Intermission: Fan Mail (IV), Part 1

The walk back to the Master’s Suite was short, but Andy wouldn’t have remembered it anyway: he and Laura were both weighed down with enough letters and small parcels to make them look like deranged post office mascots. The air in the Suite still had a citrusy tang from the cleaning staff, but it was quickly replaced by the sharp, papery musk of envelopes, and the faint, impossible scent of bubblegum. Laura took the right half of the main couch, swept her arms over it as if demonstrating a sofa on TV, and dumped the whole stack with a miniature avalanche. Andy mirrored her on the left, then flopped down and let out a quiet “oof.” He could hear, behind the sound, the faintest double giggle from Laura—small, tight, but real.

Andy watched, amused, as Laura picked a letter from the pile. Laura turned the envelope over and over, reading the return address with a furrowed brow. “You realize,” she said, “that when we were little, fanmail was mostly old men sending you coupons for steak knives.”

“Still is, sometimes,” Andy said, flipping the edge of an envelope with his thumb. “But in the HH, fanmail isn’t from the outside world. It’s from other seasons. Or other... universes.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just contestants or even Masters writing to say hi. Sometimes it’s people trying to give you advice, or warning you about, you know, future rough spots.”

Laura sniffed the return address, then flicked her hair—Andy caught the familiar tell of her skepticism. “This one’s from a ‘Queen of the Copse-Wood Throne, Ruler of Nimlith Grove, Master’s Support Group – Member Emeritus.’ Is this a real thing, or did you sign yourself up for a spam list?”

Andy grinned, reaching out to take the letter. “Oh, that’s Harper. She’s my friend, and my first penpal on the show. She’s a Host now. Was a Mistress, then transitioned.” Laura’s expression softened.

“I’m sorry,” Laura said, teasingly, “wasn’t it your job to be emotionally distant and socially incompetent, before I came back to straighten you out? When did you collect pen pals?”

He shrugged. “You missed a lot while you were dead.” The words sounded cruel, but the smile behind them made Laura snort, not flinch.

“Fine. Let’s see what the Queen of the Copse-Wood has to say for herself.” Andy grinned and broke the wax seal with a fingernail.The letter was thick with ink, the handwriting neat and looping. Andy began to read aloud, at first for his own benefit, but then letting his voice fill the room, knowing Laura was listening as much to the tone as the words:

Andy and Laura,

Andy, I intended to only write a brief note, a short message letting you know I was thinking about my pen pal. And then I saw what happened at the footbridge. I don’t want to burden you with my current worries more than I already had, but my season has started. The task of Hosting is more difficult than I anticipated. The pressure is immense. So, please understand that the effort I am exerting to freeze time on my set in order to write to you properly is not being spent lightly.

A couple of congratulations are in order, it seems. The first is the one I originally wrote. You did an impossible thing last challenge. Both of you. I have seen the dead returned to the land of the living before, but never like that. Never by sheer **** of will ripping reality apart. Whoever said Masters are just to sit idly by and watch the spectacle has never met either of us. You did well, Andy. You did well in allowing the miracle to happen, Laura. Never forget what Andy did for you. You are no poison. I am so happy for both of you.

The other is the one that led to this letter. Congratulations to both of you. Whether you wish to view the scene at the footbridge as a miracle, an elopement, or a wedding proper, it still is worthy of praise. And it seems you have a household goddess of your own now. Hopefully yours is less of a prankster than mine. I can’t help but think of my own first wedding. Skye worked so hard on it. Prepared the grounds on the set, set the fire, cast our wedding rings, catered it. Forgot the priestess, but her goddess officiated it herself. I will never forget that night, and not just due to the engagement scar. While the ring she gave me has more names on it (eight now), I have never taken it off. So, I know a thing or two about divinity declaring you bound. It’s good. I wish the both of you all the happiness in the world.

Don’t forget about the rest of the harem, Andy. I don’t know if you will need a second ring for them, but be prepared to wed all of them that have the slightest inkling of being married. The only reason I don’t have twelve wives is that four of mine are not the marrying type. Also, be prepared for A LOT of kids. Seriously, Tina is approaching having her 900th daughter soon.

I feel a bit silly with the first gift now, but Skye did forge you those koala girl claw gauntlets like you asked for. She matched Shar’s style as best she could. They are made of mithril, so lighter than it looks and the claws stay sharp, so careful. You are one step closer to Andi, Koala Warrior Princess. The other gift is for both of you. A wedding gift, a parcel of land in my Queendom. A place to build a home, with enough farmland attached to make it self-sufficient. Whether the property will just be a vacation home, a passive income stream, or a primary residence is up to you. With your life extension gift, multiplied dramatically by your achievements, you may want to eventually move to a world where people living for centuries is a common occurrence. I can see you wanting to leave your world if you start outliving your kids, too. Arabella can send me designs for the manor (or plop Chloe’s work there when you are free of the HH); I’ll make sure it is ready by the time you will want to inspect it.

