Fan Mail (II), Part 4

Liesa sat in the heart of the Inner Gardens, where sunlight sloped through palm fronds in fractured sheets and the breeze carried the tang of sea salt and hibiscus. She perched at the very edge of a battered stone bench, half expecting it to collapse under her. Her hands worried the corners of four heavy envelopes.

She was alone, or as alone as one could be on this island. Somewhere behind her, a cicada set up a long, shuddering drone; overhead, a bird with a lime-colored belly shot from branch to branch, scolding her presence. Liesa ignored the wildlife. Her attention was on the envelopes, which she fanned out and then shuffled, as if that would somehow affect the message inside.

She closed her eyes, inhaled the ocean-wet air, and chose one at random.

The envelope opened with a satisfying pop. She upended it over her palm. A slim band of platinum tumbled out, catching the sun and making a tiny rainbow across her lifeline. It looked like a wedding ring: simple, elegant, heavy for its size. Liesa’s heart gave a single, traitorous lurch.

She found the letter inside and unfolded it. The script was immediately familiar.

Greetings again dear. It fills me with joy to see you and Sam together at last. Listen to Andy and Sam, your heart has room for both. Love grows to fill those you share it with and does not run out so long as it is returned. Also please I beg, do not let your past haunt you. We all do what we must to survive, it does not make us less. You are stronger than you know.

I have enclosed a gift for you and Sam in two parts. Put on this ring and if Sam puts on hers you will both always know where each other are. I hope for your happiness.

Shar.

Liesa read it once, then again, her mind snagging on the “at last” and the “your heart has room for both” and the idea that survival, by itself, could be a kind of pride. Shar had said something similar in her first letter—a nudge about Sam, which Liesa had promptly ignored, because denial was always easier than hope.

She cupped the ring, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. It was cold at first, then warm, as if it recognized her. Liesa tried it on her left hand, and it fit perfectly on her middle finger. She considered for a second if that was fate, or just Shar being very good at measuring people’s hands through the TV.

“Together at last,” she whispered, and instantly felt ridiculous. But the idea—her, Sam, and Andy, all in orbit around each other, not one left out—made her chest light. She let herself savor it for a moment, then checked the ring again, half expecting it to disappear.

For a second, nothing happened. Then she felt a tiny pull, like a magnetic field winding through her skin. It tugged her gently, insistently, in the direction of the main building. Toward the rooms, toward—Liesa flushed, realizing what it meant. Sam must already be wearing her own ring.

She let out a nervous, delighted giggle, then smothered it with the back of her hand. If anyone had been there, she would have been mortified, but alone, she let herself lean into the feeling. She wondered if Sam was feeling the same tug, or if she’d even noticed yet. Maybe Sam was sitting in her room, grinning that big, crooked grin, already plotting ways to use the rings as some kind of prank. Or maybe, Liesa thought, Sam would show up in the garden any minute, with that laugh that made everything seem lighter.

The thought made her want to open the rest of the envelopes all at once. She resisted the urge, instead tucking the ring hand against her ribs and letting the sensation settle. It was strange—she had spent her whole life feeling adrift, never quite able to trust that the people she loved wouldn’t disappear. Now she had a ring that made sure of it, and the feeling was as much a comfort as it was an ache.

Liesa reread Shar’s letter, lingering over the part about survival. “We all do what we must to survive, it does not make us less.” Maybe Shar had suffered as well, or maybe she just understood. Liesa’s own past was a litany of bad choices made for good reasons, and she’d spent years pretending it was something to be ashamed of. But Andy never judged her for it. And Sam, if she knew, would only make a joke and offer to buy her a drink.

Liesa closed her eyes, breathed in the garden, and let herself believe she might not have to run.

The next envelope was heavier, and as Liesa pulled at the seam, something dense and oblong rattled inside. She pried it open and nearly dropped the payload—a small glass vial with a blue wax seal, filled with an opaque, viscous liquid that shimmered between white and pale gold when she turned it in the sun. There was also a sheet of paper, but when she touched it, the paper buzzed, then flickered into color like a miniature TV.

The video started with a thud. A wolf-girl with biceps like veal hocks was sitting on a bench in what looked like a high-end gym. She wore a sports bra that looked ready to lose its structural integrity and a bikini thong that made her thighs look even bigger, which Liesa honestly hadn't thought was possible.

The wolf-girl grinned and hefted a dumbbell the size of a bowling ball with one hand, then started repping it like it was a baguette. Her ears—fluffy, gray-tipped, and alert—were comically expressive, flicking every time she spoke.

