Getting to know her.

With the Clerk now gone, you can feel the eyes of the rest of the returns section watching you. Like a public marriage proposal. A quick glance around confirms the feeling. Nightmare is making a show of 'not looking' while still illustrating her frustration. "Perhaps we should..." Turning back to address Sheila, you begin to suggest moving the conversation, only to stop when all you see is an empty doorway. "Sheila?" The watching animorphs forgotten, you step inside.

The space is small, sparse, and fastidiously clean. Basic amenities only dot the room. However, a great deal of empty space and unused power sockets, Ethernet plugs, and cable jacks hint that she could have a great deal more. The care given to her to this point hints to you that she has very simple needs. Suddenly, she calls down from the second floor, but her voice is too soft to make out.

"What?" you call out while closing the door. The last thing you see of the outside is the shapeshifter giving you a sultry look while indicating what she would like to do to you.

Walking to the stairs, you reach the bottom as she appears at the top; wearing an unflattering baggy shirt and loose shorts. The first thing she could find and feel comfortable in, you guess. "I'm... changing... is what I said. Master."

"I guessed," you reply and place a foot on the first step. She immediately senses up and you step down again. Softly, you chuckle and whisper "Oh boy..." to yourself. You wait for a few more seconds, and when she doesn't move, you say, "Are you going to come down?"

For a few moments you can see the confusion on her face, then she says "What do you wish, Master?"

"For you to not be so afraid of me, for one thing." You say with a smile. Silently trying to picture the slow **** of the man who made her this way, you step away from the stairs and return with a chair and sit in clear view of Sheila. She looks at you, utterly confused, until you say, "Sit." Which she does, almost mechanically. "Why did you do that?" you ask.

"Master ordered me to." Is her immediate response.

"Did you want to?"

"I want what master wants."

She says these things as if she was a puppet. They come without passion, quickly and rehearsed, and her eyes show nothing but worry. Like the pleading expression of someone who is gagged while someone else speaks for them.

"Answer honestly, are you more comfortable standing there or sitting." You ask, preparing the trap.

"It is comfortable here." She says, hesitantly.

"I want you to only ever do what it is you want to do. Can you do that?"

Slowly, she nods.

"Stand up." You quickly say.

Her eyes widen and seem to almost go dead as she jumps quickly to one knee, only to freeze and stare back at you. You say nothing, but raise an eyebrow. Her breathing quickens and she shakes lightly in confused fear. Wanting nothing more than to run to her and take away everything that has been done to her, staying silent and seated is the hardest thing you've ever done. You begin to cheer in your mind as, after about 30 seconds, she slowly lowers herself back to the ground and sits. You smile in response, and the tiny upward curling of her lips you just manage to catch hits you through the heart like cupids arrow.

"Um..." She starts to say.