Once again, congratulations.

Kindest regards,
Tyalangan,
48th Queen of the Copse-Wood Throne
Ruler of Nimlith Grove
Masters Support Group – Member Emeritus

Andy finished, lowering the page, and realized Laura had been following along silently—her eyes scanning his face. She did not immediately respond. Instead, she flicked through the envelope with practiced precision, like she was double-checking for a bill. Out tumbled a pair of fingerless gloves, tipped in black—then, as if a slow-motion replay, razor-sharp mithril claws shot from each knuckle, fanning outward with a satisfying schlink.

Laura just stared. “Did you... ask someone to make you a pair of anime koala claws?”

He blushed, which was infuriating, because he genuinely did not remember ever doing so. “No,” he said. “Maybe? It was a joke. At my birthday party, Tyalangan showed up with a present for my Andy form and one for my Andi form. The one for me was a sword.” He reached into his inventory and summoned the blade, letting the hilt materialize out of nowhere in his palm.

Laura’s eyebrow twitched. “Subtle.”

He continued, “The one for Andi was a headband with koala ears that change color to match your hair. Apparently, it’s a thing, since in her world, humans are nearly extinct.”

One of Laura’s selves took the claws in her hands, weighing them, flexing each finger to make the metal extend and retract. She held her fist up like a very, very cute Wolverine, then shrugged. “Andi would look good as a koala girl.”

He groaned, “Don’t even start. And you should see what Harper looks like now. The cosplay would be... difficult.”

“Challenge accepted.”

He considered this, but then the last lines of the letter floated back. “Wait, did you see the other gift? The parcel of land? In a literal fantasy kingdom?”

Laura was already searching the envelope again, finding a heavy, creamy card with a hand-inked map on it. “Is this legal? Do we own a magical manor now?”

“I guess?” Andy took the card, tracing the borders of the estate, which featured tiny painted cows. “I guess we must build it? Either way, this is more than just a gift. This is like... a backup future.”

Laura held up the claws, then the deed. “Is this how you imagined your adult life?”

“Not even in the best fever dreams.”

She reached out and flicked him on the nose with a claw tip. “You have terrible taste in dreams, Andy Cooper. But at least you made it here.” There was something soft about the way she said it—half joke, half benediction.

They sat for a moment, letting the first letter’s weight settle. Laura stared at the gloves again, then, without warning, slipped them onto the hands of her other body. They were too big, but she waggled her fingers, letting the claws flash in the early afternoon sun streaming through the wide Suite window. She leaned back against the couch, closed her eyes, and made a small “rawr” noise that was so profoundly Laura that Andy had to look away to keep from laughing.

He reached for the next letter.

This envelope was thicker, stuffed so full it barely sealed. “From Mona,” Andy said, frowning. He did not recognize the name. The return address was written in pink pen, covered in animal stickers, and there was a heart over the “o.”

Laura peered over. “Is this going to be like a **** confession, or do we get a cupcake recipe?”

Andy shrugged, slit the envelope open, and a small plastic shaker bottle fell out, full of off-white powder. He read the letter:

Hiiiiiiiiiiii, Mr. Cooper!!!!!!!!!

So, my Host said you might help me with the whole being dreamnapped to porn world thing. She also said I was only allowed one paragraph to be a ‘horny little gremlin,’ sooooo...
You are so fucking hot. Both versions of you. I wanna watch male you crush watermelons between your thighs. I wanna lick your thighs clean after. I wanna watch female you balance grapes on male you’s cock. I wanna compete with female you on being able to give male you a blowjob. I wanna see if Command+++ will work on me to make me better at blowjobs than female you. I mean, you are clearly much more powerful than little ol’ me. And sexier. So much sexier. Ooooh, could you order me to have a sexy body? I wish I could frigg myself thinking about it but there’s that stupid bounty. Anyways, wanna see if your Host and my Host could make all that happen?

Okay, phew, that was good to get out there.

