Blooming Fire, Part 1

Andy was never going to get used to the transformation ceremonies, but today, he could feel it in his teeth: the tension, the waiting. Myra’s entrance—her blank, **** scan for meaning—had burned out the last filament of composure in him. He was supposed to sit in the Throne like a judge, but it felt more like a **** sentence, so he hovered at the periphery until Arabella herself made a slow, grand sweep to the center of the gazebo.

She wore white today, as if the whole ritual required a Host in ceremonial dress. Her voice, when she spoke, was low enough to vibrate the beams of the pavilion. “If I could ask for silence,” she said, amused, “I would. But I know that’s not realistic. So instead, let’s all take a breath together.”

Andy almost laughed. Instead, he watched as Dawn and Chloe clung to each other’s hands, as Emi blinked so fast her lashes threatened to fly off, and as Riley, arms folded, kept a stony watch on Myra, like she expected the newcomer to explode at any moment.

Arabella closed her eyes, as if taking the pulse of the crowd, then clapped her hands once—sharp, but not loud. “Welcome, Myra. And welcome, all of you, to the fourth transformation ceremony.” Her eyes did a lazy lap of the ring of women, settling on Myra just long enough to anchor her. “For the benefit of our newest contestant, I’ll explain: Each of you will be presented with three options for your next transformation. You’ll select a favorite, and Andy—” a brief nod, inviting him into the role— “will provide his preference as well. Afterward, the decision goes to the Audience vote.” Her mouth tilted, equal parts mirth and warning. “And as always, there will be a surprise or two.”

Chloe, who’d been holding her breath, let it out in a small, involuntary sound. Next to her, Dawn squeezed her hand hard enough to turn the knuckles white.

Arabella continued, “We’ll proceed in batches, for the sake of drama and logistics. First: Emi, Claire, and Marissa.” She offered the trio a regal little nod.

Emi’s six arms immediately did six different things: one set crossed her chest defensively, two fidgeted in her lap, and the top pair combed through her hair, braiding and unbraiding the same section over and over.

“Ready, Emi?” Arabella asked, voice tuned to reassurance.

Emi gave a shivery nod, every eye in the ring snapping to her at once.

Arabella smiled. "Here are your options."

• Six Arms To Hold You: Emi is an avid collector and a very tactile person. Let's help with that. Emi will feel a hollow emptiness inside that will grow the more of her hands are empty. Three things puts her at her normal baseline. Holding items with six hands will fill her with euphoria. Holding the Master's penis will count as having all her hands filled. (Collector)
• Buttoned Heart: Emi's always been quite innocent and demure. Now, Emi's clothing resists being undone unless someone else helps her. Buttons, zippers, ribbons — they all seem to defy her own hands but yield easily to another’s. (Innocence)
• Velvet Hours: Time feels different when Emi is near. While engaged in an intimate act, Emi can slow time down for herself and her partner(s), giving them more time with each other. (Dreamer)

Emi, now fire-engine red in the face, flexed all six hands at once. “May I ask a question?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” Arabella said.

"Uh... how big do the items need to be for option one?"

Arabella smiled. "They could be as small as seashells, should you wish for that. It's the holding, not the size, that matters." She paused. "Except in the Master's case." A nervous laughter spread among the women, and Andy felt himself flush red, mortified.

“Would you like to indicate a preference?” Arabella prompted.

Emi hesitated, arms squirming, then said, “Option three. The time one.” She giggled, instantly embarrassed, and added, “Please.”

Arabella nodded, then turned to Andy. “Master’s preference?”

He didn’t need to think. “Option three, too. She deserves that.”

Emi glowed. Not just in the metaphorical way: all six hands relaxed, her whole body lengthening with visible relief.

Arabella thanked them, then moved on to Claire. “You are next, Claire.”

Claire, who had been scratching at her notebook in silence, raised it so the whole front row could read:

I am ready. Bring it.

Several of the girls snorted. Marissa, who sat closest, gave Claire a discreet thumbs-up under the table.

Arabella listed Claire’s three:

• Chekhov's Girl: Claire becomes the proverbial Chekhov's Gun. She's on The HH, therefore she must be important to the plot - any plot. Claire will randomly appear around the Master, seemingly by pure chance, any time her presence could advance the plot the Master is currently involved in. She will subconsciously know what she needs to do, and will feel a pull towards doing it. It's typically erotic. (Muse)
• Feline Grace: A child of Bastet displays preternatural grace. Claire's balance and movement shift to something unmistakably feline. Every stretch becomes languid, her movements are as graceful as a cat's, and she can land lightly from any fall. (Myth and Maiden)
• In The Moment: At times Claire can be overwhelmed by too much going on. Now instead of anxiety she will get lost in the moment instead, feeling a sense of bliss as she is bathed in sensory overload. (Surrender)

Claire barely waited for Arabella to finish before writing her answer and passing it down the row, ears tipped forward in excitement. Marissa, who received the note first, read aloud: “‘Option two. Grace. Want to try.”’ Marissa handed it to Andy, who couldn’t help but smile at the all-caps SAY YES! scrawled under Claire’s official answer.

“Andy?” Arabella prodded.

He shrugged. “That one makes the most sense. And… I think she’d enjoy it.” He snuck a glance at Claire, who beamed, tail sweeping the air behind her like a flag.

