Intermission: The Hot Seat, Part 2

Arabella let the silence settle, as if waiting for the energy in the room to pick its own next note. When it arrived, she aimed it straight at Dawn: “Since that’s how we started, if it’s all right, I’d like to go in alphabetical order.” She turned to Dawn, who looked instantly, comically, like she’d just been asked to recite the Pledge of Allegiance on live TV.

Chloe, ever helpful, supplied, “That means you, Dawnie.”

Dawn’s ears turned scarlet. “You don’t have to,” she said, looking directly at Arabella and nobody else.

“It’s a public service,” said Riley. “If you don’t, the rest of us will never get to speak again.”

Norah rolled her eyes. “Like you weren’t waiting for a turn.”

Dawn straightened in her seat, which was not easy with the way her breasts had ballooned since the last round—her button-up was bravely holding out, but you could tell she’d considered a tactical retreat at least once that morning. “Okay. I’ll do it.” She made a face at Chloe, who made a “go on, get in there” shooing motion.

Arabella waited until everyone was settled and then—gently, even tenderly—began: “Dawn, this one came in from a repeat submitter, so we’ll open with it.”

{letter}

Statistically, what percentage of pings from Andy do you ignore?

{endletter}

Arabella looked curious, as if she genuinely hoped for a peer-reviewed answer.

Dawn’s mouth opened and closed. “I don’t ignore them, exactly,” she said. “It’s more like—I know when it’s actually important.” She turned to Andy for backup, but he had discovered something very interesting about the middle distance. “Most of the time, if I feel it, I can already tell it’s something you could handle yourself. So I just—” She made a small, apologetic gesture. “Let you.”

Andy looked like he was doing math he hadn’t asked to do.

“And at night,” said Riley, with the tone of someone pulling a thread, “do you also just let him?”

Dawn’s ears went the color of a stop sign. “At night,” she said carefully, “I know what kind of ping it is. And I know it’s not for me.”

The room took a moment to process this.

“So you’ve been screening his calls,” said Norah.

“I prefer ‘triaging,’” Dawn said, at her most concierge.

Arabella made a note. “Very diplomatic. Moving on.”

{letter}

You’re a front desk concierge. This place has portals, a sky library, a shop run by an eldritch entity, a forest made of glass, a temple to Persephone, and a cabana that shows memories. Professionally speaking — how would you rate the guest experience?

{endletter}

Dawn let out a tiny laugh, her hands fluttering at her lap. “I mean, I’ve worked at some really nice hotels, but nothing like this. The service is five stars, except sometimes the staff is a little… odd.” She shot a look at the nearest Mildred, who responded with an enigmatic half-smile and a movement of her hair that might have been a nod or a silent threat. “The food is amazing. The beds are perfect. And if you have a problem, you can ask Mildred.” She paused, then added, “I’d say it’s best for people who like surprises and don’t mind getting lost once in a while.”

Emily, who was two chairs down and utterly naked except for the hair that somehow covered her, said, “That’s the best review I’ve ever heard. We should put it on the brochure.”

Chloe leaned over. “Is there a brochure?”

Dawn, remembering her own time as a real-world concierge, said, “If there was, I’d sign on it. But I don’t think they care what we think.”

At this, one of the Mildreds actually snorted, a sound like a steam valve letting off pressure. Arabella, catching the cue, said, “Would you like to revise your statement about the staff being ‘odd’?”

Dawn blushed so hard her neck was crimson. “They’re very efficient,” she said, her voice at its tiniest. “They just… take some getting used to.”

Riley, without missing a beat, said, “That’s what people say about your new boobs.”

Dawn looked down at herself and, for a second, seemed on the edge of apologizing to her own chest. “They do get in the way, sometimes.”

Erin, who was seated next to Dawn, said, “Try having to sleep with these for months.” She cupped both hands under her own breasts. “It’s like having a weighted blanket you can’t take off.”

Riley, eyes never leaving Dawn, said, “You could always ask Andy to help with that. I know I have. Statistically, he probably wouldn’t say no.”

The table lost it. Arabella, not to be outdone by her own event, stacked the next question right on top.

{letter}

Does Mr. Sniffles have a room of his own yet, or is he still living in a drawer?

