AITA for accidentally inflicting forced feminization upon my best friend?[Posted to /w/AmITheAsshole by user throwawayAccountOfGreatMystery]

  I (23MtF) am living with my longtime best friend (23M) in shared student accommodation, and I am facing a conundrum of great perturbance on which I have dwelt at great length, and am now seeking the wisdom of the Wrotit community to assist me in seeking the true, righteous path.

  For context: I realized the truth of my transgender identity in the previous year, emerging victorious from a lengthy struggle within. Having settled, finally, the certainty of my self, I proceeded.

  In pursuit of acclimating my trusted confidant to the notion of my true self, I deployed a scheme in which I passed off my rapidly undeniable metamorphosis as occurring simply as a means to an end, that being to participate in women’s sports for the vast riches and glory to be cimed therein.

  While it is true that I am exercising regurly, I harbor no illusions of victory in any sports, for I am a frail being of little physicality, endowed with minimal athletic talent. My deployment of this clever ruse served primarily to test his understanding of transgender politics, to see if he would recognize that such a scheme is foolhardy.

  To my great chagrin, he not only believed this to be a good strategy, but indeed wished to participate himself!

  I was faced with a horrific dilemma: My friend had set himself upon a path to inflict gender dysphoria on himself, not understanding the pain of a body mismatched to one’s self! I concocted another scheme to dissuade him from the path of ranked competitive women’s sports, one in which I intend to maximize the rapidity of the onset of his gender dysphoria by way of pushing him towards the expedient adoption of feminine address, presentation and mannerisms.

  However. In the span of the preceding two months, not only has this strategy failed to bear fruit, instead only threatening the magnitude of my friend’s fruits, it has raised concerns within me that I have approached this issue in a manner that is so deceptive, I have even deceived myself!

  You see, dear Wrotit community, I suspect that for a long time now, I have suppressed a deep-seated urge to engage in the forced feminization of others. From whence this dark calling came, I do not know, but the forbidden power of it is tempting, stimuting even.

  I dread the possibility that this treacherous libido of mine has overruled my morality, influencing my judgment towards a path that disregards the autonomy of my friend, as well as her best interests. Even as I write this, I suppress shameful thoughts of forcefemming, how it calls to me and threatens to corrupt my morals until I discard all reservations to sate this evil urge within me.

  You see the conflict, do you not? In my assessment, there are two wolves inside me:

  The one which intends to save my friend from feminization.The one which craves to see it through, driven by my thirst.At the present moment, with my companion’s expressed hesitancy towards several of my suggested outfits, coupled with her continued insistence on maintaining the hormonal treatments, it appears to me that both wolves are losing.

  But I digress, for my question is simple: Given that I did not reach awareness of this uncontrolble feminizing influence in time to seal it before it could sway those in my proximity, am I culpable for moral failure? Am I merely deceiving myself yet again, when I insist that I did not know?

  I have been researching the subject of forced feminization when time permits, though I dare not approach it through anything other than secondary sources, for the time being. This caution is essential, for just the thought of falling into a downward spiral of corrupting arousal through exposure to the source material inflicts upon me a terror in my loins.

  EDIT: I do not appreciate insinuations that this is a ‘troll post’!

  There is nothing ‘deranged’ nor ‘cringe’ about my authorial voice, it is a sincere expression of my pure spirit!

  EDIT 2: Furthermore, my friend is not transgender! I have clear evidence to say as much, in that she has stated this herself.

  [Comment posted by user steph0914 with 43 upvotes]:YTA. Not for any “forcefemming” but because you refuse to just communicate with your friend. WTF OP?

  [Comment posted by user tangibleMoose with 38 upvotes]:It is very concerning that you are taking hormonal medications without proper medical supervision!

  Gender-affirming hormone treatment is a serious medical intervention, and self-medication without proper expertise is inadvisable!

  Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria is a controversial alternate hypothesis of transgender identity which cks scientific support, and there is no reason to suspect that your friend is affected by it.

  Major medical organizations recommend against succumbing to dark temptations from within–especially without proper certification to act as an endocrinologist!

  “Straight genocide” is a controversial concept pushed by organizations such as Sex Is Important and GLB Confederacy, would you like to hear more?