Marissa’s turn. Arabella didn’t bother asking if she was ready.

• Picture Them Naked: People are often told to picture their audience naked in order to calm them during public speaking, well for Marissa this is now reality. When speaking to any group of 3 or more people, Marissa will now see them naked. (Public Speaker)
• First Taste: She was the first to sleep with the Master on The HH, and her body remembers. Whenever the Master is aroused, her body instantly feels it, mirroring it exactly. The stronger her craving becomes, the less able she is to hide it. (Trophy)
• Sexual Healing: Marissa's skills at therapy are significant. Now, she'll become able to heal the body as well as the mind. Marissa can now heal people through sexual acts, the more severe the wound the more is needed. A sunburn might only take a kiss while a broken bone a blowjob. (Doctor)

Marissa laughed, warm and low, her breasts heaving with the **** of it. “The first one is wild,” she said, and her voice did the thing again: a silky, honeyed purr that left a visible shudder in Emily and a sharp, involuntary breath from Riley.

Arabella cocked a brow. “Which would you prefer?”

Marissa didn’t hesitate. “Two. I’d rather be synced to Andy. There’s something honest in it.”

Several of the women nodded, and even Andy found himself a little off-balance at the confidence in her tone.

“Andy?” Arabella asked, but Andy just spread his hands. “I’d have picked the third one. I'm not sure the second one would be pleasant when we're not together. But if she wants the second one... I trust her.”

“Trust, already?” Sam joked, from further down. “I thought you were supposed to keep these women in check, not the other way around.”

Marissa laughed again, this time with a curl of challenge in it. “You could always join us on the couch, Sam.”

Arabella cut in, voice lighter, “Thank you, ladies. Now, Erin?”

Erin stood at attention, her hands trembling slightly.

• Pleasure Projection: Erin's loyalty extends to the women in her inner circle. Any pleasure Erin feels will be felt with equal intensity by any woman she trusts, within range. The range of this ability increases with the intensity of the pleasure. (Loyal)
• Green Thumb: Erin becomes part plant. Her skin turns green, and she can photosynthesize in the sun. Whenever she's in the sun, she feels a low-level arousing buzz which grows in strength the longer she is exposed to the sun. While the arousal gain bypasses Erin's original limitations, she cannot orgasm from the arousal unless the Master is watching. As long as Erin is in sunlight at least one hour per day, she doesn't need food to survive. But if she goes too long without sunbathing, she becomes languid, hungry, and needy, craving warmth, touch, food, or for Andy to “tend” her. (Ki)
• Triple Jointed: As a reward for Erin's dedication to yoga she will now be far more flexible than ever before. As a added benefit instead of pain and discomfort these contortions will instead induce great pleasure. (Yoga Fanatic)

Andy waited for Arabella to move the script along, but Erin spoke first, her voice flat and measured: “May I ask a question?”

Arabella inclined her head, gracious. “Of course.”

"What's the maximum range of option one?" She paused. "You know, when..." She blushed slightly. Arabella nodded.

"Fair question. About fifty yards, give or take. Of course, it can be expanded with upgrades."

Andy could almost see the calculus in her head. Because her pleasure was inextricably tied to him watching, the first transformation meant they would have to restrict themselves to times when they were sure no other women were in the vicinity. Knowing Erin, that would be a hard dictate to follow. The third one could be fun. The second one... Andy wasn't sure what exactly it would entail.

Erin weighed the options for an uncomfortable amount of time, then said, “I’ll take the third one.” Her tone was stoic, but Andy could see the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

“Any comment, Andy?” Arabella asked.

He shrugged, knowing she’d see through it. “It sounds like you’re picking the path of least misery. But I don’t blame you.” He tried to look at her, but she caught his eye and the effect was instant: her nipples stiffened, her whole body going tense. She gave him a tight smile, but he could see she was pleased by his attention.

Arabella, never missing a beat, swiveled to Liesa.

• Studying A Broad: Liesa is now an expert on female anatomy. She knows just where and how to touch any woman to maximize pleasure or pain; she can temporarily impart this knowledge on a willing sexual partner during intimacy. (Exchange Student)
• Colorblind to Modesty: Liesa has had troubles with her clothes, recently. Now, she loses the ability to visually recognize nudity when body paint is present. No matter how little she wears, if she’s painted, her brain interprets it as being fully dressed. This affects clothing-associated transformations, provided the body paint is detailed enough to suggest multiple garments. (Artist)
• Flaunt It: Liesa knows how to move to set the blood afire. Whatever she's doing, she's compelled to move in a sexually suggestive way. (Girlfriend Experience/Escort)

The table went silent, every eye on Liesa, who seemed to shrink into her seat. She made a show of considering the options, lips drawn into a straight line. Then she said, “Second one, please. The… art one.”

Arabella nodded. “Are you certain?”

Liesa hesitated, then nodded again. "I’m not ready for the last one. Maybe someday. And the first one is nice," she said, glancing at Sam, "but I want some control of my life." She laughed, a quick bark, then hid behind her hand.

“Andy?” Arabella prompted.

He almost wanted to joke, but one look at Liesa—her discomfort so familiar, so raw—made him take it seriously. “I think she picked the best one. If she ever needs help with the art, I can… do a mean smiley face.”

Liesa’s head popped up, and her smile was for real this time, teeth showing. “Deal.”

