I wrote this comment yesterday, and it ended up being longer than expected. By the time I was done, for some reason Steemit wouldn't let me post it, or even load the page. But now that it's finally working again I see that your story's been Curied!!! Congratulations @megan.emerald :)

Here's my comment:

Ok... this blew my mind. I would have thought it next to impossible to write a modern version of the kind of cautionary tale that is a stock-in-trade of traditional folklore around the world, as you’ve done here. But the tension and resolution in this piece works so beautifully on a psychological level, it feels ageless, and maybe even particularly relevant to a child of the current sci-fi dystopia. Because in this day and age, when focus on externals often seems to eclipse the value of the human soul, the lesson doesn't seem quite so easy to grasp. The trap hits uncomfortably close to home. We know intellectually that the moral is straightforward, but it feels slippery, sticky. I wish I were as strong as Onan, as the heroine... but I fear I'm not. Her plight feels familiar because culturally, I think, it's one we're all living with in some form.

Apart from that, the writing itself is magic. The protagonist's's first person narrative is believably human: for the most part matter-of-fact and direct, but turning philosophical or poetic when the direct approach doesn't seem to cut it. The magical and fantastical elements in the story ring every bit as true as the more mundane details. And the narrative structure expertly propels the arc of the storyline.

My favorite part is what I perceive to be the "hinge" of the story, the turning point, when the question ‘Why don’t you love me?’ is answered with the question ‘What is there to love?’, followed closely by the epiphany: "But Onan’s answer had stirred something inside me and for the first time, I felt something rise to resist what I had become. I had pretty much merged with Nanuto by then, and he had started to devour me, slowly excavating me until there was nothing left but the beautiful perfect shell my admirers worshipped. There was not much left to love and I felt hollow and empty."

"Slowly excavating me..." What precise poetry!

And then the reappearance of the dimple at the end. Perfect :D