Foreboding and Hope

The library was colder than the rest of the hotel, as if stone remembered the old seasons and kept them hidden in the mortar. Marissa let her fingers trail along the books, each leather spine as smooth and worn as a river stone. She took her time, feeling the dust on her fingers, cataloging the titles—most were in French or Latin, but a surprising number were in English, and some in languages she didn’t recognize. The whole place felt like a museum exhibit, complete with the dust.

Claire was already at home among the stacks, moving in a slow circuit, her eyes wide behind her vintage frames. She’d periodically stop to gesture at a shelf and scribble a note for herself in her leather notebook.

Dawn moved differently, darting from case to case as if the next discovery might bite her. She zeroed in on a series of garishly illustrated volumes near the fireplace—French erotica, Marissa guessed—and pulled one down, leafing through with an expression that was equal parts shock and amusement.

Marissa found a corner she liked: philosophy, heavy on Schopenhauer and Sartre. She pulled out a faded blue edition of Critique of Pure Reason, the kind of book she used to keep on her own office shelf for show. As she opened it, a yellowed slip of paper tumbled onto her lap.

She glanced at the others. Dawn was still giggling at the lewd cartoons, and Claire was entranced by a first edition of The Birds of America. Marissa carefully unfolded the paper.

It was lined notebook stock, written in a cramped, shaky hand:

If you are reading this, you are not the first. They tell you that, but you think you are. Don’t trust Arabella. She is not your friend. Greg was my Master, but now he’s not even Greg. I think they made him into someone else. Maybe they will do the same to you.

Marissa frowned, then read on.

First it was the simple things. New shoes, new clothes, different perfume. Then they changed my words. I can only say what he wants to hear. I watch myself disappear day by day, and I can’t stop it. At the end, I will want to obey him more than anything. Even when he hurts me, Last night, I begged him to keep going. It was like I was inside a glass box, watching myself smile.

I don’t know what happened to Greg. When this started, he was my boyfriend. He would yell at Arabella and say he wanted out. But little by little, he became different. Calm, happy, like everything was fine. But I could tell it wasn’t. I could see the seams. He liked the control. The power Arabella gave him over us.

If you find this, you can’t help me. I won’t be here anymore. And that’s if I’m lucky. I’m sorry this happened to you. Just don’t trust Arabella. Don’t trust the game. And watch the Master. She’ll corrupt him, too. I’ve seen it before.

I think I’m pregnant. It scares me. I'm so scared! What kind of mother will I be, under all these compulsions? My child will never know me, the real me. And I don’t want my baby to end up like this.

Sarah

Marissa let out a slow breath. The note was almost too dramatic to be real, but the handwriting didn’t lie. It was written by someone ****, someone who’d known real terror. Smudged ink on the last paragraph marked where the author had cried.

She refolded the note, then called over: “You two want to see something?”

Dawn looked up from her book, and Claire bounded over, her feet silent on the carpet. Marissa laid the note flat on the table, smoothing the creases.

Claire read it first, her eyes darting back and forth. Dawn read over her shoulder, one hand pressed to her mouth.

When they finished, Dawn said, “Do you think it’s real?”

Marissa shook her head. “It has to be. No one makes up handwriting like this.” She tapped the signature. “Sarah. Who do you think that is?”

Claire shrugged, but wrote:

Does it matter? I think Andy said Arabella ran hundreds of seasons.

Dawn said, “So they recycle this place? Over and over?”

Marissa hesitated, thinking of the way Arabella watched all of them—the smile, the careful voice, the sense that nothing surprised her. “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe it’s just a scare tactic.”

Dawn’s face was pale. “Andy wouldn’t—”

Marissa cut her off, gently. “We don’t know what anyone would do, Dawn. Not when they’re under this pressure.”

Claire hovered her hand over the note, not touching. She wrote:

What does it mean, ‘watch the Master’?

Marissa read the line again, then looked at the books around them. “I think it means exactly what it says. She wanted whatever contestant found this to watch him. To see if he changes. To see if power corrupts him.”

Dawn hugged her arms around her chest. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Marissa wanted to comfort her, but the words caught. Instead, she gathered the note and folded it neatly, returning it to the philosophy shelf.

They stood together, three women in a tomb of old ideas, each wondering what waited for them outside.

After a while, Claire gestured to the table. She wrote:

It’s getting late. Let’s come back tomorrow. Maybe there are more notes.

Dawn nodded, the motion stiff, and started stacking volumes. Marissa took another look at the shelf, as if it might offer answers, then followed the others out.

As they stepped out of the library and into the garden, the warmth of the air hit them like a blanket. Dawn blinked, as if surprised to be back in the world. Claire was already jotting something in her notebook, her lips pressed tight.