{endletter}

Dawn actually froze. Chloe was the first to break the silence, stage-whispering, “Tell them about the pajama drawer.”

Dawn, mortified, but aware there was no escape, said, “He has his own drawer in my nightstand. I wash him every week. Sometimes he sleeps with me, but only if it’s been a really bad day.” Her voice shrank with each word, until she sounded like the air inside a teacup.

Emily said, “That’s adorable. I used to have a bunny, too. But mine was, like, an actual bunny. I didn’t know about the stuffed one until Chloe told me.”

Chloe, who had her hand on Dawn’s arm now, said, “It’s literally her security bunny. He keeps the nightmares away. He’s part of the family.”

Norah, from the other end of the row, said, “What kind of monster writes in about the bunny?”

Dawn’s face, after the initial shock, settled into the warm glow of someone who’d just had their weirdest secret made safe by the people she loved.

Arabella waited for the volume to recede, then said, “Next question.”

{letter}

You wake up completely fine every single sunrise, no matter how tired or wasted you are when you go to sleep. Does that mean you’ve never had a bad morning since? Because that might be the actual best superpower in the whole show. Also, you can jump higher now! How high?? Has anyone measured?!

{endletter}

Dawn let out a breath. “It’s true. I can’t get hung over, or jet-lagged, or even tired. And the jumps—I don’t know, maybe four or five feet with a standing start? Chloe made me try it on the balcony once and I almost cleared the railing.”

Emily looked like she wanted to clap but was restraining herself. “That’s so cool! Can you do flips?”

Dawn shook her head. “Not on purpose. I almost landed on my face.”

Chloe, who seemed to delight in her friend’s physical prowess, said, “She could probably break the world record if she went back.”

Norah, in a voice both curious and devious, said, “I think the real question is, do the boobs make it harder, or do they help?”

Erin, deadpan: “It’s like physics class. More mass equals more force. She’s probably got a six-pack under there just from carrying them up the stairs.”

Riley, not to be outdone, said, “Imagine what she could do if she ever got mad.”

Dawn blushed so hard that the pink reached her scalp. “I don’t get mad.”

Chloe said, “She does, but she cries instead of yelling. It’s adorable.”

Andy said, “She’s never yelled at anyone, as far as I can tell. Even when she’s mad at me, she just sort of… vibrates.”

Arabella, clearly enjoying the spiral, said, “It’s good to know the spirit of scientific inquiry is alive and well among the haremettes.” She glanced down her clipboard, then at the next line.

{letter}

When are you visiting Dinah?

{endletter}

The question landed like a rock in the middle of a pond.

Dawn looked utterly baffled. “I—um, I didn’t have a meeting with Dinah. Should I?”

Riley, who had the voice for these moments, said, “They mean the Hollow Garden. To see if you’re, you know, pregnant.”

Dawn’s eyes got very wide. “Oh. Oh.”

Emily said, “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Dawn shook her head, then looked at Arabella. “I think I’d want to, if—” She trailed off, then regrouped: “I promise I’d go if I started feeling anything, but so far, nothing’s changed. I’ll go when Chloe wants to check, probably.”

Chloe gave her a hug, then said, “We’ll make a day of it. We can get lunch after.”

Dinah, who was seated next to Eden in the guest row and looked about as uncomfortable as a woman possibly could, said, “You can drop by anytime. Really.” Her voice was soft, but she managed to smile, and Andy realized this was probably the first time anyone in the room had seen her blush.

Dawn nodded, still blushing. “Okay.”

Arabella said, “Very good. One last question, then.”

{letter}

You are the sweetest thing in that building. So: what do you want that you have never once asked anyone for?

{endletter}

The question hung for a long time.

Dawn tried to shake it off, but the words didn’t come. She looked at Chloe, who just patted her hand and said, “It’s okay. You can say it.”

Dawn said, “I don’t want anything. I’m happy.”

Emily said, “There must be something.”

Dawn shook her head. “I’m happiest when everyone else is happy.”

Andy, softly: “You’re allowed to want things, Dawn.”

Dawn looked down at her hands, then up at Arabella. “I guess… I wouldn’t mind having a big family. Like, really big. But that’s not really for me. That’s for the kids.” She shrugged, like it was the smallest dream in the world. “But it would be nice.”

