From Another Place

The world had reset to ordinary light by the time Andy, Laura, Myra, and Riley returned from the Hollow Garden. The elevator ride up was brief and silent; nobody said a word about what had happened in the cottages, or what it had cost to walk away from the past and find themselves—bruised but still together—on the threshold of the Master’s Suite. When the doors slid open onto the Main Lobby, Andy was surprised to see Mildred already waiting for them, standing directly in their path, arms folded neatly at the small of her back.

She wore a navy pencil skirt and a silk blouse the shade of old bone, the HH Service badge gleaming on her lapel. Her hair was in a perfect updo that somehow looked both classic and an act of defiance. As soon as the door opened, one arm snaked out with a flourish, one hand holding three envelopes, fanned like a royal flush. Her face was an ironed-out blank, but her eyes gleamed with the dark promise of amusement.

She presented the envelopes without a word, one for Andy and Laura, one for Myra, and one for Riley. Andy took his, feeling the weight of it; the paper was and the wax seals were familiar. Myra’s envelope was marked with an inky blue pawprint. Riley’s was sealed without a mark.

“Did Arabella open fanmail again?” Andy asked Mildred, the question coming out before he could edit it for politeness.

Mildred smiled with all the warmth of a pie chart. “Not precisely. These are responses.” She tilted her head just so, letting the light catch on her earring. “To the correspondence sent by you, and by certain Contestants in your company, to the so-called ‘Harper’ season last week.”

Riley’s eyebrows went up wearily. “Wait, we got responses already? That’s—never mind.” She broke the seal on her letter without another word, glad for the distraction, and started reading.

Myra’s ears flicked as she weighed the envelope in her hand. She didn’t open it. Not yet.

Mildred gave Andy a sly, sidelong glance. “The one addressed to ‘Mr. and Mrs. Cooper’ is for you and the Consort, Master Cooper. The others are labeled per recipient. I suggest you open them promptly.”

“Thanks,” Andy said. “You, uh, gonna stick around and watch, or…?”

“Not unless requested,” Mildred said, voice sweet enough to rot a tooth. “But I do enjoy seeing a project through.” She curtsied, so shallow it was almost aggressive, and vanished back toward the service corridor.

Andy glanced at the envelope in his hand. It was labeled, in large, looping print, “Mr. and Mrs. Cooper,” with a row of small hearts beneath. He showed it to Laura, whose faces split in twin smiles that looked equal parts delighted and mortified.

They took a seat on a nearby couch, the others giving them a wide berth—Myra and Riley had drifted toward the Commissary, clearly intent on their own reading. Andy cracked the seal on the letter and unfolded several pages, each crammed to the margins with handwriting in all colors of gel ink.

He read aloud:

Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper!!!!!!!!!!

So, Tegan made me promise to not flirt with people outside the harem, so I will try to constrain myself, but ooooh, fantasizing about all the sexy things your new upgrades and stuff is soooo tempting. You could command the weather to rain down aphrodisiacs! You can rewrite boring TFs to make them sexier! You can give your Andi self tentacles now! And Laura having two bodies and they can both feel what sexy stuff you’re doing? Ooh, Laura, you can challenge Andi to an Andy blowjob contest in the middle of an aphrodisiac drizzle! And Andi can use her tentacles to give all four bodies some probing attention! Nope. Be good, Mona. Stop.

Andy set the page on his lap, pinched the bridge of his nose, and exhaled. “Did she really just—” He looked at Laura, whose cheeks had gone faintly pink, but whose mouth was twitching with suppressed laughter.

Laura shrugged, both bodies in perfect sync, then leaned in close enough that Andy could smell the faintest trace of coconut from her hair. “I kind of want to see the aphrodisiac weather,” Laura said, her voice a stage whisper. “But I’d rather finish the contest first.”

He bumped her shoulder, then picked up the next sheet and continued:

Arabella didn’t give you my verbal reply to your letter, I guess? She’s so pretty, by the way. Ooh, question! Which version of her lifetime season collection thingy are you going to get? The plain one; the one with the Sumiku replica mug; or the one with the mug, the tiny Katherine replica AND the ring? Ophie got me just the mug instead of the whole collection and it’s fun to play with the boobies in between overnight oat bites. Also, overnight oats are so tasty; you should try them! Also, also, you should maybe see if the Sumiku mug you used was a replica or not?