  Both individuals described in this post should cease all treatments immediately.

  [Comment posted by user spaceboy612 with 25 upvotes]:Um, is anyone else worried that the transwoman who posted this might be a terf? They clearly hate men and dont respect that their roommate is gnc. I think this person is unsafe in queer spaces, and hope that someone can find out who they are so they dont threaten anyone else like this. ‘Forcefem’ is a misandrist dogwhistle.

  [Comment posted by user charleslightning with 17 upvotes]:

  bro what the fuck are you even talking about how many drugs are you on rn dawg and where can i get sum

  [Comment posted by user TheRealLeuitenantSheep with 9 upvotes]:

  god I wish that was me

  NicholeOf all of Katherine’s recent idiosyncrasies, her insistence that we spend increasing amounts of time outside the apartment is certainly the worst.

  I don’t want to be outside. I don’t want people to perceive me while I fret and worry and stress myself out over every minute alteration to my appearance, no matter how slight or imagined. I feel exposed. I feel like a caterpilr being repeatedly ripped out of her cocoon, asked to pupate in full view of hostile and judging eyes. I used to be good at tuning them out, but now—and was I imagining those, too? The sidelong gnces, the lingering gazes, the curving of lips in response to my increasingly softening form?

  Expressions had never been my strong suit; this was not helping.

  Katherine, however, was as unsympathetic as she was unmoved by my pleas. The little I had been able to gather from her overly-florid rationalization was that she wanted me to “hone my skills” at “demonstrating conviction in the real-life cover”, and also that the apartment had become an “overtly hostile zone full of the probing eyes of hidden foes”. I think she should have just apologized to Kyle for the dishes at the same time I did, he was pretty sporting about it, but Katherine never takes the shortest path when a roundabout meandering one accompanied by a ten-thousand word monologue would do.

  Sucks that I have to be colteral in her ability to handle an awkward conversation with a roommate. Because as much as the estrogen has been improving my mood these past weeks—had it already been two months? I should check—there’s nothing quite like being constantly exposed to strangers who can’t seem to tell what you are and what they should make of you to make you want to crawl into both a literal and figurative closet.

  At least today we’re at a park, so the retive density of people around us is quite low. Kathy had mumbled something about “taking in the blessed life-giving force of our nearest star” to justify putting us both in something too skimpy by half and having us stretch out on a picnic bnket under the noonday sun. It was alright now, but I was sure I’d been gawked at a dozen times on the way over.

  There’s this one video pying in my head. On repeat. Some trans woman, caught having a public meltdown. Her appearance and outfit dissected at length by thousands of strangers throughout the internet, her name and personal information circuted, spurious accusations of sexual misconduct and all.

  Rationally, I know she’s the victim of harassment.

  Irrationally, I am absolutely fucking terrified of even looking the tiniest bit like her.

  And I don’t know what it is about right now that’s making that tent feeling fre up but holy shit I want to dig myself down into a hole and hide and not be perceived and retreat and give up on feminine presentation entirely. Find safety in baggy clothes and pusible deniability.

  “I uh. Kathy,” I mumble.

  “Speak clearly,” she excims in return, louder than necessary. “Retreating into inaudibility is not a substitute for making use of your vocal abilities.”

  I flinch just a little. I started doing voice exercises using some of the resources in the ‘RLC-vocal’ channel some weeks ago, figuring I could just slowly build it up privately and then flip over once it was ready.

  Then, I sort of got the hang of it really fast, at least according to Katherine. I’m not entirely sure what the expression on her face was, from context clues I guess she was impressed but it sort of looked like she was terrified?

  Using it outside is a challenge, though. I try, and it just doesn’t fire off right. It feels like the stakes are higher, like there’s less room for failure. Like I’ll be the failed trans woman embarrassing herself in public.

  So I settle for keeping quiet, still. “Do we have another bnket?” I’m struggling to maintain eye contact. Actually, I’m looking at a nearby tree. “I’m,” mortified by the vulnerability of being seen, “cold.”

  She does her lingering processing-stare for a moment before furrowing her eyebrows.

  “While some increased sensitivity to cold is an expected obstacle to overcome on this path we are on, Nichole, today is a day of glorious weather. If this is too cold for you, then you ought to consider whether your quest is destined to fail.”

