
— May I?
— No. No, I can’t…
The whole world has seen how I write.
They’re probably laughing at me.
— Little mouse, can I come in?
— No…
Just tell me right away so I don’t torture myself.
Did they tear the article apart?
They didn’t like it?
Do they also think I’m stupid and naive?
A pause.
Silence that made my heart pound even harder.
— No, little mouse.
Everyone liked it.
The guys printed it out and are sitting rereading it.
Oh God.
I covered my eyes with my palms, as if I wanted to disappear.
Dying of fear and shame at the same time.
— And you?.. — I was barely breathing.
— I loved it, little mouse. I really did.
Something inside me loosened.
Just a little.
As if air had started flowing into my chest again.
The door opened quietly.
— Hi, little mouse.
And that’s when I started crying again.
Harder.
— Please go away…
I know you think I’m a fool too.
Someone who could pull herself back from the other side —
and now suddenly became helpless and fragile.
— Kitten, I don’t think that about you.
I was crying, unable to stop.
— Nate, I can’t…
I’m scared.
I’m scared people will see the real me —
and laugh.
Say I’m pretending.
That I’m a fraud.
He stepped closer and hugged me.
— No one thinks that, little mouse.
I kept crying.
And crying.
Tears kept falling, my body was shaking, my voice breaking.
Thank God he was there.
When I finally felt a little better,
I fixed my hair and washed my face, trying to preserve what was left of my makeup —
and, most importantly, my dignity.
As if it hadn’t been me just minutes ago,
running away like a coward and a crybaby,
with a red nose and trembling lips.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were still shining.
My cheeks hot.
But in that reflection there was already something alive.
Real.
Not defeated.
Come on. You can do this.
We went downstairs.
Nate was holding my hand.
Firmly.
Not demonstratively — just enough so I could feel: I’m not alone.
I was all tear-stained,
not knowing where to put my eyes,
but still in that come on, you can handle this mode.
And suddenly —
A whistle.
Applause.
Someone whistled mischievously, someone clapped louder than everyone else.
— Congratulations!
— The article is amazing!
I froze.
And then — I lit up.
All of me.
— Really?.. — it slipped out of me, too fast, too sincere.
— You really like it?
— Yes, — Jonathan and Cody were nodding.
— It’s very good, — Sophie said.
The Aristocrat spread his hands, with the most serious expression:
— Honestly, I’m not that self-centered.
That very second, the Adventuress kicked him under the table.
— Ow!
Everyone laughed.
Loudly.
Alive.
For real.
And in that laughter there was no judgment.
No verdict.
Only acceptance.
Warmth.
And this strange, beautiful feeling
that you weren’t just let in —
you were waited for.
I stood there, holding Nate’s hand,
with swollen eyes and a trembling smile,
and understood:
I have a family.
I refused to eat anything and went to the nursery.
I needed that kind of support again —
the kind where you’re not destroyed,
not tested for strength,
not trapped or exposed.
I wanted to soak it in completely.
To the brim.
To let my psyche calmly digest all of this.
To let my body get used to a simple thought:
everything is okay.
No one is trying to devour us.
The nursery was quiet in a different way.
Not hollow — but soft.
The earth under my feet.
The smell of leaves.
Children’s voices somewhere nearby — alive, without tension.
Here, no one demanded strength.
Here, they simply were.
Nate came after lunch.
— Kitten, what are you planning to do?
— I think… plant some flowers, — I said,
and blushed all the way to my ears again,
as if I’d confessed to something too personal.
He smiled.
— You’re so pretty, —
and he kissed me.
I lit up.
From the inside.
As if someone had flipped a switch and the sun woke up.
Maybe I’ll manage.
Maybe I can be myself.
Content, I sat down to read a book about a little bear —
so warm and kind.
And suddenly I got shy of my own brightness —
because for some reason all the boys gathered around me.
One sat next to me.
Another peeked over my shoulder.
Someone just watched.
— You’re so beautiful, miss.
I blushed.
I still can’t get used to the fact
that people consider me beautiful.
I want to believe them so badly.
But I never considered myself beautiful.
Well — maybe when I put on makeup.
But isn’t everyone beautiful with makeup?
You can draw anything.
Erase it.