Chloe, from across the circle, whispered something to Dawn; Andy caught only “…it’s cute,” but not who it was about. Emily, as always, watched with rapt attention, her hair perfectly framing her bare body in a way that somehow made her nudity more modest, not less.

Arabella closed out the first group, her hands steepled like a priest about to offer the sacrament. “Thank you, ladies. The rest of you, be ready. We’re moving quickly this time. The audience has a short attention span.”

Andy took a long look at the ring of women. Myra, still stunned, pressed her hands to her lap, her knuckles rigid. He wondered how much of the process she was absorbing—and how much would crash down on her after the fact.

Arabella, still playing the part of the benevolent judge, turned next to Sam, Dawn, and Norah. The three sat in a near row, like students ready for final exams, but each wore their anxiety differently. Sam lounged with her arms behind her head, biceps flexing, while Dawn perched on the edge of her seat, her rabbit ears at full, terrified mast. Norah was a compact ball of energy, elbows on knees, expression sharpened to diamond point.

• Platonic Cuddle Monster: Every friendship needs a hugger, right? She becomes that friend—If she’s within reach of anyone, she’ll unconsciously curl up against them in her sleep—no matter who it is. Then, she murmurs endearments into their back or neck. She never remembers it clearly, but she always wakes up feeling languidly content and vaguely embarrassed. (Best Friend)
• Beerista: When Sam makes a drink of any sort she can now choose to also make it magically alcoholic. This might occasionally accidently happen even when she doesn't want it. (Blue Bean Barista)
• Fantasy Weaver: Through her fingertips, she can subtly reshape a woman’s body — altering curves, skin warmth, or scent — aligning her more closely with the Master’s subconscious fantasies, even if the Master isn’t aware or consciously desires it. (Emotional Anchor)

Sam’s smile didn’t waver, but her ears went red. “You’re not giving me anything to work with, Arabella.” The other women laughed. "Can I mix and match?" Sam said, eyes twinkling.

Arabella shook her head. “Pick one, Ms. Collins.”

“Fine, Beerista then,” Sam said immediately. “We all need a little more fun these days.” She winked at Andy. “He especially does.”

Andy barked a laugh. “Thanks for the confidence, Sam. I agree—second one’s the winner.”

Dawn’s turn. Arabella softened her gaze, as if dealing with a skittish animal. “Dawn, our resident bunny girl.

• Room Service: A contestant can pay Dawn a a fee of 1000 BP to include her on their date night. If brought in this way Dawn serves as a butler for the couple and gives a bonus to any VP earned by them on the date. (Consierge)
• Bunny's Favorite Spot: Dawn's bunny instincts grow stronger. While she can sit wherever she pleases, any seat that is not a warm lap feels itchy and uncomfortable. Other people's laps feel comfortable and relaxing in comparison, with the Master's lap being particularly luxurious. (Fun Lover)
• The Way to a Man's Heart: Dawn's cooking can create emotional effects in whoever eats it. (Helpless Romantic)

Dawn’s jaw dropped, and Chloe whispered a shaky, “Oh wow,” under her breath.

Dawn stared at her hands, absorbing the options. “The second one is… really embarrassing,” she said, voice muffled. “But I like the third one.”

Chloe reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s okay,” she said, and the soft note of real affection in her voice made Dawn’s ears droop with relief.

Andy weighed in. “It’s the best fit, Dawn. But only if you want it.”

She nodded, resolute. “I do.”

“Not a single objection, huh?” Norah interjected, arms still braced tight around her knees. “No one wants to see the rabbit bouncing on Andy's lap?”

Dawn shot her a look, but it was more gratitude than irritation. “Maybe next time,” she said.

"Norah," Arabella said with amusement, "there are no transformations for you, specifically, this round. As the winner, you do not receive one from your paths. Your previous transformation, Hand-Me-Downs, still carries, so you will be assigned a random transformation from those of all other women who did not win the vote. Due to this, we'll find out what transformation will be selected for you only once the polls are closed."

Norah nodded and glared at the air beside Arabella, as if trying to physically intimidate the Audience.

Arabella gave a small, satisfied clap. “Thank you. We’ll move to the final batch next, before handling Myra: Chloe, Riley, and Emily.”

The sense of relief around the gazebo was almost a physical thing.

Andy sat back, watching the interplay. He saw how the women leaned into each other, trading reassurances and side comments.

Arabella cleared her throat and addressed the final trio. “Chloe. Riley. Emily. Let’s bring this home, shall we?”

Chloe, already pink-faced from the breast jokes and the prospect of more humiliation, nodded so hard her hair almost blinded her.

• Mother's Milk: Chloe desperately wants to be a mother. To make her dreams a reality her chance to conceive and have multiples will be greatly enhanced, and to help her feed her future brood, she will begin to lactate a lot. (Nurturer)
• Head Of The Class: Chloe will see the leader of the pop poll as her teacher's pet and be inclined to give them special treatment. (Teacher)
• First Ambition: Chloe will gain a sense of what things the other harem members have done first with Andy and a desire to do them better. The more firsts she has the less this will drive her. (First Kiss)

Chloe’s hands immediately went to her chest, cupping her L-cups with a kind of startled reverence. Marissa leaned over and whispered, “Better invest in a towel,” and Chloe swatted her with a damp-eyed grin.