Andy looked up, met Laura’s eyes. “Wait, did you know about the lifetime collection thing?” he asked. “Did Arabella say anything?”

Laura shook her head, hair fanning in stereo. “I want to see the tiny painting. And the ring, I guess? What ring is she talking about?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a typo. Or maybe the HH has a commemorative jewelry line. I do need to do something about Sumiku.” He flipped the page and kept reading:

I guess the diet thing is next? I was already told about why I was on it from Josie by the time I wrote; I was just complaining because I wanted the quick fix to a sexy body. I assume you know Josie? Wolf girl with a surly attitude and super sexy abs? They want me to build good habits before kids are in the mix, even if they magic me a permanent sexy body before the season wraps up (fingers crossed!!!). Kids do as their parents do with that kind of stuff?

They apparently forgot to include longevity for the harem kids in their wish and them outliving their grandchildren has made them a lot more self conscious about being a good example? I get it. I just wanted a different answer. Also, your advice to ask for stuff didn’t go as well as I hoped. You should have told me that Arabella doesn’t just give you everything you ask for! I’m not mad, I just felt a little foolish demanding stuff and being teased. I’m stumbling still, but I’m also slowly getting the hang of this whole Mistress thing. Updates: Craig has been behaving, as far as I can tell. I think the obedience punishment did the trick? He still hasn’t qualified for the challenge yet, but he’s got most of today to get there. Everyone kept warning me about him. What am I missing?

Andy stopped. He glanced at Laura. “You know, I think this is a little old? I’m pretty sure Mona found out since then that Craig is not, uh, improved by the punishment. Harper told me as much. Last I checked, he’s… well, still himself.”

Laura nodded, then made a face. “He’s so close to being eliminated, though. Unless I’m mixing up the order. Or is that just me?” She looked at Andy, then tilted her head, eyes sharp. “Wait. How do I know that?”

Andy considered. He didn’t know how he knew it, either. But the more time passed, the more he found himself tracking the other harems, almost as if they existed somewhere just beyond his peripheral vision. “Probably Arabella’s magic,” he said. “She wants us to keep tabs. Cross-pollinate ideas. If anyone’s going to game the system, it’ll be someone from our season.”

Laura grinned, both bodies. “Then we better up our game.”

He returned to the letter:

Gaia’s date went really well. I think we’re girlfriends? She seems to be getting along well with everyone too! I think a lot of her initial feelings were from being in prison; the sunshine and weird vegan diet here really helped improve her mood (and guacamole tastes real good, too!). Tegan is doing... better? She’s still really mad about the situation, but we started working things out. At least she kind of admitted feelings for me? I think we’ll be okay, eventually. Kevin is handling the situation really well. I set him up with one of Tyalangan’s kids on staff. They are sooo cute together! He was initially very mad, but saw the situation for what it was quickly. I am happy that he gets some sexy times, too!

Tessa is doing better, too. We just had our date last night and I think it went well. Did you know that there is a Harem Hotel museum? She wanted to see what happened to Tyalangan. Still caught her watching some of that season with Ophie this morning. She’s worried about the age gap and how she was one of my middle school teachers, too. I am a bit worried about Andromeda tonight, but it’s not so much about her asexual orientation. I got this app to mess with her emotional capacity and permission to expand her feelings. I think she is hiding something. Maybe something big? From what I can tell, she’s been skipping social times like meals. I get that she’s a robot now, but... I think that’s it.

I still need to do better with all of them, but it’s been less than a week. I’m sure older and wiser and sexier Masters will give me good advice as I keep figuring things out!

Thanks!
Mona.

Andy finished, holding the last page up for Laura to see the signature, which was rendered in metallic ink with a tiny smiley face at the end. He looked at Laura, who was already scribbling on a notepad she’d produced from somewhere. She turned it to show him: “RE: Museum. Why don’t we have one?”

“I mean—“ Andy paused. “There is one, actually. The Museum of Pleasures Past. That’s where the third challenge was held.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think that’s what she’s talking about.”

Laura’s eyes lit up, both sets at once. “Can we go?” she asked. “I didn’t get to see it.”

Andy opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at her for a moment. “You know what, I’m not even going to pretend I don’t know what’s in there.”

He paged back through the letter, trying to recall all the threads. “So, to sum up, Mona wants to see you and my female self compete for my attention, she’s not opposed to aphrodisiac weather, would like to know if I’m buying the full commemorative set, is possibly worried about being a good mom to future kids, is concerned about Andromeda, and is watching her former teacher’s sibling’s old season for research. Did I miss anything?”