There was a hush. Then, smiling, Andy said, “I’m pretty sure we can do that.”

The harem took it in, each face a different shade of gentle, delighted, or all three at once. Riley grinned. Emily had gone glassy. Even Norah had softened a bit, her usual armor down.

Chloe, voice bright and full, said, “You’d be the best mom. You already are, even to us.”

Dawn smiled, blinking hard, then stood, walked up to Andy and plopped herself in his lap, leaning against him and folding her hands in her lap like a pro.

Arabella looked down at her clipboard, then back up with the kind of smile reserved for only the rarest of Host-moments. “Thank you, Dawn. You’re a hard act to follow, but we’ll do our best.” She turned to Emi. “Are you ready?”

Emi, who had been listening with the contented calm of someone who’d seen every permutation of family love and heartbreak, nodded. “Ready.”

Arabella shuffled her notecards, lips twitching. “Emi, the first one for you is a little odd, even by our standards.”

Emi folded her hands in her lap and looked up, expectant. “How odd is odd?”

Arabella gave her a thin, straight line of a smile. “Let’s say, ‘makes the catgirl question look like kindergarten.’ The question is...”

{letter}

Are your arms all equally yours? Or is there a hierarchy — a main pair, a backup pair, and two you’d honestly describe as, I don’t know, staff?

{endletter}

There was a second of pure, stunned silence. Then Emi blinked, her six arms all moving at once, as if they were briefly consulting with each other. “I— I guess I never thought of them as staff. That sounds like something a villain would say.” She smiled, shy but bright. “But it’s true that the top two are still my favorites. But they’re all me. I love all of them.”

Andy, unable to help himself, said, “I always thought it was like learning to ride a bike with more wheels.”

Emi nodded. “Or like typing with more than one finger, but you don’t realize you can use the rest until someone tells you it’s possible.”

Chloe, leaning in, said, “Can you pat your head and rub your tummy and do the Macarena, all at once?”

Emi giggled. “Yes, but it’s only impressive the first few times. After that, people start to look at you weird.”

Emily, who had always seemed to empathize with the more unique transformations, said, “I think it’s really beautiful. You look like a goddess.”

Emi’s blush could have set the table on fire.

Arabella, mercifully, cut in: “The next one.”

{letter}

Are you going to illustrate any of this? PLEASE illustrate this. Which scene first?

{endletter}

Emi grew very thoughtful. “I would want to start with the Garden of Glass. Or maybe the beach party. The one with all the fairy lights.”

Arabella nodded. “Thank you. One more for you, and it’s—well, you’ll see.”

{letter}

ok emi be honest. six arms. what is the single most logistically insane thing you have ever pulled off and did you need a running start.

{endletter}

Emi, already giggling, tried to get ahead of the question by muttering, “I promise it’s not going to be what you’re thinking,” but nobody in the room believed her for a second.

She said, “Okay, um, logistically insane? You mean, like, a world record or just… a six-armed feat?”

Arabella, grinning as if she already knew the answer, said, “I believe the submitter meant in any context. But if you’d rather talk about art, or food, or friendship bracelets, you’re welcome to interpret the question as you see fit.”

Emi thought about it, her middle left hand tapping out an anxious rhythm on her thigh while her other arms folded, or fidgeted, or traced invisible lines on the armrest. “The most complicated thing I’ve ever done—uh, maybe not most, but my favorite—was the gallery. In Paris. One canvas, live, in front of about a hundred and fifty people, and I did all of it with all six at once.”

“For the record,” Arabella said, “she asked me for that. I booked the room.”

“I asked for it,” Emi agreed, going pink. “Which is maybe the insane part. But the logistics—okay, everyone assumes it’s six brushes. It wasn’t, not all the time. It was two brushes, a palette knife, a rag, a spray bottle so the underlayer didn’t skin over, and then one hand that did nothing all evening except hold the palette, because every time I set the palette down I lost four seconds getting it back.”

She counted something on two separate sets of fingers, lost the thread of it, and gave up. “It’s a lot of four secondses. And you can’t stop, and there’s no undo, and they’re all just standing there.” She shrugged, her arms cascading in a coordinated shrug that made it look like a ripple of wings. “And, no, I didn’t need a running start. I needed a stepladder, which is worse, because it turns out it’s hard to climb a ladder holding six things.”