Add something.
Fix it.
And then it’s no longer natural beauty.
It’s just a mask.
…
I planted a flower.
Carefully.
Very carefully.
I tried not to hurt it, to protect it,
to make sure its little body would feel warm and safe.
A bit of soil here.
A bit more there.
And some water… just a little,
so it wouldn’t be frightened.
There.
Perfect.
— Hi… how are you?
— Better already, thank you.
— Is it sad for you in the shop?
— Yes… it’s very cold there.
— It’s nice that we’re together now.
— Yes… you’re so beautiful.
I blushed.
Bent down and kissed the little flower.
— I have to go.
I straightened up, ready to leave.
— Wait… take me with you.
— But I can’t, it’ll be inconvenient…
— Please…
— Oh… all right.
All red with embarrassment —
at myself, at my childishness —
I picked up the flower,
Eeyore,
and Winnie-the-Pooh,
and carried them with me back to the estate.
Like a secret.
Like a little procession of support.
Nate was ahead.
Oh no.
— Hi… are you in a hurry somewhere, kitten?
I smiled.
But inside — I tightened.
I was in child mode,
and I really didn’t want this to happen right now.
Nate adjusted himself, cleared his throat.
— My love… need help?
Oh no.
It’s rising again.
I tried not to breathe faster than I should.
Counted my inhales.
Counted my exhales.
Oh my God…
everything inside me woke up.
The darkness straightened its shoulders.
Shook itself out.
As if saying:
“Guys, this man is mine.
Go play somewhere else.
Don’t get in the way.”
I tried to hold on.
I really did.
But child mode quickly gave up its position.
It couldn’t compete with her.
Nate helped me carry everything.
— Wow, he’s so cool, — the flower said.
I blushed again.
— Yes. He’s very cool.
— Do you like him?
— I love him.
— Ooooh.
I got shy, happy that this man is my husband.
Nate kissed me and left.
I laid all my friends down in the room.
Kissed each one.
Carefully covered them with a blanket —
so they’d be warm.
So they’d know: I’ll be back as soon as…
And then I ran to Nate.
Where is he?
Oh, probably in the office.
That madman is always working.
I walked in with the air of someone
who was just passing by.
-Hi.
-Hi.
-Hiiiii.
He raised an eyebrow.
-Oh. Hi.
I laughed.
-Hi.
And he led me to the bedroom.
…
I came out content and happy,
humming something quietly to myself — without words,
the way you hum when suddenly there’s space inside.
And I went back to my friends.
But something happened.
I suddenly felt strange.
Not bad — different.
As if something inside had shifted.
— This is integration, — a soft voice said.
— ?
— Integration.
Your parts are starting to stop fighting.
Gradually.
You’ll allow yourself softness without child mode.
And you’ll be able to be gentle and sweet —
without childishness.
— O-o-oh… I see.
— Yeah, well, this isn’t stitching up an eyebrow, —
Hades snorted.
I got upset.
And of course, I cried right away.
— I’m sorry, — he said more quietly.
And then Sebastian found me.
— Miss…
I felt embarrassed.
He looked a little lost too — as he always does when a conversation goes off script.
But then he pulled himself together.
— Miss… I’ve read the article too.
Oh no.
I instantly hid under an imaginary invisible pillow.
All of me.
— Please don’t tell me what you thought.
I’m talentless.
— Miss, you write beautifully.
I peeked out of my invisibility and blushed.
— I don’t believe you.
— Truly, truly.
Everyone in the kitchen can’t stop reading.
Oh God.
The whole world had seen my thoughts.
Now everyone knows.
— Now everyone knows how clever you are, — the gentle voice said again.
Sebastian softly kissed the top of my head.
I lit up.
And he left.
Quietly, carefully — the way he knows how.
And I stayed there for a moment longer,
embarrassed, warm,
as if after a ray of sunlight.
And it got easier.
My thoughts resumed their flowing stream.
— That Hades is so rude… such a jerk.
— We always used to joke like that. It was safe. It was ours, — Hades said.
— She’s going to fall apart, you idiot, — Ursula cut in.
— Guys, I’m not disappearing…
— It’s just… the male part of me is finally passing over to Nate.
And I’m trying to accept what it’s like — to be a woman.