Laura shook her head, eyes narrowed in calculation. “We need to send her a reply. Something that ups the stakes.” She tapped her fingers against her chins, then said: “Dear Mona, please advise: what is the etiquette for challenging your other self to a blowjob duel while the local Host is actively filming?”

Andy laughed, surprising himself. It felt good, the sort of deep laugh that started low and rolled out in a way that left you breathless for a moment. Laura smirked, pleased with herself.

He watched her scribble more notes, then asked, “Should we say anything about Sumiku?”

Laura’s faces both turned thoughtful. “Who is she, exactly?”

Andy hesitated. “She’s a former contestant, from long ago. Arabella mentioned something a couple days ago, but I haven’t had a chance to follow up. Have you seen a pink mug with, uh, little boobs? That’s supposed to be her. I meant to look into that, see if I could help, but a lot’s been happening since the Fifth Challenge.”

Laura nodded. “I want to meet her. She’s probably weird. Weird is good.”

Andy nodded, then put a hand on Laura’s knee. “Hey,” he said, “are you okay? After the Garden?”

Laura’s two bodies stilled, then turned toward him. For the first time all morning, there was no laughter or mischief in the blue eyes—just honesty.

“I think so,” Laura said, both voices merged. “It’s easier, knowing you’re here with me. With us.” She glanced toward the Commissary, where Riley and Myra were still deep in their own letters. “I’m glad I’m not the only one anymore.”

He squeezed her knee. “Me too.”

There was a short, companionable silence, then Laura stood. “You have to see Claire, right?” She leaned down and kissed him, quick and light, then whispered, “I want to have a date with you, too. We’ll make it happen soon.”

Andy stood and hugged her in return, both bodies fitting against his chest as easily as one. “Deal,” he said.

He picked up his envelope, slid the letter back inside, and headed for the Sky Archive.

The letters were heavier than they looked. Myra rolled hers between her palms, feeling the raised seal and the waxed edges. Riley just stared at hers, fingers drumming a precise, silent rhythm against the tape.

Neither of them said a word as Andy and Laura peeled off toward the couch, Andy’s hand on Laura’s shoulder, both sets of Laura’s eyes fixed on the envelope as if it might bite. Myra and Riley moved to the window alcove just beside the Commissary—far enough from traffic to be private, close enough to the glass that the spill of natural light could mask anything happening behind their eyes.

Myra broke the seal with her thumbnail. The paper inside was thick, off-white, and covered on one side with careful script that glowed like denial of affection:

Myra,

Thank you for the letter. I have had some time to sit and think some more since this morning and the blue-skinned freak that kidnapped me is asking for us to write back. I comply because it is the polite thing to do. I have been told that your Host does not necessarily give you our verbal responses. Forgive my repetitiveness if that is not the case. I still don’t trust the freak. The indignities she has made me suffer, either directly due to being transformed or indirectly through perverted game rules, demand an answer. I am not sure if I can ever get strong enough to extract said answer, but I will strive for it. She needs to pay, even if that lie about our world being soon destroyed turns out to be true. If you have any other information I could use to get vengeance, I would appreciate it.

I am **** to admit that some good has come from all of this. I hate that I have to, but it is true. First, it **** Mona and I to reconcile. She now knows that I am her fiancée and that I expect her to treat me better. While I hate having to share her, that indignity is a trade off I am willing to make in order to not be tossed aside.

Second, the show has seemed to have made me more attractive in Mona’s eyes with the whole embarrassment of being turned into a kitsune. I have to live with the fact that I gave my virginity to Mona from her playing with my ears, but I suppose that is fine. While I deal with the fox-parts, I have only the one tail at the moment. I looked up my tail growth thing. It seems to be based on my Level. I should be getting a new one when I hit Levels 5, 9, 13, and 17, assuming nothing changes. I also apparently get a bonus to mental checks a number of times per day equal to my tail count, which I have apparently been using subconsciously. I doubt that is how your tail thing works, though. It sounds like your season doesn’t have a leveling system. Thank you for making me look that up. The information is useful.