"Liesa! Scarlet should be the one to write to you, since you seem to be my rock-girlfriend with a weird accent. Don’t tell her I call her that in my head; she’s a little touchy about the subject still."

Liesa’s brain hiccuped at "rock-girlfriend" but before she could process it, the wolf-girl kept rolling.

"I’m not a big fan of this letter writing thing. Not just because, between super strength and these claws, I break pens. I just don’t really see the point. We send these messages out and barely get anything back? Like, not even a real thank you? Still, everyone else is sending at least one of these out, so I got to contribute."

The dumbbell moved, now vertical, with her elbow on her knee. Liesa caught a glimpse of the phone camera in the gym mirror behind her.

"So, I was gonna just yell at you for not dragging that dweeb over to your upgrade shop and making him fix your transformations for you. That’s what my Mistress did for some of us. She paid to fix problems. She sometimes paid too much. Then, you took your fate by the horns and fixed it yourself. Fuck yeah! I don’t even care that you banged the nerd instead of Sam."

Liesa almost dropped the card at this. The way Josie said "banged" was so casual it made Liesa want to hide under the bench.

"You are almost as insatiable as my bunny-girlfriend, and she has like a physiological need to have a couple of dozen orgasms before she can fall asleep; seriously, she loses count by halfway through every night. It’s kinda funny. You are gonna rock Sam’s world like you did the dork, right? From my experience, girl’s gonna need a stamina boost to keep up (unless you want to make your first time with her a threesome or foursome so they can tag out, catch their breath). Maybe a healing potion or two, depending on how you go about it."

Liesa’s cheeks burned. She didn't think she was insatiable, but apparently Josie did, and—well, maybe she had a point. It wasn’t that Liesa needed sex all the time. She just… wanted to be wanted. Although, when she wore no clothes… she blushed. The directness was… refreshing? Terrifying? She wondered if Sam would find this funny or just horrifying. Maybe both.

The wolf-girl leaned in closer, all teeth and too-bright eyes. "Well, since I am such an awesome alchemist (I got brains and brawn in this package, babe), I got something for her. A potion that’ll give her a fun selection of stuff from my wolf-girl and berserker transformations: fun ears, tail, 3-foot long tongue, better endurance, and being able to match that predator energy you had with the doofus. Some fun hints: ear rubs will drive her crazy in a good way and you’ll probably taste like some pretentious European dessert when she plunges into your snatch (I presume; I had to get used to my bunny-girlfriend tasting like cotton candy and my rock-girlfriend tasting like snickerdoodles with those little red hot candies in ‘em). It’ll last for an hour, so you’ll need to time it well. Too soon, and she’ll run out of steam before you’re satisfied; too late, and you’ll tire out before she’s done with you. And, hey, maybe I can talk my Mistress into hosting an orgy for the two of you. Interested? Bang that blu-haired babe already, Josie Wulf."

The video looped, restarting with the wolf-girl’s flex and an immediate "Liesa!" like she was being scolded from the other side of the world.

Liesa snorted, then had to cover her mouth to keep the laugh from escaping. The sheer energy of it—so raw and unfiltered—reminded her of a few people she’d met in her club days in Antwerp. Josie’s advice wasn’t the kind of thing you could take at face value, but she had to admit, the idea of giving Sam wolf-ears and a three-foot tongue was perversely delightful.

She turned the vial in her hand, watching the viscous liquid coil against the glass. She wondered if Sam would want to try it, or if she’d protest, then do it anyway out of curiosity. Liesa suspected the latter.

She thought again about the "rock-girlfriend" line, which still made no sense. Was there a literal rock? For a moment, Liesa imagined a gym rat wolf-girl bringing a pet rock to the gym, maybe with a little pink ribbon around it, and she laughed so hard it made the cicadas pause for a beat.

Liesa wiped her eyes, then set the card and the potion down beside her. She felt lighter, like someone had reached across the bench and nudged her in the ribs.

She glanced at the two remaining envelopes, then at the bottle.

The third envelope was addressed in bubbly, looping script, the letters so close together it looked like a single winding river. Liesa recognized the name from the memories supplied by Arabella: Noemi Castro, from a season hosted by a literal demon. Liesa didn’t remember much from that season except that Noemi was tough as nails, a little dramatic, and always had a story about her enormous family.

She slid a thumb under the flap and opened it.

Dear Liesa Claes,

I’m so happy for you! Seeing you get this second chance at happiness? You deserve it! I know what it’s like to put your own life on hold for family. There is so much tied into that. I know how much pride and love can be in such a decision. It also doesn’t change the fact that it can be unbearably hard.