Chloe looked stricken, but after a second, her shoulders squared and she managed a watery smile. “Option two, please. At least that one’s… educational?”

Liesa, from two seats over, called, “You’ll be the hottest teacher ever,” which made Chloe blush so violently that even her ears turned red.

Andy hesitated, then nodded. He wasn't sure what 'special treatment' meant, but he assumed the ambiguity meant Chloe would have agency in deciding. "Option two, I agree."

Arabella shifted to the redhead next to Chloe. “Riley. As you may recall, because you received multiple transformations at once in the last round, the two carryovers were both from your Guardian path. As a result, you have four options to pick from this time."

• Gravemind Tresses: Riley's grief turned her into a recluse, not even taking care of herself, or her hair. Upset, the hair can now fight back. Riley's hair becomes impossibly long. It wraps around her limbs from time to time, especially when she’s overwhelmed, or aroused, tying her up. Riley is unable to free herself from the hair's grasp, and the hair only releases her when her emotion abates, or if the Master commands it. In addition, it becomes a minor erogenous zone. (Widow's Wake)
• Poetry In Motion: There's poetry in the body as well as in the soul. Riley will become a very skilled dancer, and gain arousal while dancing. (The Poet)
• Misjudged Matchmaker: Riley now has an uncanny (but unreliable!) ability to instantly tell if two people would make good friends/partners...by sensing when they'd have great sex together. (Guardian)
• **** Core: Despite her strong exterior, key spots on her body (such as the small of her back, her inner thighs, or her neck) become exquisitely sensitive to touch. The position of these spots will vary each day. Touching them, even accidentally, will give her a flush of orgasmic pleasure. (Guardian)

Riley snorted. “It’s like you’re trying to turn me into a haunted house exhibit.” Arabella’s lips twitched. Riley considered the options, then deadpanned, “I’ll take the poetry. At least then I won’t have to explain my browser history to the support staff.”

Andy laughed. “Second one fits you, Riley. But I think you’d rock the ghost-hair thing, too.”

Riley, for once, just nodded, a little gentler than usual.

That left Emily, who sat up straighter as her turn arrived, hair still perfectly veiling her nudity. Arabella, perhaps sensing Emily’s nerves, softened her tone.

• Liquid Sunshine: Every drink Emily pours picks up her mood and transfers it to the drinker. And if she mixes up a drink when she's aroused, guess what happens to the drinker? (Sunshine Bartender)
• Lending A Hand: If the Master or a fellow harem member is feeling pent up Emily will find herself fondling them without realizing it. The more pent up they are the more bold her hands will get. The effect is stronger if the Master is in need of comfort. (Free Use)
• Informal Guide: Emily can gain understanding of how someone's transformation works with a hands on approach. Tactile contact will fill her with the knowledge of how it can be enhanced, mitigated, or even upgraded. (Harem Hotel Mentor)

Emily blushed so hard her entire body pinked up, from hairline to toes. “Um… Option one?” She looked to Andy for approval.

He smiled, genuinely. “I think that’s a superpower, Emily. You’ll do great.”

“Thank you,” she squeaked.

Arabella, hands folded, turned to Myra, who was next in the queue. The hush returned, sharp and expectant.

Arabella gave Myra a moment to gather herself, but the silence didn’t help; if anything, it let the charge in the air ratchet higher. Myra braced her elbows on her knees, white-knuckled hands knotted together, and listened as Arabella read out her options in three rounds.

“For our final contestant,” Arabella began, “there will be three sets of three, to help you catch up with the others. Ready, Myra?”

Myra didn’t answer, which Arabella took as a yes.

"Set one," Arabella said.

• Mirror Heat: Whenever anyone nearby is aroused, Myra's body immediately mirrors that arousal, leaving her flushed and wet, without knowing who or why. (Empath)
• Foxfire Lust: When Myra is aroused, a faint glow surrounds her body, like green foxfire, visible to all. The stronger her arousal, the brighter the foxfire. (Troublemaker/Kitsune)
• Borrowed Release: Myra carries a lot of guilt. To begin atonement, she gives up the right to climax alone. She can only climax in response to someone else. (Atonement)

Myra made a low sound, then pressed her knuckles to her mouth. She searched for a lifeline, but found only Arabella’s patient gaze and Riley’s laser glare. Even though she could not see, they bore into her skull and made her whimper.

Dawn piped up, “You don’t have to overthink it. Pick whichever feels… least bad.”

Myra nodded, swallowing hard. “Second one. Foxfire Lust.” Her voice was tiny, almost childlike.

Arabella moved on. “Set two."

• Heartbeat Map: Myra lost her sight, but her empathic abilities have grown. Now, she feels emotions like ripples in the air; when calm or affectionate, the ripples briefly sketch outlines of bodies around her, letting her almost “see” through intimacy. (Empath)
• Trickster's Tail: Myra was a troublemaker, so now she'll look the part. She sprouts a big, soft fox tail and a pair of fox ears. These new appendages are hypersensitive to touch. Stroking or tugging them makes her shiver with involuntary pleasure. (Troublemaker/Kitsune)
• Silent Promise: Myra's words once hurt. To atone, she gives up the right to speak unless she's addressed directly first. (Atonement)

Myra flinched at that, one hand bracing her chin, the other fisting the fabric of her gown. She was so pale Andy half-expected her to topple off the stool.

