Examine toilet

There's nothing out of the ordinary about this toilet. What is odd is that scrap of paper folded and wedged between the reservoir tank and the stone wall.

You examine the the paper - a folded and worn scrap of paper. It looks like it was torn from the endpages of a book.

You take and read the scrap of paper:

things to remember:

I was a man once.

I don't remember my name, or even what kind of man I was. I'm not even sure how long ago this was.

I've been put in solitary for refusing to suck a nineteen year old boy's dick. I actually don't mind too much - it's better than the steady erosion of my own identity that day to day life outside this room inflicts on me. The reason I refused was because the thought of sucking his beautiful cock made me wet. It scares me, what's happened to me.

I'm writing this on a scrap of paper I tore from a book in the library and hid in my hair - the Valets are either too stupid or simply not coded to body-cavity search us. The pen I risked concealing in my ass - a risk because it gets used pretty often.

I'm hoping that by writing down what I remember, what I know about myself, I'll be able to halt the changes that have been wrought on me, and maybe find a way to get out of here, back into my old life.

I'm not positive, but I think my wife did this to me. I don't remember why. It seems so long ago now.

I remember I had a hiding place once, but can't remember now where it was. Something to do with horses? I don't think it was down here.

I keep forgetting this isn't real, that I'm not O, that I'm not Sophie, not really, even though it feels so true to me...

I better hide this, you never know when -

The note finishes