I didn’t have to go through the same hardships as you, but I’m the oldest of a large family of immigrants. I often found myself essentially being the third parent and sometimes the primary parent to my younger siblings when my parents were working. This meant no activities after school, no clubs, no friends, nothing like that. It was hard, and it's not comparable to what you had to do, but you did it out of love, and there can be no shame or regret in that. If anyone says anything otherwise, I’ll break their teeth.

And now you’re back with Andy! It’s like a fairy tale romance, it’s destiny! Soon he’ll be walking you down the aisle, carrying you across the threshold of your new home, impregnating you with the first of many children… hehe it’s a dream come true! Don’t hesitate! Don’t let destiny slip through your fingertips!

Wishing you all the success!

Noemi Castro

Liesa sat for a moment, reading the letter over and over. She felt a mix of amusement and awe: Noemi’s voice came through so clearly, it was like she was sitting next to her on the bench, elbows knocking, making her laugh until she snorted. The baby talk made Liesa blush, and she rolled her eyes—she hadn’t even thought about children, not really. In her mind, life after The HH was a big blank. She’d never let herself dream past the next day.

She remembered Noemi’s story, the moments she’d learned about via Arabella's implanted knowledge. She remembered the moment Noemi realized how much she’d hurt Caleb, her season’s Master, how she’d found the courage to apologize, not just pretend. Liesa had felt proud of her then. And now, reading this, she realized how much it mattered to have someone rooting for you who understood what you’d been through.

She smiled at the "I’ll break their teeth" line, and thought, Maybe I’d like Noemi in real life. Maybe we’d be friends.

She folded the letter, set it on the growing stack beside her, and looked up at the sky. A single white cloud floated overhead, shaped a little like a heart, or maybe a human butt. Liesa laughed, feeling lighter.

She made a mental note to write back, maybe even share the story about the time she’d nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to make steak for her father’s birthday. She wanted to say thank you, and maybe tell Noemi that she wasn’t alone in making sacrifices for family, and that she, too, deserved a little happiness at the end of it all.

She let the feeling settle, then picked up the last envelope. The sun had dropped lower, painting the edges of the garden gold.

This was the last one. Whatever was inside, Liesa was ready.

The final envelope was, impossibly, the heaviest of the lot. Liesa tore it open and, to her astonishment, a perfectly ordinary loaf of bread tumbled out. Not a baguette, but something softer, more yielding—a round, golden-brown boule, with a slightly flour-dusted crust and a faint, yeasty aroma.

For a moment, she stared at it, unsure if it was a prank. But then she found the note tucked into the folds of the bread, its parchment buttery soft.

Miss Claes,

Let Me begin by congratulating you on your newly blossoming relationships. It brings no small measure of joy to My heart to see such love propagate in the world. To the end of furthering such developments, allow me to offer you this: you view your past with no small measure of shame, both for how you treated Master Cooper, and for the actions you took to support yourself in the intervening years. While the actions themselves are fixed, allow Me to remind you that your perception of them is not. There is no shame in survival, and you are fortunate that your season’s Master is a man well equipped to recognize that fact.

My advice to you is to recognize that while the path you have tread behind you is set in stone, the destination ahead of you is not. You cannot change the means by which you arrived at the present, but where you and Master Cooper—and of course the lovely Miss Collins—go from here is up to you.

To that end, please allow me to offer you a small boon to help you on your way.

J.

Liesa held the letter between her palms, letting the warmth of the bread rise and curl around her fingers. She read the note twice, three times, her eyes burning with an unexpected sting. She was used to advice that came with a knife edge, or praise that expected something in return. This was different. J didn’t just forgive her past—he told her to forgive herself.

She set the note down and found a second slip of paper inside the envelope. This one was shorter, written in a quick, confident hand:

This small loaf of bread can be easily broken into pieces of equal size to be shared by up to six people. When consumed, each person who partakes is granted a brief insight into the minds of the others, allowing them to see how they themselves are perceived by those with whom they broke bread.

Liesa blinked, caught off guard by the plainness of it. A bond of perfect trust. She thought of Andy, and Sam, and wondered what it would feel like to let go, even for a night, of all the worry and guilt that haunted her.

Liesa looked at the loaf, then at the stack of letters beside her. She realized, with a jolt, that she didn’t have to choose who to share it with. She could break the bread with both Andy and Sam. The thought made her chest tight with something halfway between laughter and tears.