Arabella, taking pity, said, “Which would you choose, Myra? You may answer out loud, if you wish.”

Myra’s mouth opened and closed, a struggle that could have been for breath or for language. “First one. The map,” she said, her voice raw. “Please.”

Andy felt the question land in his lap. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded curtly.

Arabella’s attention flicked to Andy for a split second—just long enough to catch the tight set of his mouth—then she pressed on, rolling out the third and final set of options.

“Set three, Myra."

• Mirror of My Desire: Myra's senses have sharpened. Now, whenever someone near her orgasms, her body is flooded with echoing spasms of climax, no matter where she is or who it involves. (Empath)
• Kitsune Step: A troublemaker is no good if she keeps stumbling. So now Myra gains uncanny balance and grace, able to move lightly even without sight. (Troublemaker/Kitsune)
• Needful Kiss: Myra lied about a kiss, so now she gives up the right to soothe herself; only through kissing someone else can she calm herself when she's too agitated, aroused, or emotional. (Atonement)

Chloe made a sound like a hiccup and clamped both hands over her face. Erin muttered, “One and three are brutal,” under her breath. Even Marissa looked mildly scandalized, which was a feat.

Arabella arched an eyebrow at Myra, ignoring the other women. “You may choose.”

Myra pressed her palms to her face, fighting the flood of sensation from her first transformation. The air around her was a churning weather system: silent fury, guilt, shame, cool sympathy, and the sharp, metallic bite of her own panic. It was nearly impossible to sort any of it out, let alone make a rational decision.

She made a sound—a tiny, despairing whine—and said, “Second one. Grace.” Her voice was thick, almost embarrassed.

“An excellent choice,” Arabella pronounced. “Would you like to know what your future holds?”

Myra shook her head, then nodded, then gave up and just stared at the floor.

Andy, struggling with a cocktail of compassion and resentment, reluctantly said, “You’ll be okay, Myra. They’re not… trying to break you. It’s just the way things work here.”

A beat passed. Myra swallowed, then managed, “Thank you, Andy.” She said it like an apology.

Riley, never one to let things rest, muttered, “Some of us would have preferred the silent mouth,” but it was quiet enough only Andy and perhaps Myra herself could hear it.

Andy **** himself not to react, but the words left a bruise anyway. If Myra heard, she didn’t show it. Her hands folded in her lap, shoulders curling in to make herself as small as possible.

The rest of the group sat in a hush, some sneaking glances at Myra, some at Andy. Dawn’s eyes brimmed with a kind of instinctive sympathy, and she shuffled her stool a fraction closer to Myra’s, as if proximity could help. Chloe, flustered, pressed her palm to her chest and whispered something to herself.

Arabella waited a few moments. "To complete the ceremony, we come to you, Andy." She turned to him with a dazzling smile. "You have performed beyond any expectation, this past round, obtaining not one, not two, but four new Achievements. This is unheard of, and comes with significant benefits for you and your harem." She turned so her gaze encompassed the women as well. "You will all find your stamina enormously enhanced. You will need very little sleep, and will be able to go days without it at need. Cold and heat will barely affect you. Diseases and sicknesses will be a thing of the past. Andy, your strength has grown enormously. I will leave you to discover its upper limit." She paused. "There is more, of course. You will all enjoy a greatly lengthened lifespan. In fact, you may now live for centuries, barring accidents."

Silence fell at once.

"And of course," Arabella continued with a grin, "this extension applies to your fertility window, as well. Your fertility has also been greatly enhanced, but I know some of you have wisely taken to purchasing contraceptive options at the Commissary. Still, I believe some of you," she said, looking at Chloe, "may prefer to roll the dice." She grinned and looked as if she was about to say something else as her gaze ran over the assembled women, but she thought better of it, turning back to Andy.

"As for you, Andy, you are now granted another choice of Gifts, and two free upgrades. The upgrades are as follows, and the top two choices will be applied:

• Master of All Men (and Women) (Command upgrade): Command works on any creature less powerful than the Master, not just on harem members.
• Twice the Ruler (Connect upgrade): The Master can, if he wishes, split into Andy and Andi as separate bodies. He can control both bodies perfectly as long as they remain within 9 m. of each other. He can do so indefinitely, but time spent split does not count towards the 24-hour requirement to be fully Andi.
• One-Way Street (Conflate upgrade): The Master has the ability to create one-directional bonds, allowing the recipient to Conflate with the source, while the source does not experience the effects of Conflate themselves. The Master can also choose to Conflate any or all transformations from Source to Recipient. Furthermore, the Master can use this ability on as many pairs of Contestants as he wishes, provided it is used only once per round on each individual source.
• Gifted Writer (Coauthor upgrade): The Master can modify up to five words per round per Contestant. He can also add or remove words altogether.

Vote here

Andy hesitated, though he had expected these. Two upgrades, though? He knew he wouldn't use the Command upgrade, and the Gifted Writer upgrade would be of limited utility. The Conflate upgrade could add some extra fun, though, if it allowed transformation conflation. And Twice the Ruler sounded innocuous enough. Either way, he did not need any more power over others. "Twice the Ruler and One-Way Street," Andy said, dubiously. Arabella nodded.