  Sigh. “Can I just have a bnket anyway?”

  “Nichole. It is pinly evident that it is not heat that you seek.”

  She’s being loud and if someone walks by it’ll draw attention and–

  “Can you keep it down,” I start. “We’re in public, and—I just—”

  “Just what, exactly?” she’s getting louder.

  I’m not getting away with relying on implication, I guess. “What if we’re being cringe?”

  She freezes for a bit.

  “Cringe?” she says, the tension visibly building, bulging under her very visible skin. “You are afraid of being cringe? Even now?”

  “Especially now,” I whimper.

  Katherine’s hand is on my shoulder what the fuck is happening what is she doing—

  “Let me tell you what is cringe, Nichole.” She’s looking me straight in the eyes. “To allow yourself to be consumed by undue concern for the judgment of others, shrinking away out of fear, is cringe. To compromise your wishes, your morals, your self out of advance compliance with the edicts of strangers, is cringe.”

  I reach for my phone to try to find a way out of the confrontation.

  “Always, Nichole, you rely on external means to avoid accountability for your own desires, your own needs. Is that not cringe? Is it only cringe when someone dares to commit fully, with confidence, to assert herself?”

  Shit, she’s sort of got me pinned there. Rhetorically and physically, in a position I’m choosing to have no strong opinions on, I think.

  “Cringe festers in the half-measures, in the performance of apathy, in the need for pusible deniability to escape accountability for your own desires,” she continues.

  Fine, okay, the position is hot, she’s hot, I am attracted to her, this is not the time for that!

  “What you risk is to be consumed by the fear of cringe, Nichole. Instead, you must face it head-on, challenge it, and have confidence.”

  She leans back for a moment. There’s so much about what she just said that’s nonsense, and I want to object to it so badly, but–

  Can hormones make you completely lose it? Is the sheer amount of persistent, ongoing embarrassment somehow acting as exposure therapy? Is something fucking with my neurochemistry?

  Or is Katherine actually making sense?

  “And that is the mindset of the trans women we are pretending to be for this competition!”

  Nope. Still not making a lick of sense, but at least I’ll stand for something.

  “Sure, that sounds great, until we run into someone who actually hates trans women.”

  Katherine looks down on me with a deliberate, sort of vilinous smirk. Is she acting like that girl from the server on purpose?

  “But Nichole,” she gloats, “haven’t you kept up? Transmisogyny can’t harm us, because we are merely pretending to be trans women!”

  Before I can reply—or, well, organize my open mouth into legible sounds—our phones buzz violently, in tandem. Katherine’s is instantly in her hands, prompting me to sigh deeply instead.

  “Kathy, you said we were here to touch—”

  “Peace, Nichole! This is a matter of utmost gravity, outweighing even the bedazzling sight of your form dappled in sunlit majesty!”

  “—huh?—”

  “This is inconceivable!” Katherine turns her phone around to show me.

  I squint, trying to perceive what’s on her screen through the harsh sunlight. “That’s … isn’t that just the picture Laura posted this morning when she woke up from surgery, with the caption ‘I lived, bitch’?”

  “No, not that, the thread under that post!” Katherine is practically vibrating. “Trickster’s Tatas has challenged the Impenetrable One to Discursive Combat!”

  Her announcement is delivered with such gravitas, I almost feel bad for asking what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

  KyleMy heart hurts every time I think of Rupali.

  Irony has never been this bitter, because to be perfectly honest, any other guy in my position would feel lucky, blessed, like he’d hit the jackpot being betrothed to this sweet, warm, round-faced and honey-voiced angel, with her cascading brown locks and bubbly disposition and sparkling mischief behind the brightest eyes you’ve ever lost yourself in.

  Which I do my level best not to.

  I’ve wondered often if a girl like her would ever give an ogre like me a second gnce if we hadn’t literally been forced into proximity by the idle fantasies of our parents that, for some reason, hold such sway over our very lives and destinies. We’re both in the same college, the same major, the same csses, and subject to the same degree of sheer scrutiny and surveilnce to make sure that, like good little dolls, we’re regurly holding hands and organizing pydates to come around to each other’s bedrooms, where we will of course sit next to each other chastely while watching G-rated movies lest we incur the wrath of Baby Jesus.