She hugged the loaf to her chest, eyes closed, and let the golden dusk soak into her skin.

Dawn sat by the fire pit on the lawn, hugging her knees to her chest, watching as the flames snapped and guttered against the slow crush of late afternoon. The world had gone from gold to blue, but the fire made her feel as if she were wrapped in a portable slice of summer, the smoke and warmth curling around her like a second skin.

She had three envelopes in her lap, each with her name written in a different hand. Dawn wondered who in the world could possibly care enough to send her mail, but the thought made her smile. It was a nice feeling, being remembered.

She opened the first envelope, careful not to tear the paper. A letter slipped free, folded into a neat rectangle. The handwriting was precise, old-fashioned, but easy to read.

I am so glad that you fought for and found your place with your new happy family. I am also glad to see that you were able to upgrade your transformation to find peace. I hope you are enjoying the new one as well. Stay strong Realta Geal (Bright Star) and be sure to take the time to take care of yourself as well as the other.

Shar.

Dawn blinked, once, then twice, at the phrase Realta Geal. It sounded Gaelic—she didn’t know for sure. The compliment made her blush, and she was suddenly glad there was no one to see.

She read the note again, and then again, letting the words sink in. Fought for and found your place. It was true, wasn’t it? She’d spent most of her life making herself useful, being helpful, putting herself second. Now, here, she’d been ****—by magic, by challenge, by Andy—to put herself first, if only a little.

She remembered the look on Andy’s face the last time they talked alone, the way he’d said, “I love you, Dawn,” as if he meant it, and the way her whole body had felt like a glass of warm honey afterward. She grinned at the fire, then bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Shar’s note made it sound like the hard part was over, that the fight was won. But Dawn knew better. She knew there’d always be a little voice in her head, whispering that she didn’t really belong, that it was only a matter of time before the others found out she wasn’t worth the effort. But she’d fought that voice before, and won. She could do it again.

She set the letter in her lap and let the fire’s glow warm her face. She looked up at the first star winking through the blue, and thought, Maybe I am a bright star. Or at least a very persistent one.

Dawn closed her eyes, smiled, and whispered, "Thank you." To Shar, to Andy, to the whole weird universe that had given her this strange, beautiful new life.

Dawn’s next letter was stuffed to bursting, as if the sender had crammed the entire contents of a gift shop inside. When she unwrapped it, a glossy headshot fell out first: a blonde bunny-girl, all mischief and dimples, with her name (“Tina—xoxo”) signed in metallic blue Sharpie across the bottom. Dawn snorted, not unkindly.

Next came a bunny-ear headband, the soft faux fur perfectly matching her own black hair. The effect was uncanny—when Dawn slipped it on, the band felt as natural as her own ears, and the plush inner lining didn’t itch or tug. She wore it for a minute, inspecting herself in the window’s reflection, and felt a warm bubble of childish delight rise up inside her.

Finally, there was a stiff piece of paper with a faint rainbow sheen on the back. The second she touched it, the paper flickered to life, playing a video in full color and sound.

The camera showed a studio setup, ring light blazing in the glass of a massive monitor. Tina herself sat at the desk, prim in a white blouse and plaid skirt, but also visibly exasperated. “C’mon, Tina. Be a professional and turn your mic back on,” she muttered, then poked the camera until the sound caught up.

“Ahem. Hi! I’m Tina!” she chirped. “You may have seen me on Harem Hotel or your Insta-Thot feed? Anyways, my Mistress’s wife, Skye, wants to write, but she got wrapped up in hot Mistress date action today and she asked me to write to you for her. Despite what you may hear, she asked me first with enthusiasm. Not **** after Scarlet turned her down, enthusiasm. But, writing is for nerds, so here is a patent pending Tina video message for you to brighten your date!”

Dawn giggled, already liking her.

Tina powered through the script, a little awkward, a lot energetic. “When I think of you, I think about a perky little go-getter that just needs a chance to chase her dreams. And, believe it or not, I caught like four dreams here on my season of Harem Hotel, so I bet you can catch some dreams of your own over there. Whether that dream is the cute six-armed girl you’re getting to snuggle up with at night or becoming the perfect concierge (whatever that means), I’ll leave it up to you.”

Dawn felt her cheeks warm. She remembered Emi’s hugs, the way six arms could wrap you like a heated blanket, and stifled a laugh.

Tina paused, then glanced off-camera. “Wait... I guess I should be encouraging you to chase after your Master/Mistress? Why would you... Oh, just like in Laura’s season! Hi, Laura, on the off chance you’re watching this!”