"Very well. And for the new Gifts, you will also receive two. Your choices are:

• Covenant: When the Master makes a meaningful promise, reality itself conspires to fulfill it. As long as there is a realistic possibility for what the Master promised to come true, it will, provided it is not to the detriment of the Master. Conditions apply.
• Comfort: When a harem member falls asleep thinking of the Master, the Master instantly is aware of this fact. If he is also sleeping, he can create a dreamspace where he can meet her in a lucid dream both will remember upon waking.
• Coevality: The Master's harem is bound to him. Any harem member will live for as long as the Master lives, and both Master and harem will remain in the prime of their lives until the end of their days.
• Contribute: The Master has a say in his harem's transformations. He can temporarily upgrade TFs. He can do so once/Contestant/round, and the upgrade lasts 24 hours.

Vote here

Andy considered the options. "Coevality, Comfort and Contribute all sound great," Andy admitted, "But I suppose whatever I don't win, I can pick as one of my weekly upgrades?" Arabella nodded, and Andy said, "Then I'd pick Comfort and Contribute."

Arabella waited until the silence felt full enough to bear the weight of ceremony, then folded her hands with a decisive grace. “Well done, everyone,” she said, her voice bright as a starting bell. “You have all made your choices. The audience will deliberate, as always.”

Andy then stole a glance at Myra. Her whole body trembled, but she’d stopped wringing her hands. She was trying, at least, to hold herself together.

Across the ring, Sam rolled her shoulders, then called out, “Welcome to the club, Myra. If you ever want to swap horror stories, I’ll buy the first round.”

There was a smattering of nervous laughter. Even Norah, in her best surly mode, offered a grudging, “Could have been worse, Calder. You missed the aphrodisiac paintball challenge.”

Myra managed a brittle smile, but Andy could see the storm still inside her.

Claire, who’d been silent as a shadow, scribbled on her notebook and passed it to Emi, who read aloud: “Claire says, ‘Don’t let it crush you. We are all freaks here. It gets better.’” Emi’s eyes were shiny, and she added, “She’s right.”

The mood settled, less like a funeral and more like the aftermath of a long, hard winter. Andy found himself breathing easier, even as the weight of what was coming pressed down on his spine.

Arabella turned to address the group, her face illuminated by the sun now arcing higher overhead. “There will be an hour to mingle, to process, and to prepare. After that, the transformations will be announced and applied.” She paused, then looked directly at Myra. “You may rest, if you wish. Or stay and talk. Whatever helps you most.”

Myra nodded, but didn’t move.

Arabella turned to Andy, her Host mask set aside for a moment. "Andy. I know this round was... uniquely challenging for you."

He felt a surge of bitter laughter. "Is there ever a round that isn't?"

She almost smiled, then let it fade. "That's the game, Andy. You know that by now."

He did. He really did. But something else nagged at him.

"This is what you meant last night, isn't it? When you came to my room and said I should prepare myself."

Arabella's eyes softened. "Part of it, yes."

Andy glanced over at Myra, who sat with her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Her unfocused gaze drifted somewhere past the horizon.

"Why her?" he asked, voice low enough that only Arabella could hear. "It's not just about me and my... history with her. Look at her, Arabella. She's newly blind, isn't she? Still learning to navigate the world without sight. And you brought her here, to this circus?"

Riley's earlier comment echoed in his mind, sharp with fury.

Arabella touched his wrist, her fingers cool against his pulse. "Some transformations begin before they arrive on our shores, Andy. She needs this—perhaps more than most."

The women began to stand, some stretching out their cramps, others collapsing into micro-clusters of gossip and nervous energy. Chloe drifted to Dawn, and the two began talking in low, hurried voices. Erin prowled the periphery, doing her best to appear above it all, but Andy noticed her eyes flick to Myra again and again, as if waiting for her to break.

Marissa lingered by the water pitcher, chatting with Riley in a measured, careful way that made Andy think of cold war diplomacy. Liesa and Emi compared notes on the morning’s ordeal, both visibly relieved to have avoided worse.

Andy lingered behind the Throne, arms crossed, as the group adjusted to its newest fault line. Myra sat motionless on her stool, shoulders hunched against the glare of morning.

He paused, then **** himself around the ring and crouched beside her. “You okay?” His tone was rougher than he intended—resentment still coiled under his words.

Myra’s breath quivered. “Not really. But I guess it doesn’t matter.”

He shook his head, hating the catch in his throat. “It does. You don’t have to face it alone.”

She turned her eyes on him, uncertain. “You’re not… angry with me?”

He blinked, unsteady. “Why would I be?” Instantly he knew the lie tasted bitter in his mouth.

Myra’s gaze drifted past him. “I feel like I’m walking on glass around you. Like I did something wrong.”

Guilt knotted in his chest. “You didn’t,” he said, though every fiber of him ached with contradiction. But what could he say that wouldn’t physically hurt her right now? He hovered a hand near her shoulder—an anchor he couldn’t fully offer.

She exhaled slowly. “Thanks.”

He stayed close, watching Arabella herd the rest back toward the resort’s deck, eased away from the white-hot sun.

When the women broke into loose pairs and threes, Myra rose, legs trembling but determined. Andy fell in step behind her, neither protector nor peer, but a weight at her back she could feel. He struggled to keep a lid on his anger, his frustration, his grief, but Myra's stumble told him all he needed to know about his success.