Marissa glanced at the stone walls behind her, the hidden library, the secrets it held. She felt the chill linger in her bones.

For the first time, she wondered what kind of monster she’d be by the end of all this.

——

Andy came back to the Suite a little before dusk, his skin wind-chapped and hair streaked with salt from a day outside. The place was quiet, and for a moment he thought he’d misremembered the challenge, or maybe the game had paused without telling him. He slipped off his shoes, padded to the kitchen, and poured a glass of water, cold enough to make his teeth ache.

Katherine watched him from over the fireplace, her expression one of poised amusement, as if she’d overheard the world’s best joke but was too polite to laugh out loud. Andy set his glass on the counter and faced her, unsure if he wanted to talk or just be seen.

He cleared his throat. “You ever have one of those days where you do everything right and still end up feeling like a jackass?”

Katherine raised an eyebrow—just barely, but it was there.

Andy smiled. “Yeah, I thought so.” He wandered into the living room, settled on the couch, and looked up at her. “I saw Erin last night. It was bad. I don’t know what I could’ve done differently. Maybe nothing.”

Katherine cocked her head, then mimed a dramatic sigh, pressing the heel of her painted palm to her forehead.

He grinned, in spite of himself. “Am I being melodramatic?”

She nodded, slow and deliberate.

Andy stretched out, legs over the armrest, and let the silence fill up the space. “You know, you’re the only one who doesn’t try to fix me,” he said. “You just… listen.”

Katherine shrugged. She pointed at her mouth, made a zipping motion, then gave him a flat stare. Not like I can do anything else. Then she pointed at herself, then at him, then made a looping gesture with her hand.

He puzzled it out. “We’re the same?” he guessed.

She gave a tight, smug smile, then flashed a double thumbs-up.

Andy let himself laugh. “You know, for someone who never says a word, you’re pretty persuasive.”

He watched her for a long minute. The painted field behind her glowed gold in the artificial light, the flowers forever caught in their fake summer. He wondered if it was better or worse than real life, to be trapped in a world that never changed.

He asked, “Do you ever get tired? Of being stuck up there?”

Katherine thought about it, then shook her head. She pointed at Andy, then at the room, then back to herself.

“You mean, it’s not so bad when there’s company?”

She nodded.

Andy felt something in his chest loosen. “I get that,” he said. “Even if it’s just a painting and a washed-up programmer, it feels less lonely.”

Katherine rolled her eyes, then pantomimed typing on a keyboard, fingers moving fast.

He snorted. “You think I’m still a programmer at heart?”

She nodded enthusiastically, pointing at the stairs to the den. He didn’t understand, for a moment, but then he got it. “The list I was making yesterday?” She nodded, then coquettishly flipped her hair with an air of elegance. He laughed.

“Arabella?” She nodded again, smiling, clearly happy that he understood her. “I need to understand how this all fits, you are saying.” She grinned. “I know what you mean, I think. Some of those transformations the women got… they seem designed to amplify their fears. Dawn’s, Erin’s, Marissa’s, Norah’s. Liesa’s.” He paused, puzzled. Why was she shaking her head?

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” He asked her. “Dawn’s dreading the fact that her only value is in service, and now she’s compelled to serve. Erin feared dependency, and now she’s utterly dependent on me for something important. Marissa fears loss of control, and now she has no control over what people will see. Norah built her identity on being the best, but now she’s wearing a body someone else designed. Liesa feared belonging nowhere, but now she can’t belong with anyone who doesn’t take the initiative, no matter how much she wishes otherwise.” Katherine shook her head emphatically. She brought both hands to her face, mimicking glasses.

“Claire?” He said, surprised. He thought for a moment. “Yes, Claire is an outlier, I suppose. And she really wanted that transformation, despite the price.” Katherine nodded, then she jabbed her arms in every direction, a dreamy expression on her face.

“Emi? She will be noticed alright, but…” Katherine shook her head, then brought both hands to one cheek, closing her eyes, mimicking sleep. “What?” He asked, frowning. Katherine, with a frustrated expression, brought a hand to her forehead and twirled her fingers, moving the hand upwards. “Dreams?” She nodded, wagging a hand. Yes and no.

“Wait.” He blinked. “Emi gets lost in dreams. Yes, that’s true.” Katherine nodded vigorously, then jabbed her arms every which way again, then ran her hands over the sides of her breasts, near her groin, then made the finger-twirling gesture again, but slashed it with the other hand. She stared at him with an intensity that made him vaguely uncomfortable.

“The arms. Dreams. Not dreaming anymore. The groping? Wait, wait. You’re saying the arms and their groping center her. **** her not to get lost in dreams. Is that it?” With a relieved smile, Katherine nodded vigorously, breasts bouncing.