Third, the training is very helpful. I feel stronger and faster; I have much more stamina. I feel the effects of training making me better with a bow. I doubt that I will ever get to compete in the Olympics now that I am a freak, but it helps to have something like normalcy here. I suppose there is no harm in using your emotion reading powers on me, but I don’t expect much out of it. I am very honest about my feelings.
Forgive the final embarrassment; Mona gets to assign us a signature.

Tegan
Mona’s sexy fox-waifu.

Myra finished, lips twitching at the sign-off. She looked up at Riley, who’d quietly watched her read with the attentiveness of someone needing to get out of her own head, and watching a lit fuse. “It’s from Tegan,” Myra said, “A kitsune girl. She’s—”

“—the one who called Harper a freak?” Riley asked. “On-brand.”

Myra shrugged, tails tight to the bench. “She doesn’t trust her at all,” Myra said, not quite a sigh. Her fingers traced the grain of the letter; it was just stationery, but the residue on it was strong—frustration, a static charge of hope twisted up with contempt.

Riley tilted her head, dark hair in her eyes. “Harper’s her Host?”

“Yeah. She calls her ‘the blue-skinned freak.’” Myra’s lips flickered, the barest suggestion of a smile. “You want to see the postscript? She gets in one last dig: ‘Forgive the final embarrassment, Mona gets to assign us a signature.’” Myra handed the letter to Riley, tails fanned flat across the bench.

Riley’s mouth twisted as she read the sign-off. “Tegan, Mona’s sexy fox-waifu.” She held the page at arm’s length, then looked over at Myra. “Is this the one you told me about? The archer with the level system?”

Myra nodded. “She’s from the ‘gamified’ harem—Harper’s season runs on experience points and levels, not just drama and transformations.”

Riley’s gaze returned to the page. “So, she hates her Host, hates being transformed, but also really wants to beat the system. The classic.” She let the letter dangle between two fingers. “Did you pick her because she reminds you of you?”

There was no malice in it. If anything, the question felt honest, surgical.

“I picked her because she was trying to act like she didn’t care,” Myra said. “But she writes back to total strangers anyway.” She shrugged, one tail curling around her thigh as if embarrassed. “I remember what it was like—being scared of the show, of the Host, but more angry at myself. I wanted someone to tell me it was okay to just survive. I thought maybe she’d listen.”

“Will she?” Riley asked.

Myra cocked her head, considering. “She says she’s reconciled with Mona. Calls her a fiancée now. But there’s a lot of shame in it—like, she doesn’t want to admit how she really feels.” She glanced at the window, searching for a color she couldn’t see. “You want to hear what she was actually feeling when she wrote this?”

“Hit me,” Riley said.

“Embarrassed, but also relieved. Like saying it out loud is some kind of talisman against having to feel it too deep.” She read a line from the letter: ‘I have to live with the fact that I gave my virginity to Mona from her playing with my ears, but I suppose that is fine.’ Myra shook her head, tails twitching. “She says ‘suppose that is fine,’ but what I get is: best day of her life, and she’s scared shitless to admit that she likes women, and that Mona will leave her for someone braver.”

Riley’s eyebrows shot up. “You get all that from the letter?”

“Not from the ink,” Myra said. “From the echoes. From the way people bend the world around themselves. You ever been hugged by someone who’s just… **** not to be alone, even if they never say it, and you feel it anyway?”

Riley’s face twitched, and she looked away. “Yeah.”

Myra’s tails brushed the bench, soft as breath. “It’s like that.”

They sat with the silence for a bit. Riley kept her gaze on the window, the heel of her boot bouncing off the bar under the bench, the tension gone but not forgotten. Myra picked up the letter again, scanning down to the last lines.

“She says, ‘I suppose there is no harm in using your emotion reading powers on me, but I don’t expect much out of it. I am very honest about my feelings.’” Myra read the lines in a low, amused voice. “That’s denial if ever I’ve heard it.”

“Sounds familiar,” Riley said, smiling crooked.

Myra grinned, letting it show. “You know the part about losing her virginity to Mona playing with her ears?” Myra let the words hang, then nudged Riley with her elbow. “You know, Andy did the same thing to me last night. The ear thing. I thought I’d die.”

Riley barked a laugh, dry and unsparing. “That sounds about right. You still got the afterglow?”

Myra closed her eyes, letting both tails slide loose behind her. “I could be **** for a week and still have the afterglow,” she said with a smile. “It’s like your whole nervous system gets wiped clean, and you just want to sleep on the nearest warm body until the universe reboots.”

Riley’s voice was soft, for her. “That sounds fun.”