Seriously, I thought I was doing good at being the Mistress, then the first date happened last night. It went poorly. Very poorly. He hurt me and Tyalangan had to come in to punish him. I think she took it too far? He was terrified when I saw him this morning. And one of the other contestants just hates me. And another is a convicted eco-terrorist; she at least seems nice, kinda, sorta, despite going from my babysitter to almost blowing up the Hoover Dam? Her date is tonight, as I write this letter. What do I do? I’ve barely dated before and last night felt good until it wasn’t and once it wasn’t it was really bad. Tyalangan had me talk to an eliminated contestant during my tour, so I know I gotta do good at being Mistress, ‘cause otherwise they could get turned into a popcorn machine or whatever. There’s all this pressure and I don’t know what to do, really. How do navigate this crazy game? I’m told by the Suite maid (Ophelia; she’s cute, if surly!) that I’m supposed to send a present? I don’t know what to send. Ahhhhh, here, my snack I never got around to having yesterday (this diet I got put on is weird). Enjoy! Thanks in advance!

Mona

N.B.: The Wulf Den Labs protein powder is alchemically enchanted to taste like the last person the consumer has eaten out.

Andy blinked, then read the last line again, just to be sure.

Laura squinted. “Did she just...”

He nodded. “It’s protein powder. That tastes like, well—”

Laura let out twin barks of laughter, then slapped a hand over each of her mouths. “The old world may have had steak knives, but this is a whole new order of weird.”

He set the bottle carefully on the coffee table, then looked at Laura. “You’re going to want to keep that out of Sam’s reach. Or possibly within reach, I’m not sure.”

Laura, to her credit, did not even flinch. She only picked up the bottle, shook it, and then set it down again. “This Host of yours—Harper, Tyalangan—she’s kind of a mentor for these, what, apprentices?”

“I suppose Mona is the Mistress. I haven’t spoken with her about the new season, yet.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And how does one become a Host?”

Andy had a sudden, absurd image of a pink-haired version of Laura running the show, the entire cast of contestants tripping over themselves to get her attention. “I think you have to have survived being a Master or Mistress. And then want it.”

Laura gave a mock-shudder. “Hard pass.”

The silence between them was comfortable. Andy sorted his letters, finding the next one in a hand he didn’t recognize, but the signature was clear: “Felix.” He felt a little jolt; the name was familiar, from one of Arabella’s impromptu “info dumps” about other shows. In this version, Felix was a young, powerless Master trapped in a bunker with his harem and a demon Host. Andy had felt for the kid.

He opened the letter and read:

Andy,

I got to be honest here, I once hated you. Why did you get to be in such a light, happy season, when you were already rich from the sale of your app, and had so much success with women even before Harem Hotel, whereas I would’ve been lucky to graduate high school. But... I realized watching your season why it wasn’t so simple. Not just because you had overpowering grief, but because you got yourself together despite it. Better than that, you asserted yourself for the good of those around you, and got it together.

All of which is to say, Andy, that you should never forget the role of luck. It was luck that your host wasn’t trying to break you or those around you, and on the flip side, the avalanche of misfortune that lead to Laura‘s ****. That doesn’t mean it has to control your life, but that there are things you can control versus those you cannot.

Sincerely,
Felix

Andy finished reading and sat there, thinking. Laura was silent for a beat, then leaned in close.

“Is that common?” she asked, in stereo. “People just... writing you letters about how to live?”

He smiled, but it was thin. “More common than you’d think. Felix’s season is rough. His contestants bullied him, at first. One **** him, I believe. I felt for him.”

Laura shrugged. “He’s right, you know. About the luck. About not being able to control everything.”

Andy nodded. “I’ll write him back. He needs to know it’s not just him.”

Laura picked up the protein powder and shook it. “Maybe send him this as a consolation prize?”

Andy grinned, then looked down at the pile. The next envelope was covered in shiny, iridescent stickers, and the handwriting was slanted but confident. He peeled it open and unfolded the letter. It was from Cammy, another from Felix’s season:

Andy,

There is something Arabella left out, perhaps because she never experienced it as a host. It is not only power that can corrupt, but also failing to use power when necessary that can cause everything to go wrong. My father was a narcissistic void where a human being should‘ve been, and even when transformed into a giggling bimbo by Harem Hotel, was still an insufferable sexist prick with less emotional maturity than most children.

Austin’s elimination will still haunt my dreams for a very, very long time, and it makes me wonder what could’ve happened if Felix had been able to assert himself more. Maybe if he had **** Austin to be better, then elimination would’ve been avoided, but we’ll never know because Felix was unable to assert himself. His contestants had a lot of leverage over him because of some unique rules, and, like you, he was in a rough spot at the start of the season. I know it sounds weird for a contestant to say this, but sometimes, you need to wield your power as a master, not just avoid it. Even if it’s only to protect someone from themselves, the alternative if you let them fail can be far worse.

