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Chapter 7 by yundme yundme

What's next?

Dirty > Bathing

The world tilted again.

One moment, Stephanie sat amid ancient books and whispered candlelight. The next, she was not inside at all. The air hit her skin first—crisp and sunlit, with the distant scent of forest and soon to fall rain. The heavy warmth of the library was gone. So was the flickering candlelight.

Now she sat outside.

The pool beneath her feet was wide, round, and rimmed with worn volcanic rock. Moss and time had softened its once-precise stonework, but even now, the dormant hot spring retained an air of quiet reverence. A memory of power still clung to the place, even if the heat had long since fled. The water was cold, but clear as glass, and mirrored the open blue sky above.

Stephanie sat waist-deep on one of the broad stone steps descending into the spring. Her body met the water with a slow, shivering tension.

Her messy, white-ginger curls were wind-tossed and clung in wet tendrils to her shoulders and neck.

Her eyes scanned the terrain: the broken stone archways that lined the perimeter, the birds darting through the distant sky, and far far above her, perched like a forgotten god at the top of countless stairs, was the library.

The book sat beside her, dry and open on a smooth slab of volcanic rock. A new image had been inked across the page—her, in this very scene. Naked, thoughtful, unaware.

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The prompt shimmered beneath it:

(Ginger, white, very curly messy hair, small breasts, tall, smart, magical glasses, robes, rebellious, rested, bathing)

Stephanie turned to it, blinking at the picture, at the prompt—and then she looked down.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. And then, she screamed.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!"

She immediately curled into herself, arms folding across her chest, legs drawing up so tightly she nearly toppled sideways. Her cheeks turned crimson, her voice frantic and furious.

"Where are my clothes?!"

"I'm sorry," I answered quickly. "The prompt is unpredictable. Someone changed 'dirty' to 'bathing,' and… this is what happened."

Her eyes darted to the book again. She squinted at the glowing words.

"It says robes!" she barked, one arm still clutching her chest while the other pointed wildly at the text. "It says robes right there!"

"I know," I said. "Maybe they're back inside the library?"

She growled through clenched teeth, then looked over her shoulder. The massive staircase leading up the mountainside stretched for what felt like forever, cutting through stone and scrub and steep ridges, until it vanished behind the library's dark silhouette.

She gritted her teeth.

"Bring. Them. Back." she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

"I can't," I admitted. "I'm just the narrator. The prompt guides what happens. Only the readers can change that."

She was quiet for a long moment. Water lapped gently at her sides. A breeze brushed her skin and sent a chill up her spine. She buried her face in one hand, visibly trying to stop the building scream inside her throat.

"So now there's just a naked picture of me online?"

"I'm really sorry. I didn't intend this at all."

She looked over at the page, horror dawning in her eyes.

"Just... please tell me you're like... some unknown writer... with a small audience."

"That's right. This story has only had 436 views so far."

"436?!" she repeated, voice breaking. "Fuck! No! They're all going to see me."

"I'm really sorry."

She covered her face with both hands and groaned—a long, muffled wail of frustration that echoed against the ancient stone and out into the open valley. Then she froze, realizing how loud she’d been. As if anyone else might be out here.

She sat there, knees tight to her chest, arms folded, soaking wet and seething.

I didn’t type anything else.

I just waited for the screen to respond. For her to make her choice.

Stephanie stepped out of the cold spring, goosebumps racing across her skin as the wind greeted her bare form like a slap. She hissed softly, clamping her arms around her chest and twisting her hips to obscure herself as much as she could. Water dripped from her pale skin, trailing down her legs in shivering paths.

She stood there for a moment, on the cracked volcanic stone, breathing heavily. Her curls clung wetly to her face, and her magical glasses—still perched on her nose—fogged slightly from the sudden shift in temperature.

"Okay," she muttered. "Okay. Think."

The library stood high above her, visible only as a dark spire nestled against the bright sky. The path to it was clear enough: a long, winding staircase carved into the mountainside, littered with patches of moss, leaves, and the memory of footsteps past. A half mile at least. Maybe more.

She took a single, defiant step forward, bare feet meeting the cold stone, and then stopped.

"No way," she whispered. "Not like this."

She turned back toward the pool, then to the book resting on its ledge. The image of her was still there—sitting naked.

"Fucking fantastic," she muttered.

She began to pace. One arm stayed clamped across her chest, the other hanging low in a hopeless attempt at modesty. Her brow furrowed in thought as her eyes scanned the area for anything—anything—that could provide cover. There was nothing. The stone, the sky, the water. She was as exposed as a statue in a square.

"If I walk back, maybe... maybe the robes are still there. Maybe they’re folded on a bench or something, or fallen in a heap on the floor. Or maybe they don't even exist anymore."

She stopped pacing.

"But that’s a half-mile hike. Uphill. In the open. Completely naked. And what if someone is out there? What if the readers vote in something worse?"

Her eyes fell back to the book.

"Or I could... ask for help. From the readers."

She grimaced. That option didn’t feel better, only slightly less terrifying. She’d already been seen. Already captured in ink. Already ogled by 436 people, and that number might already be higher.

She bit her lip, shifting from foot to foot on the cold rock.

"What do I even say? 'Please help me?' 'Please give me something to wear?'"

Stephanie groaned again and covered her face.

"This is insane," she muttered. "This is absolutely, completely... unfair."

Still, she looked at the book. Then at the stairs. Then back at the book.

She let out a slow breath, and spoke into the void.

"I... I don’t want to walk like this. Please. Whoever’s reading this. If you can change the prompt... if you can give me something... anything to wear... please do it."

She looked down at herself, humiliated, shivering, soaked to the bone.

"Please don’t leave me like this."

She sat back down on the edge of the stone pool, curling her legs under her and hugging her arms around herself. The book shimmered faintly.

And she waited.

(Ginger, white, very curly messy hair, small breasts, tall, smart, magical glasses, robes, rebellious, rested, bathing)

What's next?

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