There was a beat of silence, then Tina beamed at the camera again. “Anyways, what’s it like to get hugged by six arms at once? Does it feel extra safe and snuggly or creepy? Again, my Mistress is being stingy about gifts for some reason, so I couldn’t get you some super cool magic or anything like that. In addition to the super cute autographed headshot that will surely make Sam jealous, I got you this rabbit ear headband. It’s enchanted to make the fur on the ears match your hair color. Sorry, no eargasm effect. But, still, we’ll be twinsies, kinda! That’s fun, right? Oh, and be sure to subscribe to Tina, Titan of Trickery on Insta-Thot for more Hot Tina Action. That goes double for you, audience! Have a magical day!”

The video froze on Tina blowing a kiss, then faded out. Dawn was left blinking at the headband and the photo, still grinning.

She put the ears back on, then posed for an imaginary camera, flashing a peace sign and a wide, toothy grin. She’d never been the “fun” one, not at home, not at work, but maybe she could be the fun one here.

Dawn ran her fingers along the edges of the bunny-girl headshot, admiring the way Tina’s smile seemed to radiate confidence. She wondered what it would be like to live with that kind of energy, to just say what you felt and not worry about how it landed.

She thought about Tina’s question, about the six-armed hugs. The answer was obvious: they were the best. You felt so protected, so wanted, like nothing in the world could hurt you as long as those arms held you tight. Creepy? Never.

She made a note to tell Emi that tonight. Maybe tomorrow, she’d even wear the bunny ears to breakfast. She imagined the look on Sam’s face and nearly doubled over with laughter.

Dawn tucked the headband behind her and set the photo on her thigh, giving it pride of place. Then she reached for the last envelope, heart fluttering with anticipation.

The last envelope bulged with something heavy, and when Dawn opened it, a pair of soft leather sandals spilled into her lap. She laughed, delighted by the oddness of it—who sent shoes in the mail? They were beautiful, simple, with a wraparound strap and soles that looked like they’d mold to your foot after just a day of wear. The color was a perfect, understated brown, the kind you’d see on a beach at sunset.

The note inside was written in careful script.

Miss Moreno,

You have done well adapting to your time at The HH, and it warms My heart to see how your demeanor brightens the lives of your new family as much as your namesake does the sky. The advice I give to you is twofold, but must be considered as a singular whole—it will do more harm to you than good if you remember only one half and not the other. Before you joined Master Cooper’s harem, you fought often to aid the lives of those in need. Your profession let you see others at their worst, while you were required always to be at your best—unwavering in the face of adversity and ****. Your talent for accomplishing the impossible—for rendering aid and service to those in need—will serve both you and your family well. There is no shame in offering service to others, especially those you love. Indeed, you can and should find pride in your service to both Andrew and your new sisters.

In doing so, though, remember that you yourself are a member of the family you now serve. Your own needs must be expressed and met, and if that means that others must make accommodations for you, there is no shame in having needs of your own.

It is my fond hope that you find some joy in the boon I have enclosed for you.

J.

There was a postscript, in smaller script:

This pair of simple leather sandals adapts its appearance to complement any outfit, while offering incomparable support and comfort no matter their form. Once, by clicking the heels together and speaking the name of an individual, the wearer’s pace is quickened and they are granted unerring knowledge of the path which will lead them to their target’s side.

Dawn ran a finger over the leather, thinking about all the times she’d run, barefoot, across the kitchen floor, or walked her brothers to the park because her dad was too tired or too sad to do it himself. She’d always loved the feeling of taking care of people—making sure everyone was fed, comfortable, safe. It was easy to get lost in that, to forget there was a Dawn underneath the service.

The letter made her feel seen, maybe more than anything else ever had.

She tried the sandals on. The fit was perfect—better than perfect. They hugged her feet like they’d been made for her. She walked a little circle around the fire pit, half expecting them to transform into something silly, but they just made her steps easier, lighter. She wondered if she could use them to find her way home, to her brothers.

Dawn felt her eyes prick with tears. She blinked them away, but the feeling lingered: a sense of being connected, no matter where she was. She realized, maybe for the first time, that she didn’t have to choose between her old life and her new one. She could hold both, as long as she kept her feet on the ground.

She kicked off the sandals, then slipped them back on, enjoying the soft thud against her heels. She put the bunny ears back on, too, just to see how it all looked together. The effect was silly, but it made her happy.

Dawn stood up, dusted off her skirt, and gazed out over the darkening lawn.