Sincerely,
Cammy

Andy was quiet for a long moment. Laura took her claws off and set them gently on her knee. “Does ‘elimination’ mean the same thing in other seasons as it does here?” She glanced to the bedroom.

Andy looked at her, weighing the answer. “Yeah. Or worse.”

Laura shivered, and for a moment, the mood dimmed. “That’s fucked up.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But it also means the people in charge, the Masters, the Hosts, they have a responsibility. You can’t just... let things happen. You have to decide.”

She pressed her palm against the claws, then looked up. “Are you going to start giving orders now, Andy? Dominate us all with your iron will?”

He grinned, glad for the levity. “Absolutely. First order: mandatory hugs, every hour. Second: never mention koala claws again.”

“Denied,” Laura said, then smiled, small but sure.

They sat, the Suite window filling with sunlight. Andy stacked the letters, careful and deliberate. “This is... nice,” Laura said, voice quieter now. “Having people care. Even if they’re strange.”

“It is,” Andy agreed. He found the last one. It was plain, stark, addressed in the careful, blocky script of someone who didn’t trust their handwriting. There were no stickers, no wax, no perfume. Just the envelope, and inside, a single page.

He read:

I’m honestly not the kind of guy who writes things like this, but when I heard about what happened, I couldn’t help myself. I’m really happy for you. I know what it’s like to get a second chance like this. How important it is. Don’t mess it up like I did.

Nick Reynolds

He read it three times, then passed it to Laura. She scanned it with the narrowed, analytical look she reserved for pop quizzes and unannounced math homework. “That’s it?” she asked. “No cryptic advice, no magical artifacts, no protein powder?”

“That’s it,” Andy said. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he let it go, slow and uneven.

Laura watched him, waiting.

He shrugged. “I met him at my birthday party. He’s a Master, from a different set that’s also an island. His Host sent him to the party but told him it was a high school reunion. He and his other companions were mortified about that. We talked for maybe an hour, but it was... weird. His life is like a sideways version of mine, or vice versa.”

She rested her chin on her fist, genuinely curious. “What does that mean?”

“He also lost his best friend—her name was Dakota, she drowned, too. Except she was twelve, not thirteen. He has a blue-haired best friend who is a lesbian, called Dani. He has a super-genius catgirl, Dawn, who came to the party with them. And his Host, well, she just let the whole thing spiral out of control. Dakota was resurrected at the start of his season. That’s what made him who he is, or maybe it’s what broke him.” He hesitated. “I think he wanted to warn me that even when you get the thing you lost, it isn’t simple. It doesn’t fix you.”

Laura took that in, turning it over. “It doesn’t sound like it worked out, does it.”

Andy shook his head, setting the letter down with exaggerated care. “No, it really doesn’t. But he still wanted to say he was happy for us.”

She glanced at the remaining pile—her own unopened stack, taller than Andy’s now. “You think Dakota wrote me, too?”

He smiled, a little crooked. “I’d be shocked if she didn’t. Maybe you can help her.”

Laura was silent, tracing the edge of the page with one finger. “Maybe,” she said. But the look on her face said she’d already decided: she would.

Laura shuffled her unopened mail, searching for a particular return address—maybe not consciously, but Andy saw her knuckles whiten as she fanned the envelopes and picked out two identical ones from the pile. They were both addressed in the same neat, rigid handwriting; both carried the same zip code. She opened the first with a slow, even rip, careful not to tear the page inside.

She read, silently at first, but then her lips began to move. Andy didn’t need to see the words to know the tone; her faces, always more expressive than his own, had gone taut, a line of tension running from her jaws to the tip of her noses.

So you think you’re so special. You think you can just waltz back into the world and that the man you love will just take you back? You think his words matter? You think he can still love what you’ve become? When he has so many better women to choose from? Women who aren’t tainted like you? How pathetic.

Dakota

Laura let the letter drop into her lap. She stared at it, lips pursed, as if the page might start to burn and she’d have to choose whether to let it or put it out. “Well,” she said after a long moment, “it sounds like Dakota and I would have gotten along.”

Andy reached for her hand, but she was already balling the letter up, then flattening it out again, over and over. “If things went badly with Nick, I’m guessing she... blamed herself, maybe?” Andy offered.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Laura said, her voice sharper than before. “If anything, it sounds like she wants to blame me for not failing.”

He thought about this, then nodded. “Maybe that’s all she knows how to do. If you lose everything once, it’s easy to start believing the world is rigged against you.”

Laura considered that. “She’s not wrong, is she?”

Andy let the question hang for a minute, then shook his head. “No. But she’s wrong about you.”