She gripped the railing and descended the steps carefully, then paused on the sand, turning to face the sea. The wind lifted her hair; for a moment she looked less like a broken soul and more like someone on the brink of something new.

Andy’s chest tightened. He held his breath, half-hoping she’d falter, half-wishing she would. But she stood firm, eyes closed, chin tilted upward as if drawing strength from the salt air.

When the hour had passed, the women drifted back to the gazebo, their nervous energy strung tight and vibrating in the air. Arabella was already there, poised at the center like a conductor before the downbeat, her gown now caught with golden light and her expression sharpened to the edge of myth.

Andy watched the girls reassemble. Some clustered in twos and threes—Dawn and Chloe with their heads bowed in mutual consolation, Liesa and Emi exchanging a six-and-two handshake that looked more like a kinetic tangle than friendship, Claire and Marissa side by side, the latter reading something aloud from Claire’s notebook and the former beaming with every line. Sam drifted between groups, a benign **** of calm, while Norah and Riley sat at opposite ends, each projecting a fortress of their own making.

Myra was the last to arrive, walking carefully in Dawn’s slipstream, the two of them nearly tripping over each other at the bottom step. Dawn offered her arm; Myra hesitated, then took it, her face set but not unfriendly.

Arabella let them settle before raising her arms, as if conjuring the next phase from the very air. “Contestants, Master, welcome to the Selection Ceremony,” she said, and her voice rolled out in a wave that pressed the crowd into silence.

Chloe clutched Dawn’s hand tightly. “I hate this part,” she whispered. “I’d rather just get it over with.”

Dawn squeezed back, ears drooping in sympathy. “We can do it together. Just pretend it’s like the doctor’s office. One bad shot and it’s over.”

Chloe managed a weak laugh, but her eyes never left the floating projections.

Across the ring, Sam grinned at Riley. “You ready to go all-in on the poetry, or are you secretly hoping for haunted hair?”

Riley, ever unflappable, shot back, “Either way, at least I won’t be upstaged by your ‘milk froth’ hair. Honestly, Sam, what will you do with it—serve lattes?”

Sam shrugged. “If it comes with free coffee, I’ll take it.” They both laughed, but Andy caught the shared look between them: not rivalry, but mutual recognition. The old wounds had scabbed over, and even if the teasing stung, it was a sign of healing.

Marissa, reading over Claire’s notebook, said, “You know, there’s something poetic about the idea that the worst thing that can happen is also the thing that brings people closer.” She looked up at Andy, her blue eyes cool and clear. “Or is that just Stockholm syndrome?”

Andy couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take poetic over pathological any day.”

Marissa nudged Claire, who wrote something, then flashed the page: Even pathological can be beautiful if you frame it right.

He grinned at her, and she nodded, pleased, tail thumping the deck.

Liesa, whose option had triggered a minor crisis of faith, leaned close to Emi. “If you ever need a body-paint model, I will let you paint anything on me, as long as I can pretend it’s a dress.”

Emi’s six hands fanned over her heart in a silent, delighted gesture. “Deal,” she whispered. “But only if you pick the colors. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Liesa nodded, her tension easing by degrees. “Thank you,” she said, and this time it sounded like she meant it.

At the periphery, Norah tapped her heel on the deck, muttering to herself. Andy drifted closer, not wanting to crowd her, but hoping to offer… something.

“You doing okay?” he asked, voice low.

She kept her gaze on the projections. “I’ll survive. I always do.”

Andy said, “If you ever need to trade with someone, I’m sure we can find a workaround.”

She barked a short laugh. “You’re not the worst, Andy.”

Myra, meanwhile, sat on the furthest edge of the circle, her hands curled around her knees, chin tucked to her chest.

The hush that followed the last transformation announcement was unnatural, almost painful—like the whole island had inhaled and forgotten how to let go. Myra, perched on the rim of her stool, could hear the tiny shifts as the other women resettled themselves, every fidget or breath a rolling thunder in her over-tuned ears. The feeling in the air was heavy with everything—tension, dread, a low static buzz of arousal that made her stomach knot and her knees want to tremble. She couldn't even tell who was generating it anymore; it was all just a tide.

Arabella stood at the center of the gazebo, arms at her sides, and let the silence deepen until it took on the weight of a spell. When she finally moved, it was slow and deliberate: she raised one hand and snapped her fingers. The gesture didn’t make a sound. Instead, something shimmered in the air above the circle, an afterimage that resolved into a floating display the size of a bedsheet. The effect was equal parts tech demo and oracle: the icons for each woman, ringed in pale gold, with their three transformation options fanning out beside them like the arms of a candelabrum.

The names hovered beneath the faces, drawn in silver letters. Each set of options glittered, waiting to be chosen. The morning light caught the projection and cast it in blue over the pale wood, so that every woman in the circle wore a ghostly veil of her own possible futures.

Arabella’s voice, when she spoke, was velvet-wrapped steel. “The Audience will now decide,” she said, and the words echoed out over the beach, where they were probably heard all the way to the breakwater. “Choose wisely, for these changes will shape not just bodies, but destinies.”

It should have sounded ridiculous, but Andy felt a chill crawl up his spine. He saw the girls glance up at their own profiles, each reflecting something different—dread, curiosity, resignation, even, in Chloe’s case, a sort of **** hope.

