My Girlfriend needs a lot of Shoes now.

The rhythmic tap of Nova’s four pairs of sandals echoed oddly against the sidewalk, like a small procession moving in perfect unison. They crossed the street toward the shopping district, and Theron caught the lingering stares of passersby—a woman pushing a stroller eyed Nova with open curiosity, a cyclist braked just long enough to gawk, even a stray dog paused mid-trot to tilt its head, as if sensing something amiss. But Nova strode forward, posture flawless, the hem of her modified skirt swaying with each step, as though four legs were the most natural thing in the world. When the light turned red and they halted, Nova sighed. “I think I made a mistake coming out like this.” Theron shot her a glance. “Regretting it now? Should we have gone to the hospital first?” He softened his tone. “People are going to stare. Just stay calm.” Nova turned, smiling, and shook her head. “No, darling. I’m talking about my sandals. How could I leave the house without a pedicure on my back feet?” She lifted one rear leg, revealing unpolished but neatly trimmed toenails. “You have no idea what it’s like—four feet, and only two presentable. I’m aesthetically lopsided.” Theron blinked, torn between amusement and concern. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?” “Obviously! A bad pedicure ruins the whole visual harmony. Maybe I should pop into a spa.” “We don’t exactly have time for that,” Theron muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “And, you know, we’re still figuring out… all this.” “Precisely!” Nova beamed. “Which is why I need my feet to look impeccable. Let’s go shoe shopping. Remember that boutique in the gallery? The one with the adorable designs?” Theron stared. “You own more shoes than I have socks. Can’t you just wear what you’ve already got?” “Sweetheart.” She gave her hips a playful sway—a motion now doubly accentuated by her new anatomy. “I have four feet now. I need two matching pairs of everything. And don’t suggest mixing my old sets—most are last season.” “Last season? You bought half of them two months ago.” Nova exhaled dramatically. “It’s clear you know nothing about fashion.” “Fine, fine. Let’s go.” He threw a glance skyward. “God, this is surreal.” “I know,” she chirped as the light changed and they stepped forward. “Which is why I need sandals, heels, and ankle boots to ground me in reality… a tasteful reality.” They entered the shoe store. A saleswoman in her thirties glanced up, offered a greeting, then froze as her gaze dropped to Nova’s lower half—two pairs of slender legs, moving in flawless sync beneath her skirt. Four feet touched down soundlessly on the polished floor. Nova advanced without hesitation. “Hi, I need some help. I sprouted two new legs this week, so my entire shoe situation needs reevaluating. Do you carry duplicates of the same style?” The saleswoman recovered with professional poise. “Of course. Size?” Nova lifted each foot in turn. “Seven. All four.” “Perfect timing. We just restocked, so we have plenty of options.” “Excellent.” Nova’s eyes gleamed as she surveyed the displays. “I’ll grab a few to try.” While she browsed, Theron watched her—the effortless way she balanced on four limbs, the playful flick of a rear foot, the fluidity of her movements as if she’d always been this way. “Sorry in advance for the extra work,” he murmured to the saleswoman. She waved him off. “No complaints here—double the shoes means double the sale. Though I’ll admit, I don’t see many… multi-legged clients. Did you say this happened just this week?” “Early this morning,” Theron confirmed. “That recent? I’d heard mutants usually need time to adjust to new limbs, but she moves like she was born with them.” “Thank you,” Nova called over her shoulder, staggering toward them with an armful of boxes. “Though extra arms might’ve been more practical right now.” Theron eyed the towering stack. “That’s… a lot.” “Relax, I won’t take all of them. Probably.” She winked. “Pretty sure I’m the one who’ll need extra arms to carry it all,” he grumbled.