Laura looked down at the page again, and for the first time, Andy saw something like pity there. “Can you imagine how much it would hurt? Coming back, getting a second chance, and then watching it slip away anyway?” Her voice was so low he barely heard it. “How could you not start hating anyone who made it work, when you couldn’t?”

Andy remembered the pain in Nick’s eyes at the party. He wondered how many times Dakota had written letters like this—how many times she’d tried to reach someone, only to claw them back down when she couldn’t have what she wanted. “You’re going to write her, aren’t you?” he asked.

Laura nodded, but didn’t look up. “Yeah,” she said. “If nothing else, someone ought to tell her she’s still real. Even if she doesn’t want to hear it.”

She opened the second envelope from the same return address, but this one was in a different hand—rounded, bubbly, written with a gel pen that glittered under the light.

Hi Laura! As someone who’s also been brought back to life, I just wanna say, you’re killing it! It’s really great that you and Andy are confronting your past together and moving on to be happy together. There’s someone really important to me who I wish could follow in your footsteps.

Sylvia River

Laura blinked. “How many people get brought back to life here?” she asked, but the question had no bite to it, just honest surprise.

Andy laughed, a soft, disbelieving sound. “More than you’d think, I’d suppose. But for you? I guess it makes sense that all your mail is from people who understand that.”

She read the letter again, slower this time, as if searching for a code. “Who is she talking about? ‘Someone important’?”

Andy shrugged, but there was a knowing light in his eyes. “I think I know, but I’m not sure. If you write her back, I’ll tell you what I think.”

Laura smiled, tucking Sylvia’s letter into her pocket. “I will. It’s kind of nice, actually. Getting mail from people who don’t want something from you. Just... cheering you on.”

He nodded. “That’s what I like about the Master’s Support Group. No one’s competing. You can just say what you mean.”

She nodded, and this time her smile lingered, a little less guarded than before.

The next envelope was oversized, shimmering with a faint pearlescent gleam. As Laura slit it open, something dense and lumpy tumbled out onto the couch—a miniature plush blue dragon, complete with button eyes and embroidered wings. Laura stared at it, then at the now-flat envelope. “How did that fit?” she demanded.

“Don’t try to apply physics to anything in the Hotel,” Andy said. “You’ll just get a headache.”

Laura gingerly picked up the dragon, testing its wings, its tail. She pressed a finger to its chest, then laughed when it let out a low, recorded “rawr.” She squeezed it twice, and the sound effect played again. Then she found the letter, a single page written in a florid, old-fashioned hand:

Dear Laura,

Welcome to Harem Hotel. You’ve had quite a rough round of it, but congratulations on your revival, survival, and wedding. You and Andy are perfect together, and I wish you many long years of happiness. You have grown so much in just one round, I have no advice to give, only a gift. There is nothing magical to this small stuffed blue dragon, but she needs a good home and I can think of no one better to take care of her than you.

Shar

Laura hugged the dragon against one of her chests. “I think I like Shar,” she said.

“She’s one of the best Hosts. Writes every round,” Andy said. “She’s also kind of Sam’s patron.”

Laura blinked. “Sam has a patron?”

“Sort of,” Andy said. “Not officially, but Shar looks out for her. It’s this running thing, like Sam’s her project.”

Laura snorted. “Makes sense. Sam’s always collecting big sisters, isn’t she?” She squeezed the dragon plushie again, and it rewarded her with a metallic, slightly-off “rawr.” She held it up to her other face. “What’s the story?”

Andy ran a finger along the plushie’s spine, careful not to tickle her. “Shar’s a Host. She writes every round. Sends presents, advice. I understand she typically doesn’t write men, so the fact she wrote me once is a sign I’m doing something right, I suppose. She’s... I don’t know, kind of a cross between a Victorian governess and a Reddit mod.”

Laura digested this, then tilted the dragon toward him. “And the dragon?”

“Probably a metaphor,” Andy said. “Or maybe she just likes dragons. She’s the one who runs the show for a season where the Mistress is an actual dragon-woman. Her name is Laura Black.”

Laura blinked in stereo. She looked at him. “You’re shitting me.”

He grinned. “Nope.”

A moment passed while Laura rotated the plushie, inspecting it for hidden cameras. “It’s a little weird,” she said, “having another Laura around.” There was an undertone Andy recognized—a shiver of something old and sharp, now worn smooth.

He shrugged. “She’s nothing like you. She’s six feet tall, wears power suits, drinks black coffee and has a literal set of wings. She’s not fully human anymore.” He paused, then amended, “She has the energy of your old math teacher.”

Laura looked at the dragon, then at him, then back at the dragon. “Was it weird? Meeting her?”