Dawn squeezed Chloe’s hand, whispering, “We made it this far. We can handle a little more.” Her ears drooped in a perfect parody of her voice’s optimism, but the grip was fierce.

Chloe nodded, then looked away, lips pressed together in a hard white line.

Emi, confronted with her own smiling face and the three options—six-arm pickpocket, eternal virgin, or lingerie addict—blinked rapidly, then blushed so hard the projection over her head seemed to go pink for a second. She tried to make herself smaller, but with six arms, it just looked like she was fighting off an invisible octopus.

Liesa stared up at her own name, and whispered, “At least I won’t have to see myself naked if you paint me right,” to Emi, who nodded with a dizzy, grateful smile.

Marissa, reading over Claire’s shoulder, gave a soft, low whistle. “Audience has their work cut out for them,” she said. “I wonder how many are going to pick the most embarrassing options.”

Riley leaned back and glared. “The answer is always ‘as many as possible.’”

Andy, who was supposed to sit in the Throne and look appropriately Master-like, found he couldn’t keep still. The display above them looked like a scoreboard for a reality he barely understood. He stood and paced the arc of the circle, one hand in his pocket, the other flexing at his side.

Claire caught the movement and scribbled in her notebook: You can sit with us if you’re nervous, too.

Andy grinned and touched her shoulder in thanks.

Across from them, Emily fidgeted with her hair, which, even under this stress, fell in a perfect curtain to shield her nudity. She peered up at her own floating options, bit her lip, and then glanced at Andy, as if hoping for a sign that she’d done the right thing.

He winked at her, and she smiled, just for a second, before hiding her face again.

At the far end of the circle, Myra clung to her stool. The projection over her head displayed three neatly stacked lists, but it meant nothing to someone who could not see. Her hands, locked around her knees, ached from the pressure. Every so often she would tilt her head toward the nearest conversation, only to flinch back as the emotion—anger, amusement, a spike of self-loathing—crashed into her like a wave. It was disorienting, like standing at the edge of a train platform and waiting for the wind to tell you which direction the train would come from.

Andy saw her isolation and felt an old, raw knot twist in his chest. He couldn’t decide if it was pity, guilt, or some third thing that didn’t have a name.

Arabella waited for the group to absorb their own faces, then gestured to the display. “The voting will remain open for sixty minutes,” she said. “Feel free to discuss, to advocate, to conspire. Or you can simply reflect. All voices are heard, but not all will be obeyed.”

The women shifted in their seats, some immediately huddling to compare notes, others just sitting with the weight of it. Marissa leaned close to Claire, who scribbled, then handed her a note. Chloe and Dawn joined them, forming a knot of anxious energy and mutual reassurance.

Andy, unable to resist, made his way around the circle. He stopped first at Liesa, who was quietly watching the horizon. “You okay?” he asked.

She startled, then blinked. “Better now. I think.” She hesitated, then added, “I was afraid I would hate this, but is not so bad when you have others to talk you through it.” Andy nodded, understanding the calculus.

He made his way next to Erin. She stood alone, watching the surf, her arms crossed over her chest. Her skin looked almost translucent in the blue-white light of the projection.

"You know they'll pick the plant thing, right?" Erin grumbled. "I'll look like a naked She-Hulk."

He said, “You’ll be the first eco-friendly contestant in reality TV history.”

She shot him a look. “Maybe I’ll just plant myself in the sand and sleep through the rest of this.”

“Could be worse,” Andy said.

Erin cracked a smile. “Yeah. Could be you.”

They both laughed, quiet and genuine.

He made the rounds, offering a kind word to each. Marissa responded with a wink; Riley told him not to go soft on them; Sam called him “Boss” and saluted with a dramatic eye roll. Even Norah, whose war with the universe never seemed to end, let him rest a hand on her shoulder for a heartbeat before brushing it off with a muttered, “Don’t get sentimental, Cooper.”

When Andy reached Myra, she was still as a statue. He crouched beside her, careful not to startle.

“You holding up?” he said.

She didn’t answer at first. Her focus was somewhere in the space above her head, maybe trying to see the options she couldn’t read, or maybe just listening for her own heartbeat in the din.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said finally, her voice a rasp.

He said, “You’re doing fine.”

She shook her head, hard. “I keep missing things. The sounds don’t make sense. Sometimes I hear voices but I don’t know if they’re talking to me, or just—” She stopped, then said, “It’s like being underwater and trying to read lips.”

Andy let the silence sit. “I can help you, if you want,” he said. “Or you can just ride it out. It gets easier with time.”

Myra made a small, bitter laugh. “I don’t want it to get easier,” she said. “I want it to make sense.” He nodded, wishing he could offer more.

After a few seconds, she asked, “Do you hate me?”

The question hit him like a punch. “No,” he said, too quickly.

She tilted her head, trying to read the air for a lie. Andy's throat tightened. "I—" He stopped, remembering she had no idea what lay between them. "It's complicated. But I'm here now."

Myra's face flickered with confusion. "What's complicated? Did I do something to you before all this?"

He swallowed the sixteen-year-old accusation that wanted to escape. Not here. Not like this. "We can talk about it someday. Just... not today."

Her hands tightened around her knees. "I don't understand why you'd even bother with me," she said.

Andy shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I'm here anyway."

He let her be, moving back to the main ring.

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