  Not that there is even the slightest risk of anything with a higher rating occurring on either of our beds. Bad enough that she has to see me, speak to me, tolerate the dead weight of my very presence around her no-doubt perfect anklets. I could never even imagine doing something so base and repugnant as demanding any more from her than the minimum requisite amount of time we have to spend together to report to our respective elders that their petty little pns for our lives are proceeding on schedule.

  Which is why I’m utterly wracked with guilt over how nice it feels to even sit next to her in the library, working on our problem sets.

  I tried my level best to sit between two people during our differential equations css, but the idiot next to me “spotted a friend” and moved two rows behind just when Rupali walked in, and so she had to begrudgingly settle down next to me and fsh me that big bright smile of hers that I wish she didn’t have to perform for my benefit. This locked us into having lunch together, because it was right after css and we’re obviously heading towards the same dining hall, resulting in her having to put her arm in mine and continue to endure my existence to keep up the charade. Then, over lunch, while she tried to spoonfeed me fn in a pantomime of what happy couples do, she asked me for help with linear algebra in exchange for helping me with the differential equations homework.

  “Sure,” I agreed, because she should get something out of this nightmare she’s been trapped with me in.

  That, at least, is easy enough. I can keep my head down and focus on the notes she’s provided me, helpfully color-coded with a variety of ink-pens she carries with her to every css. She has really cute handwriting, which looks all the cuter dispyed in shades of pink and red and green, neat and meticulous in a way my chickenscratch has never been. Even the i’s are dotted with little hearts, a painstaking detail to make dry mathematical discussions just a bit less dull. I almost feel bad that the notes I’ve provided her in turn are barely legible, likely as ghastly for her to look upon as my face.

  “You look really cute when you’re concentrating real hard on something, you know?”

  I look up from the notes, more than a little sck-jawed, only to see her fail to suppress a giggling fit.

  “I’m … well, you see …”

  I’m spared from having to make head or tail of that by my phone suddenly and violently vibrating itself halfway across my desk.

  “Didn’t you put it on ‘Do Not Disturb’, Kal?”

  “I did,” I respond absentmindedly, picking the phone up and seeing the notification from the Accord. “This is just, um, special. It’s for … roommate emergencies.”

  “Oh! Did Katherine do something again?”

  “Yeah, that’s the most likely culprit—hang on, what?” I blink up at Rupali. “How … do you know Katherine?”

  Unless I had taken a recent blow to the head, I could not recall nor even imagine inflicting either that name or the ridiculous headache it described to sweet, blissfully ignorant Rupali.

  “Jeffrey told me you two haven’t been getting on of te.”

  “You know Jeffrey?!”

  Rupali gives me an incredibly amused look, almost as if she’s enjoying the effect her casual revetions are having on me.

  “Yes, Kal, I know Jeffrey. We organized the GSA’s test protest against the admin’s policies on name changes together.”

  Every word she speaks begets more questions than the st.

  “You know,” Rupali continues, “maybe if you talked to me about something other than problem sets, you’d know these things already.”

  “You’re in the GSA?” I manage to sputter, afraid I was hitting some sort of comprehension saturation point. “That’s … okay with your parents?”

  “Arre, it's all 'extracurricurs' to them,” she replies with a ugh, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Kal, you don't tell mummy-daddy every little thing you do, do you?"

  An awkward silence lingers between us momentarily.

  “You do! What a good child!” Rupali is snickering. “Is that why you haven’t touched anything besides my hand so far?”

  So this is what brain death feels like.

  “Oh no, rex.” Rupali is covering her mouth with one hand, valiantly straining to force back peals of ughter. “I promise, Kal, I’d never take advantage of a good, innocent, sanskaari boy like you. Go deal with your roommate issue.”

  “Right.” I look back down at my phone and decisively not at Rupali. “I’ll do that.”

  If I was expecting the Accord to restore to me any measure of a sense of normalcy—quite frankly, I don’t know why I was—what I found under the post-surgery pic of the trans girl currently leading the rankings dashed those hopes entirely. I scrolled up from the announcement, looking for context for the server-wide ping and trying to figure out just what the hell “discursive combat” was supposed to mean.