“A little, at first,” Andy admitted. “But she’s funny. Dry, but funny.” He hesitated. “We met up for a day off. Just to talk about our seasons, decompress, I guess. Arabella and Shar set it up. Laura ended up giving me advice on how to keep the group together, and how not to break under the pressure.” He scratched his chin. “I saw her again at my birthday party.”

Laura’s eyebrow went up. “You have groupies?”

“Not like that. At the party I also met Mark, another Master—he can change into Mary, it’s a whole thing—and Nick, who wrote that letter before.” He laughed. “And Tyalangan. The five of us ended up in a corner, comparing notes.”

Laura’s lips twitched. “A Master’s Support Group?”

Andy nodded, sheepish. “We actually called it that.”

She cuddled the dragon plushie against her cheek, smothering a smile. “I always thought you’d end up with a friend group as weird as you.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not that weird.”

“You’re right,” Laura said. “It’s much weirder.”

They both grinned, and for a moment the room was just sun and paper and the soft crunch of a plush dragon being hugged within an inch of its life.

“Do you want to see what’s next?” Andy asked, voice softer now.

Laura nodded, and her other self reached for the next envelope. This one was massive, almost a package, sealed in turquoise tape and stamped with a cartoon logo: “Harem Hotel Retail Store – Est. ???.” There were three customs labels on the front, and one had been signed by someone named “Alex,” in thick black marker.

Laura poked at the box with a clawed finger. “Want to bet what’s inside?” she asked.

“Plushie,” he guessed. “Or... something less wholesome.”

She sliced the tape with a careful flick of the new koala claw gauntlets. Two objects tumbled out: the first was a plushie unmistakably designed to resemble Laura herself, smiling innocently, brightly blue-eyed, with a tiny blue skirt, a white t-shirt, and an even tinier stitched-on L-shaped scar just below the jaw. The second plush was a punky, dark-haired girl with platinum blonde streaks, big black feathered wings, and goth makeup, wearing a black t-shirt and a tartan skirt, with wild eyes and, Andy swore, a removable guitar slung over one shoulder.

Laura’s face lit up. “No way,” she breathed.

There was a letter, written on actual lined paper, but the margin was covered in electric blue doodles: guitars, hearts, lightning bolts. She started to read, voice picking up speed as she went:

Laura,

You and I are a rare breed, dudette. I know our circumstances are a bit different, but I can relate to some of your struggles. So, I only made a few brief appearances in the reunion episodes for (I guess) my season, but one of my fiancées won the game. The producer demanded that she use at least part of the wish on something selfish, something just for herself. For that I am eternally grateful because she wished for me, alive and well again, in her arms. And it was done. I found myself in a strange situation, of course. Scarlet was an oread and stuck in a harem (with an admittedly pretty cool chick at the head of it), six years older, scarred from my ****. And she was dating like half of the people in the harem. And we were in this crazy porn logic fantasy world. It was a little overwhelming, those first few months. I adjusted; started playing music again, joined the harem (one of the girls had a TF for it), became a valkyrie for my naked purple goddess, got married to my three wives. Life is good here.

So, I get the whole ‘being brought back from the dead’ thing. You are allowed to struggle with it. It’s okay if you aren’t dealing with it well at the moment. It’s only been a couple of weeks for you and you were dead longer than I was. Just always remember that you are back because Andy loves you so much that he broke reality to drag you into the world of the living again.

Presents! Everyone loves presents! You seem to like stuffies, so I got you a couple from our local Harem Hotel retail store. One is of you; it can magically separate into two smaller yous (like you can). One is of me (couldn’t resist); it works like a Teddy Ruxpin. I have my demo tape loaded in, raring to go. I hope you like strange metal genres! I have the literal only electric guitar equivalent in the whole dimension over here. So, metal features a lot more lute solos than you would expect.

I should probably plug my naked purple goddess, but that’s really more Skye’s thing? Ooh, she’s a prankster too! She once turned the seawater in the Royal Bedroom pool into pina colada flavored jello on Tyalangan’s birthday! Her face was priceless!

Catch you on the flip side,

Alex
Fifth Wife of Tyalangan, 48th Queen of the Copse-Wood Throne
Click here to check out my upcoming gigs!

Laura stopped, then let out a laugh—high and wild, echoing off both sets of lips. She squeezed the Alex plushie, and it let out a warbling guitar riff, followed by a “YEEEAHHH!” in a voice that was almost certainly the real Alex.

Andy watched as Laura pressed the two plushies together, like they were having a high-speed headbang-off. “She’s wrong though,” Laura said. “Rare breed, my ass.” She glanced meaningfully at Dakota’s and Sylvia’s letters.