“Wait, then… Claire’s transformation is a blessing to her, even if we don’t fully understand why. Emi’s transformation… it seems a punishment, but you say it’s actually helping her.” Katherine hesitated, then nodded. She wasn’t certain, but near enough. “What about Dawn?” Katherine glanced at him, frustrated. Clearly, she either didn’t know, or she couldn’t gesture her way into that answer.

“By that logic… If Claire’s and Emi’s transformations seem to be punishments, but are also helping them, then…” His conversations with Dawn, the first night and then her date night, flashed back into his mind. “She’s compelled to serve, so… unless she wants to be lost in the compulsion, she must find a way to assert herself beyond service. Is that it?”

Katherine seemed to give a great sigh of relief, then nodded with a bright smile. She made a quick gesture with her hand. Go on!

“Ok, ok.” He was getting into it now. If this was true… and it was a big if… “Erin. What Arabella did to her is cruel, plain and simple. Where’s the flip side of that?” Katherine used her hands to quickly trace the shape of a woman next to her, making an angry face in the meantime. Andy laughed. “I get it, that’s Erin.”

Katherine smiled, then gestured back and forth between where she had traced the woman’s shape, and himself. “The connection. The bond she’ll have as a harem member.” She nodded. He had to admit, he was getting good at charades. The next gesture she made, though, was pumping her pelvis back and forth, blushing. He didn’t think, considering she had spent fourteen years naked and unable to cover her nudity, that she could still blush. But there it was.

“Sex? You think with that bond, she’d have sex? With me?” He laughed. “Norah's thawing is more likely to happen, and that's saying something.” But Katherine shook her head and repeated the gestures. Then she wagged her finger, as if admonishing him.

“Wait, you mean… it’s a lesson.” He paused. “Erin’s afraid that if she needs someone, they’ll desert her. The transformation… it seems to heighten that fear, but she will be bound to me no matter what. So… you’re saying, if she can overcome that fear, if she and I can patch things up…” Katherine nodded, then pointed at her groin and shrugged. “Then the transformation wouldn’t matter as much, because of me.” Katherine nodded.

He felt a cold shiver down his back. One or two could be coincidences. Three or four… less so. But why make them apparent punishments, then, or at least, acts of humiliation? He groaned. He needed to think this through, and he didn’t have time. Sam was coming, and he didn’t dare mention anything in front of her. Surely the Audience would be viewing him when Sam arrived, and he also didn’t want to give her false hope. Plus, he was tired, his head ached. He needed to close his eyes for a moment, before Sam arrived. With a sigh, he looked at Katherine.

“Let’s table this for now. I need to consider it, and what it means.” He smiled at her gratefully. “I wouldn’t even have gotten to this point without you, Katherine. Thank you. You see more clearly than any of us, I think.”

She gestured to the frame, then shrugged, then pointed to her head. He understood that. What else can I do, here, but think?

He knew Sam must be on her way, and he was about to offer Katherine the usual—did she want to be moved to the observatory for sunset, maybe watch the world change colors for a bit—but Katherine shook her head before he could ask. Instead, she pressed her painted lips together, then mimed hugging herself, arms tight.

“You want to stay in here tonight?”

She hesitated, then shook her head again. Biting her lip, she pointed at the bedroom, then at herself, then back at Andy.

“Oh,” he said, slow to catch on. “You want to go in the bedroom?”

Katherine nodded, then let her hands fall in her lap.

Andy stood, a little surprised. “Sure. Of course. I can do that.”

He stepped over to the fireplace, careful as always, and lifted the frame from its mount. Katherine’s eyes glistened in the low light, the green flecks almost alive. She didn’t weigh much, but Andy always carried her like she was made of spun sugar.

He paused at the hallway, looked at her. “You know, I never asked—do you miss sleeping? Or do you just watch all night?”

She shrugged, then closed her eyes theatrically, head tilting to one side.

He smiled. “You’re a good liar, Katherine.”

She grinned, teeth bright and eyes sparkling.

Andy set her against the wooden panels opposite the glass wall, angled so she could see both him and the window. The room was soft and warm, the late sun staining the walls orange.

He sank onto the bed, hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

After a minute, he said, “Promise me something?”

Katherine lifted her hand, palm out.

“Promise you’ll tell me if I start to disappear,” he said. “If I turn into someone I don’t recognize. You’ll let me know?”

She nodded, then made an X over her heart.

Andy lay back, letting the exhaustion catch up. “Deal,” he said, eyes closing.

He felt the weight of Katherine’s gaze, heavy but comforting, and for the first time in days, he thought maybe he wouldn’t break.

Then he dozed off.