  Laura The Impenetrableyou thought id linger on this moment? what, you think this is some kinda momentous event in my life, whereby it should have some kind of meditation, rumination, perhaps even buildup? you think this is too abrupt and callous? that's cause REAL MEN KNOW THERE DICKS AREN'T THEIR MANHOODu guys need to keep up with youre theoryby which i mean animetruly powerful swordsmen dont even need a bde. they beat there enemies with just a sheaththis is a tuesday for meter losers

  Bench Press Meta 2025Don’t they’re sheaths still have a sword inside

  Laura The Impenetrablecope about it dickboy, if i need a sword i can just get silicone perfection, forged by artisan dongsmiths.

  Laura The Impenetrablealso my gf can ‘lend me her sword’ as soon as i’m back heyooooooo

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]Congratutions on your successful surgery, Mistress of Mammaries!

  Laura The Impenetrablehold the fuck up

  Bench Press Meta 2025Oh this is gonna be good.

  Laura The Impenetrableyour petty little jibes mean nothing to a real man

  Laura The Impenetrablebut how the FUCK are you still in this server with that pronoun role?

  The trans girl in denial raises an excellent question. In response, Trickster’s Tatas—I wish I knew something about them so I didn’t have to use their stupid fucking name—linked her to a thread in a dispute channel, where they’d received mod permission for their new role.

  Bench Press Meta 2025NO FUCKING WAY

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]Take it up with the mods.

  Laura The ImpenetrableARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]I’m simply reconnecting with my cultural heritage by reciming the traditional role my society has always id out for individuals such as myself, as detailed in Vasundhara Andersen’s groundbreaking anthropological text Verken mann eller kvinne.

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]We are known informally as ‘Soper’ and more formally as ‘Lokes?tt’, considered to have a spiritual connection to Loki, God of Deceit and Lies. Our rich traditions include dancing at festivities, blessing newlyweds in eborate fertility rituals, and begging for alms from returning vikings because we aren’t permitted any other form of gainful employment.

  Heir of BreastWoah, they still have vikings? So cool

  Laura The ImpenetrableA NON-BINARY THIRD GENDER ROLE STILL MEANS YOU’RE NOT A MAN, ASSHAT

  BigTittyFemboy@Heir Of Breast yeah look this is from 2023, they still have vikings

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]On the contrary, my good Mistress! If you look at the anthropological record and historiography on my people’s third gender, you’ll find a great deal of cis male schors stating in no uncertain terms that we are, in fact, ‘emascuted effeminate castrated men enacting a vulgar mimicry of real womanhood’. Therefore, any non-man-ness is merely a performance we undertake for purely spiritual reasons.

  Laura The ImpenetrableOH FUCK THE FUCK OFF

  MelvinHey dipshits @Heir of Breast @BigTittyFemboy that’s clearly LARP?? No misinfo in chats pls

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]Therefore, it would be culturally insensitive—some might even say bigoted—to boot me from this server by decring me not a man, simply for observing my people’s religious practices.

  Laura The ImpenetrableYou are SO full of shit, gxrl.

  Laura The ImpenetrablePeople say that shit about trans women all the time. That doesn’t make them men, it just means they’re degendered under patriarchy like all transfeminized poputions! Which your ‘third gender’, from the sound of it, absolutely counts as!!!!

  Heir of Breast@Melvin Bro, LARP is a colonialist construct, why do you think you can just dismiss viking cultural heritage like this?

  IsaacahedronSweetie, maybe you should take a quick break, at least until you come down from the painkillers?

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]I feel like you’re imposing Western notions of gender and sexuality onto my culture.

  Laura The ImpenetrableYOU ARE LITERALLY THE WESTERN ONE HERE AND I AM LEGALLY, GEOGRAPHICALLY AND ANCESTRALLY, NOT FROM THE FUCKING WEST

  Laura The Impenetrable@Isaacahedron DID I TELL YOU TO STOP DOING WHAT YOU WERE DOING ON CAM?

  BigTittyFemboyGetting rlly uncomfortable with the amount of confident cims about cultures ppl dont have epistemic authority on up in here

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]All the more shameful that you’re taking such a colonial perspective.

  Bench Press Meta 2025What the fuck does ‘degendered’ mean? Did you mean ‘misgendered’?