He reached for the Laura plushie. “Wait, does it really split?”

Laura shrugged, then gently tugged at the seam running down the middle. There was a faint swoosh, and the plush toy came apart—neatly, cleanly, not even a trace of ****—and now there were two Lauras, each slightly smaller, identical except one wore the skirt and t-shirt, the other now somehow wore a tiny hoodie.

Andy tried not to laugh. “Are you supposed to give one away?”

“Never,” Laura said. One of her bodies held both in her arms, while the other still cradled the blue dragon close. She looked up at Andy, both faces suddenly thoughtful. “I’ve never had a toy that split before,” she said.

“You’ve never had two bodies before, either,” he replied, and Laura just smiled, soft.

She arranged the plushies on the couch between them: Laura One, Laura Two, the dragon, and Alex, now holding her guitar at a heroic angle. “Do you think,” she asked, voice lighter now, “that this is what heaven’s like? Or just a very weird purgatory?”

Andy considered. “I think,” he said, “if you get plushies of yourself delivered by mail, it can’t be hell.”

She nodded, satisfied. “We’re going to have to get a shelf. Or maybe a trophy case.”

He looked at the growing pile. The dragon, the claws, the fingerless gloves, the two (no, make that three) other plushies, the headband, the map. “We’re running out of space already.” He watched as Laura’s two bodies each hugged a plushie, then leaned into him, mirroring a gesture from a hundred different childhood sleepovers, a thousand lazy Saturday mornings. She looked at him—both of her—and the look was equal parts ferocious and tender.

Andy eyed the last two pieces of mail. One was an envelope so generic it could have come from a utility company, but the handwriting—angular, deliberate—caught his attention. The other was a cream-colored envelope with the names “Katherine & Samson Drei” penned in a looping, familiar hand. He picked up the first and turned it over, frowning.

“From Hardric,” he announced.

Laura, one set of eyes on the letter and the other on the couch, made a thinking noise. “Should I be familiar with the name?”

“I suppose not,” Andy said, lips twitching. “Daphne, one of Tyalangan’s wives, treats his letters like a badge of honor. I suppose they never got one for their past season, but I understand she has an empty frame ready for when Hardric finally writes. ”

Laura grinned. “Sounds like quality television.”

He slit the envelope with a finger and scanned the page. “You want me to read it out loud, or...?”

Laura made a “bring it on” gesture, all four hands at once. He obliged, voice slipping into a slightly deadpan imitation of the writer’s tone:

Greetings.

Your season has been a most interesting one to watch. And, just as importantly, one that felt good to watch developing. The risk of elimination in the first rounds was worrying me, but I do cheer for the fact you managed all to evade this. Even with your Host showing the kind of disposition to not make the worst out of them, for instance by housing eliminated candidates… Not wishing this for anyone, period. Always preferred when this insanity of a show goes in a direction like yours. The rough edges happened, but despite some moments, it was good to see you all managing to deal with them and move forward. Even when ‘some moments’ can sometimes be an euphemism. I say take heart in this, and keep it in mind. A clear sign that you can keep building this all together, and that it will last for as long as these TFs say you’re set for. It is also heartening to see this is not something exclusively centered on the Master.

My tastes might be more on the polycule side, but this is nonetheless good to see a Harem where all members do contribute to keep things running. Bluntly told, even with a Master, or Mistress, pretty sure this is the only way this stuff can be sustainable in the long run, without talking of inside the show.

And I do guess congratulations are in order for the two Harem Queens that did get crowned recently. Only step left is ensuring the others get through the threshold too. But I feel like it won’t be much of a problem for you people to achieve with what time is left for you.

I hope the Harem I’m part of, my Master and Host clear the bar you set in the domain, you and others like Laura Black’s, Mark’s… Might want to keep this list short-ish and stick to two cases. I’d say it’s what aimed at so far, but I do guess it is up to us to make good of it.

Keep going,

Hardric

PS: If one Dakota does talk shit about Laura in the mail, ignore her. Parallel situation, shittier choices from admittedly shittier context, pissed away her second chance with **** prejudice. And murderously hypocritical if she dares bring up proper parenting to boot.
PPS: Wish I could find the time again for individual letters for everyone. At least I sent this.

Andy stopped. The room felt very still for a beat. Then Laura rolled her eyes, but it was a gentle, almost affectionate gesture.

“He nailed the Dakota thing,” she said, “but at least she didn’t drag me on parenting.”

Andy let the letter droop onto his thigh. “Did you want her to?”

