The trio take turns, hugging Sable individually or in a group hug, doing their best to ensure she constantly had their reassuring warmth all around her. "It's ok, you don't have to curl yourself up or anything. Open up, spread your arms and legs, sprawl out. You deserve to take up space, to make yourself comfortable, to be yourself and be open."

She clings, and babbles, "how could they"s tumbling over "they don't know they're hurting everyone"s and tearing through "they don't care"s. She clings and hugs and rocks, letting them switch out but trying to always be in contact with at least one.

Over time she's a little less curled, though. Her posture gets tiny bits more open.

"... do you need anything to eat or drink, miss?" They keep the hug going, doing their best to guarantee that she's always getting steady, even pressure from someone.

It takes her a bit, to process that. She's actually let her vigilance down a good bit, so she can't interrupt her hurts to process inputs like she'd trained herself.

But she manages to nod, and say, "yeah, a drink would be good, please. Would help. Thank you."

One of them walks off, starting up a cup of tea in the microwave. Sable isn't sure how long it takes before she returns with it, holding it for her and letting her have a few sips. It is, by a significant margin, the best tea she's ever had.

At the first sip, she looks down at it in shock, then babbles gratitude and appreciation and awe in between sips.

She's not really trying to be coherent.

The rocking comes back, for a bit, early in sipping the tea, but it fades by the middle of the cup.

And then the hugs, and the nuzzling, keeps going. "Are you in the mood... for a steamy bath?" another one of them asks.

"I—wha—yes?—but—"

She stiffens, looks down at her body, takes a slow breath as dysphoria old hurts roil.

"The steam, and the warmth... it often feels amazing. I hoped that it'd make you feel better, to revel in all the warmth and the water spreading itself over you."

It takes her a moment, but she manages to nod and mumble, "probably, yes, but... body? dysphoric..."

"... I think you might need to wait, then. But... if you'll never be able to see all of you, in a mirror, I think it'll be tough to start feeling better. Maybe try having a look, and doing your best to love the body you're in? Just to try?"

She takes a deep breath and nods, pushing against the couch a bit to try to stand up. 

They take as much weight as they can off her feet, supporting her as they bring her to her bathroom. "You'll want some privacy for this, right? We'll be waiting right outside, always ready."

She nods, then turns to face the mirror. As the door shuts, she frowns, and then starts stripping down.

It's only been a day since she first took the new hormone regimen, so she can't possibly actually be showing signs of fat redistribution yet.

But...

Even her ex, back before she cracked her eggshell at all, said she had a nice ass, better than some girls do. And as she turns and examines herself in the mirror... she does.

Her face is... cute. None of the feminization has taken effect yet, but she has potential.

And all the awful hair being gone is pretty great.

She looks between her legs. That... she doesn't know what she wants to do about that. Being able to tuck very well certainly helps. She's not... as bothered as she was. It's certainly a nice cock, as such things go. But. She doesn't know if she wants to keep it. 

She can manage not to be as bothered by it for now, though. That's a start.

And her hair looks nice. 

Well...

She can accept herself. As a work in progress. With a lot of work to do still.

She puts her clothes back on and opens the door with a weak smile.

"...I think you're starting to feel a bit better already, aren't you?" The trio smiles at her. "I think you'll do just fine! How about watching something sappy and dumb on the projector, if enjoying the heat from the bath isn't quite what you want right now?"

She nods. "That sounds good."

They grab their phones, turning on the projector camouflaged as a part of the ceiling, and covering one of the apartment's white walls with a menu showing a huge range of movies. Most of them are sappy biographical movies, about living through some interesting period of history (or fictional history). One of them, about a woman reminiscing on the life she led during her country's utterly impossible (fictional) war, catches Sable's eye a bit more than the other options.

She points at it. "That one, maybe?"