  Laura The ImpenetrableCOLONIAL?! YEAH I APOLOGIZE FOR ASIA’S VIOLENT HISTORICAL COLONIZATION OF FUCKING SWEMARK

  Laura The ImpenetrableYou are absolutely full of it and I’m not letting you get away with this.

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]Oh? Is that so, Impenetrable One?

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]You mean to challenge my pce in this competition, right behind you and your dear, whipped pet, on the basis that I do not perform the traditional signifiers of Western manhood, and so should be considered transfeminized?

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]Are you really going to go with that angle of attack, Laura?

  Isaacahedron@Laura The Impenetrable The video’s sent and that was the st instruction, so I’m just going to say that even if you were in a state to challenge anyone, our st disputes mean that our ‘cooldown period’ from challenging anyone is still in effect. We can’t use the dispute channels or be accused ourselves for another month at the very least.

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]Oh, that’s not an issue.

  Bench Press Meta 2025OH FUCK

  Bench Press Meta 2025THEY’RE GONNA DO IT

  Only In This For The Money TbhTHEMBOY MEANS BUSINESS

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]If The Impenetrable One really wished to bring a challenge to my doorstep, aware that she can’t fuck all of her opposition into submission, she knows the byws. She knows her options. She knows that if she actually believes she can eliminate me, by standards that will not also instantly be applied to her, she can do so.

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]You know.

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]If she’s man enough.

  I have to look up from the chat log at this point to take a breath. Whew. How could something this stupid be this engrossing? Not a question I have the time or inclination to ponder right now, I needed to see if the trans girl was man enough to pick up the gauntlet that had just been hurled at her feet.

  Bench Press Meta 2025FIRST PLACE AND THIRD PLACE ARE KNOCKING THEMSELVES OUT, @Isaacahedron must be popping champagne rn

  Isaacahedron@Laura The Impenetrable Mistress please you are STILL BLEEDING, please do not do this.

  Laura The ImpenetrableSilence, simpering wench. This is my manhood on the line.

  Laura The ImpenetrableWhich makes it no issue at all. My manhood is without question. My manhood did not ‘survive’ this operation, because this operation was never even a threat to it. My manhood is not bound to the form of my flesh or the state of my body, because it is in my very cells, my blood, my immutable spiritual essence.

  Laura The ImpenetrableYou think that having just been carved into is any impediment for the Impenetrable One? Whose flesh only yielded to the cold steel of the scalpel because I permitted it? You think that if I’m bleeding, that doesn’t just give me another weapon to drown you in, ‘Soper’?!

  Laura The ImpenetrableI accept your worthless challenge, and I relish it, too.

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]It’s settled then.

  Trickster’s Tatas [they/them]@Discursive Combat

  KatherineDiscursive Combat.

  Between the Master of Mammaries, now also going by The Impenetrable, and… Trickster’s Tatas.

  Admittedly, I know little of them, nor of the traditions of Nornd, from whence they hail. Or was it Iceden? Swemark. It was Swemark. I have never concerned myself with the northern nds, and must rely on my intuitions to assess whether this one, who cims descent from Loki, is speaking the truth.

  Damnation. Had I been more swift in learning about forced feminization, I would have had ample time over the past weeks to research the north, their horn-helmeted barbarians, their thanes and jarls, and their endemic linguistically-proficient wyverns-posing-as-dragons. I am not even certain if they still have those, as I seem to recall that they’ve since industrialized and become a major exporter of oil, presumably harvested from the blood of trolls, somehow?

  Evidently, Trickster’s Tatas must be viewed as an unknown quantity.

  And unknowns are treacherous in a battle to the death.

  The ultimate means of settling disputes avaible, I have only seen Discursive Combat referenced a few times. A protocol deployed only rarely, introduced in the recent history of Ranked Competitive Breast Growth, it is a st-resort measure for those who believe that tribunal verdicts are so fwed, they are willing to risk their own participation in the arena of a streamed, recorded debate.

  A bloodsport for the whole server, the reward for its victor is as dramatic as the fate of the defeated: Immunity to further tribunals, for four quarters henceforth.

  If the Master of Mammaries cims victory here…

  Then, she will truly be Impenetrable.