The one who always protected me,
who stood in front of me like a wall,
who took the first blow —
now seems to be handing me over to Nate.
And I’m trying to get used to that.
My hands started to shake.
— Yes… I’m terribly scared too, — I said quietly.
And my fingers dialed the right number on their own.
— Carolan.
— Miss?
— I need you.
— Of course, Miss. Will you stop by?
— I… don’t know. I’ll think. Just be ready.
I hadn’t even taken a step
when Nate stopped me at the exit.
— Sweetheart, where are you going?
I blushed all over.
As if I’d been caught doing something forbidden.
— Kitten…
— I can’t tell you.
— What happened, my love?
— I can’t.
— Please, sweetheart, don’t push me away.
An old wave rose inside me —
run, smoke, get drunk again.
We know how to do that.
Well practiced.
But no.
Not now.
I took a deep breath.
— Nate… I can’t.
I’m scared.
I feel constantly on edge with you.
I’m always shaking,
afraid of disappointing you.
He froze. He listened.
— I’m afraid I’ll become ordinary.
Predictable.
And that you’ll start letting out all those male jokes —
about girls being crybabies, hysterical,
all the nasty things men say about women.
— That won’t happen, — he said firmly, looking straight at me.
— I don’t know, Nate…
Maybe that’s just how you feel right now.
He hugged me.
Tight. Secure.
I’m here.
You’re not alone.
— What do you want, little one? — he whispered into my ear.
— I want to watch cartoons…
and I want you to meet all my friends.
— Okay. Let’s do it.
I blushed terribly.
I felt so ashamed in front of him — I’m an adult, after all.
And still…
— This is Eeyore, — I said quickly. — He’s a terrible grump. Like Jonathan.
I giggled, remembering his expression. “Why am I even surprised…”
— I see… — Nate squinted with a smile.
— And this is Winnie. He loves everyone and everything.
— Just like you, — he said, and kissed my forehead.
I blushed and shone like a tiny little star.
And then — oh no.
My eyes widened on their own.
Oh no-no-no-no.
I jerked my gaze away too sharply, hid my eyes with my palms —
but Nate already understood everything.
— No, no, no… — I recoiled toward the wall. — No-o.
— Kitte-e-en…
— No! — I bolted into the hallway.
— God, Nate, no…
He caught me with ease and gently carried me into the bedroom.
I tensed and curled in, all of me — a little bundle.
— Kitten… if you don’t want to…
— I… I don’t know.
He didn’t rush.
His movements were slow, careful, as if checking every second whether it was okay.
My mouth went dry.
I breathed out thinly, barely audible.
— Sweetheart, everything is okay, — my brain said quietly,
as if that were even possible.
— Nate… — I blushed.
He lit up.
— Nate, I… I don’t know how to say this…
but may I ask you something?
— Of course.
He stepped closer — and I forgot how to breathe again.
Oh my God, I’ve been following him for so long…
when will I ever get used to him?
— Darling… — I covered my face with my hands. — I’m trying to explore my… um… well…
— Sexuality?
— Yes, — I smiled awkwardly, fidgeting with my fingers. — Will you help me?
He smiled.
— Of course.
— Okay… could you sit down? — I breathed out. — Otherwise I can’t breathe.
He sat down.
And his hazel eyes — warm, attentive — were suddenly right in front of me.
Sensual lips. Calm face.
Oh God… this isn’t better.
Damn, he’s so hot.
— So… — I swallowed. — So…
could you… step a little farther away? — I tucked my hair behind my ear, trying to look composed.
He stood up to his full height.
God, how is he supposed to stand so that I can breathe?
He understood.
Understood before I managed to say anything else.
— Let me try, kitten.
— Okay…
— What do you want?
I blushed, dying of embarrassment.
— I would like… for you to take off your jacket.
He slipped it off easily, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
— Done.
I had no idea what to do with myself.
— And now… could you take off your shirt?
— Of course.
He did it slowly.
Very slowly.
Unhurried.
First the cufflinks. Then the middle.
Each button — like a separate breath, a separate heartbeat.
His torso emerged — strong, calm, confident.
My God…
— Could you stand like that? — it slipped out of me. — I… need to get used to it.
