The Gift

It was the weekend after Christmas, and the first rays of sunlight streamed through the apartment window, filling the space with a warm, golden light. The university campus lay quiet, subdued by the holidays, and the small tree Naomi had decorated with recycled lights twinkled slowly in the eerie calm. Lunette emerged from her room wrapped in a robe, yawning. “Merry Christmas,” she said, smoothing her brown bob. “Merry Christmas!” Naomi replied from the kitchen, preparing coffee. The heating in the small apartment was generous enough that she wore only pink panties, her breasts bare. “Come here, I’ve got something special for you.” “Whenever you say ‘something special,’ it worries me,” Lunette said. Naomi handed her a medium-sized box, clumsily wrapped but topped with an absurdly large bow. Lunette took it, hesitated, then opened it. “Naomi, we agreed no gifts this year. We can’t afford it,” Lunette reproached, a flush of embarrassment coloring her tone. “I know, but… I saw it on eBay and I had to. Don’t be mad. You’ve put up with so many of my… let’s call them eccentricities this year. Consider it a thank-you for tolerating me.” “Fine. Just for that, then. Thank you.” Lunette set the box on the low table before the sofa. She lifted the lid and nearly gasped. Inside, nestled on a bed of fabric, was a head. A beautiful one, appearing to be about their age. The skin was smooth and perfectly sculpted, the full lips slightly parted. Blonde hair fell in shimmering waves around the face. Its eyes were closed, as if in sleep. “Naomi…” Lunette murmured, holding her breath. “What is this?” “A spare head, obviously,” Naomi said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Found it online. You know there are girls who sell parts, right?” “Yes, I remember when you tried to convince us to sell ours. But… a head?” Lunette couldn’t tear her eyes from the box. “They’re uncommon—rare, really. Most extras disappear when you regenerate. I just thought… you’re always so responsible, so tense. Maybe a new perspective would do you good. And the deal was too good to pass up.” “You think I’m tense?” “…In a good way,” Naomi amended with a small smile. “This isn’t normal,” Lunette said finally. “Unlike other parts, a head rarely stays intact after regeneration. Did it occur to you it might be on sale because the original consciousness is still asleep inside? Waiting?” Naomi blinked. “Waiting for what?” “A body,” Lunette replied softly. “So some unsuspecting clay girl puts it on, and it steals everything.” A heavy silence settled. The blonde head seemed peaceful, yet its beauty was unsettling. “Then let’s try it,” Naomi said suddenly, springing up. “I’ll go first.” Before Lunette could protest, Naomi was separating her body with the casual ease of shedding clothes. She flopped onto the sofa, her limbs falling noisily to either side. “What are you doing?” Lunette cried. “This way, if there’s another consciousness, it’s trapped,” Naomi said, winking. “Safety first. Now, let me pop my head off.” Lunette watched as Naomi’s eyes glazed white before she gave a sharp, backward jerk of her neck. Her head rolled across the couch cushions, now lifeless. All that remained was a limbless torso, its chest rising and falling with the imitation breath clay girls produced. Swallowing hard, Lunette lifted the blonde head. It was warm, alive. She placed it onto the stump of Naomi’s neck. For a moment, nothing. Then the blonde head blinked. Its lips parted with a soft sigh, and the eyes opened slowly, revealing a pale, curious blue. “Wow…” Naomi said, her voice slightly different, sweeter. “This is… interesting. What a lovely voice.” “Do you feel anything strange?” Lunette asked, tense. Naomi’s new eyes darted, as if exploring a new room. “No other voice. But… I can see a bit of her. She’s cheerful. Likes to improvise, but knows when to stop. Less chaotic than me, I guess.” She laughed. “I like her. She’s someone I’d be friends with.” Lunette exhaled slowly. “Okay. You still sound like you. I think we’re safe.” Carefully, she removed the blonde head from Naomi’s torso. It fell asleep again. Lunette walked to the full-length mirror, removed her own head, and left it on the table—wearing an expression of surprise—before settling the blonde head onto her neck. After a disorienting second, the new head blinked in the mirror. Lunette stared at the reflection. The face looking back was new, luminous. She smiled… and the smile came easier, wider, freer than usual. “Wow,” she whispered. “Maybe I did need this. I feel… lighter. Probably not a good idea during the school year, though.” She smiled again, a thrill running through her. Scooping up her own head, she hurried to her room. She put on a pretty dress and heels—things she usually avoided—and applied makeup with skills borrowed from the new head’s knowledge. She studied herself in the mirror, pleased in more ways than one. After throwing on a coat and grabbing her keys, she moved toward the door, each step filled with a newfound lightness. She paused for just a second on the threshold… then excitement won. “I’ll be back later,” she called cheerfully. The door clicked shut. On the sofa, Naomi’s headless, limbless torso lay motionless. …Lunette, you forgot something. My parts are disconnected—I can’t feel them. Lunette? she thought, voice trapped inside a silent mind. I guess this is what they call karma for my mischief this year. Outside, the morning brightened. Inside, the recycled lights on the small tree continued to twinkle patiently, as the quiet spirit of Christmas lingered on.