Laura shrugged, then took a closer look at her own hands, like she might find some secret message on her palms. “No. I used to have enough hangups on that without Dakota’s help.”

He watched her for a moment, then asked, “Do you want to write him back?”

Laura’s mouth twisted, like she couldn’t decide whether to be snarky or grateful. “If you see him at the next interdimensional mixer, tell him thanks for the warning.” She paused, then more quietly, “And that he’s right. I do want to keep building this all together. Even if it’s weird.”

Andy smiled. “That’s the whole point.” He picked up the last envelope. “You ready?” he asked.

Laura flashed a double thumbs-up. “Hit me.”

He read the label: “To: Katherine Summers and Samson Drei.” A pause. “That’s… specific.”

Laura cocked her head. “Samson the dog? The same Samson that ate all of Riley’s underwear?”

Andy grinned. “He’s working his way through the entire Hotel’s supply.”

Laura said, “I hope Katherine likes getting mail.”

Andy hesitated, then stood. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s deliver it in person.”

He offered a hand to both Lauras, and they got up, blue dragon and punk rocker plush in tow, trailing after him to the bedroom.

Katherine’s painting had been remounted by Mildred since the party, high up on the wall above the headboard, centered so she could see the whole room. The painted girl was standing in her impossible meadow, long black hair blowing sideways, a nakedness so artful it made the mind skip, and eyes that fixed on Andy the instant he entered. He felt her attention like a gentle pressure in his skull.

He approached, the two Lauras flanking him. “Hey, Katherine,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Mail call. From Tyalangan’s set. Harper’s.”

She smiled, but Andy had learned to interpret the tilt of her head, the shift of her stance, the flicker in those painted eyes. The message was clear, even before she sent her emotions: curious, but wary.

“Do you want to read it, or should I?”

Katherine reached out with a painted hand, finger extended, and Andy took it as a “go ahead.” He unfolded the letter and began:

Katherine, and Samson.

I hope this letter finds the two of you well. A short letter this time, due to time constraints.

Katherine, know that I think often of you and still wish a way is found to free you of your painted prison. If my aid would help, let me know. I’m not quite at the power level of a producer, but I’m sure I could do something. For you, a selection of books from my world. You have that magic lectern; I’m sure having something new to read would be nice.

Samson, you are a good boy. Such a good boy. My pet fox got you some treats. I assume you can eat them? Double check with Arabella if you’re not sure, Andy. She has strange tastes for a pet.

Regards,
Tyalangan,
48th Queen of the Copse-Wood Throne
Ruler of Nimlith Grove
Masters Support Group – Member Emeritus.

Andy lowered the page. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, from inside the envelope, two things fell out: a stack of perfectly bound books—each titled in gold foil, with covers like bodice-ripper parodies of the Penguin Classics—and a single, vacuum-sealed sausage stick with a hand-drawn paw print sticker on it. There was a blue smudge at the edge, as if a fox had tried to sign the wrapper and gotten distracted.

Katherine stared at the books, then up at Andy, then back to the books. Her eyes widened, and her whole painted posture changed: she went from wary to bright, her arms stretched as if she was about to hug the entire bundle.

Laura, watching, let herself smile in a way that was careful and soft. “I wish we could let her have the books herself,” she said.

Andy nodded. “I’ll put them on her lectern. She can read them whenever she wants.”

He set the books beneath the painting. “Do you want to move your painting to the Banquet Hall? You could interact with everyone there.” he asked, quietly.

Katherine considered, then shook her head. Then she looked at Laura, and at Andy, and Andy felt a weird, welling warmth. Katherine was saying, as best she could, that this was her home. That she’d rather stay in the bedroom, with them.

Andy nodded. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll be back later if you want to talk.”

Katherine’s mouth curled, just for a split second, into the tiniest possible smile. Then she turned to the books, and Andy heard Laura exhale, both bodies at once.

They left the room together, the Lauras moving in perfect mirror, Andy following with the dog snack in his palm.

Back in the living room, Laura perched on the edge of the couch, knees pulled up, looking at the coffee table strewn with gifts and letters. She tapped the now-flattened envelope from Dakota, then picked it up again and smoothed it out.

“I think that’s it for today’s fanmail,” she said, voice light but her hands very still.

Andy sat next to her, close but not crowding, and for a moment they just looked at the pile: the claws, the dragon, the plushies, the silly books, the tiny, prickly, lonely words on each page.

Laura looked up, blue eyes clear and—just for an instant—unmasked. “Tell me about her,” she said. “Tell me about Dakota.”

Andy nodded. He let out a breath and gathered his thoughts, organizing them the way he always did, old habits from years of grief and learning not to drown in it. And then he started.