He stood there, hands in his pockets, feet apart.
His gaze steady.
He isn’t embarrassed.
He’s calm.
Oh God, how does he withstand that kind of pressure?
Though… it’s not his first time.
— Exactly, considering what he’s capable of, — Ursula cut in. — He has plenty of experience.
— Leave it alone, — I whispered to myself. — They don’t mean anything to him.
— Nate…
— Mm?
— Could you stand like that a little longer? I really need time to get used to you.
— Of course. Whatever you say.
— Thank you…
I was blushing terribly as I looked at him.
God, he’s beautiful.
I couldn’t believe he had chosen me.
— Little mouse…
— Yes?
— What’s wrong? — he stepped closer.
My head began to spin.
From the heat.
From his scent.
From the way he simply is.
Oh God…
He laid me down on the bed in one smooth motion — without pressure, without haste.
My hands reached for his belt…
and I couldn’t open it.
I laughed — nervously, awkwardly.
He did too.
— Want some help, little mouse?
I bit my lip.
Another second — and he was already above me.
So gentle, so attentive, as if he were holding something very fragile.
I looked inside myself:
the darkness was still there,
but it was… on a leash.
Waiting.
For now, he was carefully feeling the ground, not making a single unnecessary move.
— Kitten…
He kissed me behind the ear.
Lightly.
Almost weightless.
Then — just a little nibble, and for a second I drifted.
He moved lower,
and suddenly my whole body tensed,
as if it had pressed the brakes on its own.
He pulled back instantly.
I blushed to the point of tears.
— Damn… I’m sorry… I… I… I’m sorry…
And unable to bear it, I rushed into the bathroom
and cried again — quietly, sobbing, covering my face with my hands.
I wanted to disappear.
He knocked.
— Sweetheart…
— I’m sorry… — my words tangled. — I feel so stupid…
I feel like I’m nothing but trouble again…
— That’s not true, my love.
May I come in?
— Nate… I really feel so stupid… — the tears kept coming, and I was sobbing.
— It’s okay, kitten.
I sniffed.
— This is so stupid…
I want you so much…
but I can’t yet.
— It’s okay, kitten.
And the desire — alive, warm — flared up again.
His tenderness.
His care.
But I carefully — almost tenderly — put it out.
Not now.
I’m not ready yet.
I can’t.
He got dressed.
Calmly.
Without irritation.
Without a trace of resentment.
— Kitten?
— It’s okay… I’ll call Cody.
He nodded.
I waited until I was alone
and dialed Cody.
— Hi… will you come over?
— Of course.
She arrived quickly.
Without questions.
Without “what happened?”
— Hold me, please, — I said. — I don’t want to be alone…
But bring all my friends.
— Okay. Of course.
And soon we were on the bed.
I curled up into a little ball,
hugging Eeyore and Winnie-the-Pooh,
beside me — the very flower I planted today,
and Cody was holding me with her whole body —
wide, steady, the way only those do
who aren’t afraid of someone else’s fragility.
I closed my eyes
and imagined it was my mother.
Her hands.
Her warmth.
That feeling when you don’t have to be strong.
Don’t have to explain.
Don’t have to hold your face.
And it got easier.
My body finally believed
that it was safe now.
That control could be let go.
That no one was demanding decisions.
I hugged my friends tighter,
breathed in,
breathed out —
and fell asleep.
….

Oh… I woke up.
Nate was beside me. He was already asleep.
Even. Calm.
God… how long had I been sleeping?
— The nervous system needs time to recover, — the gentle voice said quietly. — It’s okay. The shifts were too big.
I sat up carefully.
I wanted to go downstairs — just to check the world, to make sure it was still there.
— Take me with you too… — the flower’s soul whispered.
Oh God.
I froze.
The flower’s soul began to cry.
Thinly. Almost soundlessly.
— Okay, okay, hush, hush… don’t cry, — I whispered.
I took the flower.
Changed into my pajamas — warm, soft.
I don’t usually let Nate see me like this and really didn’t want him to see me that way…
but he was asleep.
So I could exhale.
I hurried downstairs quietly.
To the fridge.
The dogs followed me — all of them — like a little procession.
Tails. Paws. Soft snuffling.