Myra smiled. “It’s a good transformation.”

Riley pulled her letter out of her jacket pocket and opened it, not with the delicacy of ritual but with the brisk, two-handed rip of someone who’d been opening bad news all her life. She glanced at the letter, then at Myra, who waited with her hands in her lap and her tails spread perfectly still behind her. The morning light through the window made the paper nearly transparent; Riley squinted and started reading, not bothering to lower her voice:

Hi, I didn’t really understand most of what you wrote to me, but thanks for writing! It was the nicest letter I have gotten in a long time, even if the wax was filled with artificial color and petroleum products. Usually, I would only get the occasional piece of hate mail at the prison. And, before then, really only junk mail. So wasteful, junk mail is.

Riley made a face. “She’s not wrong,” she said, then kept going:

Really the bit I understood is that you’re worried about the kid? Mona is a sweetie, like I said, and she’s a little overwhelmed still. I want to support and protect her. I don’t trust Craig around her unsupervised, even with the punishment thing he got. I think I helped Tegan be better for her, even if she was mean and made me eat innocent animals. I know I am not the brightest star in the night’s sky, but I think you were trying to tell me more stuff, but it’s like I am missing something? More context, please?

Thanks!
Gaia, Mona’s sexy shapeshifter.

Riley finished reading and looked at Myra. “I don’t think she got it.”

Myra shook her head, the fox ears flattening a little, not disappointment but a kind of sadness. “She got some of it,” Myra said. “But maybe not the part that mattered most.”

Riley chewed the inside of her cheek. “I thought I was being clear. Maybe too much so.” She passed the letter over to Myra, who ran her fingers along the page, as if the ink could speak directly if she touched it hard enough.

Riley watched her, then explained: “The letter I sent her—“ Riley paused, searching for the right words, “—was about how she kept going on about this Malar guy being her patron, right? I looked it up. He’s a hunt god. He doesn’t care about the wild or the balance or nature, not in the way she thinks. He just wants blood, and pain, and to see things break. I tried to tell her that. I said he’s not on her side, that he’ll use her up and then toss her out the second she’s not useful.” Riley stopped, looked at Myra for a second. “I told her that Mona is what matters, and if she wants to protect someone, that’s how. Not by throwing herself to the wolves for a monster who doesn’t care if she dies.”

Myra took a slow breath. “And this is what came back,” she said, mostly to herself.

“She just wants to be useful,” Riley said. “She wants to believe she can help. She’s like…” She trailed off, then barked a sharp laugh. “Never mind.”

There was a small silence. Myra watched Riley, watched the way her body bent inward when the subject was vulnerability, the way she’d never lean in but always curve away, as if even honesty had to be delivered sideways.

Myra smoothed the letter between her palms. “Do you think you should write back?” she asked.

Riley huffed. “Would it help?”

Myra thought for a second, then said, “I don’t know. Maybe not for her, not right away.” She hesitated. “It’s possible to sense something is wrong before you’re ready to name it. She knows what you meant, somewhere. She just can’t hold it yet.”

Riley absorbed that. “Yeah,” she said, after a minute. “I get that.”

The quiet was not uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like the moment after a storm, when the air is clear but nothing’s grown back yet.

Myra’s tails, which had been motionless, gave a slow, sympathetic flick.

Riley read the motion, then looked up and said, “Is it weird that I actually want to help her?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Or that I want to see her survive?”

Myra’s voice was gentle. “No. That’s the point.”

Another silence, this one softer at the edges. Then, across the lobby, Andy left with a wave, and Laura and made a beeline for them. She stopped two steps away, both bodies tilting in perfect sync, the hands of one tucked behind her back, the other crossing her arms. “Are you two done with the letters?” Both heads tilted a little more, as if reading Riley’s mood by triangulation.

“Yeah,” Riley said. She didn’t try to paste on any steadiness, just let it be what it was. Laura looked at Myra, then at Riley again. “We should sit somewhere,” she said. “All three of us.” Both of Laura’s hands gestured to the firepit by the main lawn, which was empty. “We could talk. Or not talk. But we should be together for a while.”

Riley looked at the floor, then shrugged. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The three of them left their bench, walking as a pack, not talking much, but not alone. One of Laura’s hands landed on Riley’s arm, light as a promise. Myra’s hand found Riley’s shoulder, her thumb pressing just once before letting go.

Sisters.