In the kitchen I took out some salad, pancakes, and chocolate cookies.
— Are you sure? — Hades shot a look toward the whiskey.
I nodded.
— Yes. It’s time to change this.
He spread his hands.
As if to say: your decision.
The St. Bernards instantly came alive.
They adore pancakes.
I handed them a whole stack.
Kept two for myself.
And went into the living room.
— Carolan… — I licked my fingers, still tasting the sweetness. — Hello…?
A short pause.
The connection clicked, as if the world hesitated for a second.
— Hi.
— Will you come over?.. — my voice came out quieter than I wanted. — I’m scared to be alone.
I sat in the living room with my legs tucked under me, where the light felt too big for the night.
The dogs had already settled down, but still kept watch, as if they felt my trembling.
— Miss… I think you should call Mr. Nate.
I sighed. Long. With effort.
— Carolan, please…
— Miss, if you say the word — I’ll come, — he said evenly, with care. — But I think you should try.
God…
Alright.
I leaned my head back — like someone who realizes the rescuers aren’t coming,
and now has to get out of the water on their own.
Strangely, that was exactly how it felt.
I jumped up and ran up the stairs.
The steps answered dully under my feet; the house seemed asleep and unwilling to be woken.
I entered the bedroom.
— Nate…
— Nate…
He rolled onto his other side, sleepy, heavy, as if surfacing from depth.
— Nate…
— Sweetheart? — his voice was warm, not fully awake yet.
I stepped closer, sat on the edge of the bed.
— Nate… will you stay with me?
I’m terribly scared to be alone.
He didn’t ask a single question.
— Of course.
He got up, still in his pajamas, a little tousled, real.
Walked downstairs with me, opened the fridge on the way, took something —
So simple. So ordinary —
as if it weren’t a night fear at all,
but just a regular moment of life that doesn’t require drama.
And in his calm
something inside me finally let go.
The house became a house again.
The night — just a night.
And I — not alone.
I turned on Ladybug and Cat Noir.
The screen lit up with familiar colors, the music began to flow gently, like a warm blanket.
We watched a couple of episodes — I was blissfully happy, curled up in his warm embrace,
under his protection,
my head on his chest,
where his breathing was even and steady, like an anchor.
— Kitten… — he leaned slightly toward me. — This Marinette reminds me of someone.
I blushed instantly.
Right up to my ears.
— Sweetheart… I don’t mind.
I looked up at him — carefully, checking.
— Really? You’re not upset about what happened during the day?
He paused for a second, as if sorting through the events,
then smiled — lightly, almost lazily.
— Ah… that?
I laughed.
Nervously. With relief.
— Yes.
— No, sweetheart. I’m not upset.
He kissed me softly — without pressure, without demand.
My head spun.
Not even from passion —
from safety.
From knowing I could be myself
and not be afraid of being punished for it.
The screen kept glowing,
the heroes were saving the world,
and I was in his arms,
feeling at home.
Desire rose.
The snake woke up
and unfurled — like light, like fire, like hunger.
And I bit him.
Hard. Testing his strength.
He growled.
Low. Deep.
The sound rolled through me like a wave.
I felt the Darkness waking up in him.
He threw his head back, drew a deeper breath —
and switched modes.
And in that moment I suddenly became whole.
Not a girl.
Not the one who’s afraid.
Not the one who’s always checking whether it’s allowed.
Everything inside me opened up.
Shoulders. Spine. Breath.
I stood fully inside myself —
and craved him with my entire being.
He looked at me with predatory eyes.
Shark. Mode.
I was dying from desire.
My whole body locked onto his darkness.
Nate.
I was gasping.
— Hi, sweetheart.
I bit my lip.
My God —
can you even breathe next to him?
He growled again and gripped my ribs.
I cried out, dying from his strength and wildness.
— Kitten… — he breathed into my hair.
— My little mouse.
I’m not thinking anymore.
He clenched my thighs,
and I moaned again.
— God — you madman.
— Kitten…
He breathed slowly, barely holding the leash.
— My gentle flower… if I cross a line, you’ll tell me.
— Uh-huh — I’m not here anymore at all.
He threw his head back, finally letting the darkness off the leash.
His gaze focused.
I swallowed.
I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of him.