Then her voice dropped a little. “I could have bought a Reality Adjustment for it. Nobody in that room would have seen the arms at all. I thought about it for about a week.” A pause. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to be the least noticeable person in whatever room I’m in. I wanted to be the best thing in that one instead.”

Andy, who had been there for every minute of it, said, “You were. ” He turned to the others, proud. “She never stopped. Not once. Not even to step back and look.”

Emily’s eyes were huge. “That’s beautiful. And also, like, a little heartbreaking.”

Arabella, warm, said, “Thank you, Emi. You’re an inspiration for multitaskers everywhere.” She tapped her pen on her clipboard, then shifted her attention to Emily, who was tracing a single pink-tipped strand of hair through her fingers. “Emily, are you ready?”

Emily startled a little at being named, then smiled shyly. “Um. Ready.”

Arabella lifted a card. “First question.”

{letter}

The first thing you wore again after two years was a rose gold dress at a masked ball. What did you do with it afterwards?

{endletter}

Emily blushed, but her voice, when it came, was steady. “The dress… I still have it. The magic is gone, it was only enchanted for one evening.” She made a face that was half-pout, half-resigned. “But it’s pretty. I keep it on a hanger and sometimes I look at it and remember the party.”

Katherine made a subtle but clearly approving “thumbs up” from her chair. This, more than anything, seemed to relax Emily.

Andy, who’d been paying attention to Emily’s shifting body language, said, “You were beautiful in that dress, Em.”

Emily smiled, the kind that crinkled her eyes and showed her teeth. “Thank you, Andy. That was maybe the first time I didn’t feel like I was on display, even though it was a literal ballroom. Everyone was looking at the mask, not me.”

Arabella, catching the vibe, said, “The next question is a bit less sweet, but just as sincere.”

{letter}

You vetoed Handy Little Toy twice which is objectively the most badass thing anyone has done on this entire show. Did any part of you want it?

{endletter}

Emily didn’t answer at once. She let her hands drop to her lap, eyes on the floor. “I think… there’s a part of me that really likes being submissive. Or, I guess, being what people want me to be. But the transformation wasn’t about that, not really. It was about not being allowed to have my own reasons for things, just being used.” She glanced at Andy, as if for permission, then continued: “I know I have a lot of submissive tendencies, and I like being told what to do, but I think the thing that made me hate that transformation was, it wasn’t about being a person anymore. It was just… objectification, without even the part where you can say yes or no.”

Andy’s face was serious. “I think you did the right thing, Em. Nobody here thinks of you as just a toy.”

Emily’s whole body relaxed a notch, as if she’d been holding a rope tight and could finally let it go. “Thank you.”

Erin, surprisingly soft, said, “I’m glad you didn’t let it happen. If it had, I would have thrown the biggest fit the Hotel has ever seen.”

Chloe, teasing, said, “You’re still allowed to ask Andy to use you as a toy, but only if he says please first.”

Emily laughed, a real laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Arabella, now a little more formal, said, “You did what you needed to do, Emily. And you inspired a lot of other women to stand up for themselves.” She smiled, then moved on. “Thank you for being so open. Next, we have Erin.”

Erin, who had been lounging in a chair with her legs outstretched and her entire body on full display, didn’t so much as blink. “Let’s go.”

Arabella flipped the page. “We already covered the grudge garden, so here’s a new one.”

{letter}

Of everyone, you seem most willing to say “this is stupid” out loud. What’s the stupidest thing that happened that everyone else just went along with?

{endletter}

Erin deadpanned, “You want the short list or the long list?”

Riley, eyes narrowed and interested, said, “Give us the worst.”

Erin tilted her head, considering. “Emi’s kissing quest.”

Emi made a small sound and put two hands over her face.

“You got told your transformation would pay you points if you kissed every single person in the harem on the mouth,” Erin said, “and we lined up. That’s the part. Nobody argued, nobody asked what happens if you don’t, nobody said out loud that we were doing this in a garden in the middle of the afternoon.”

Norah, from across the room, deadpanned, “I was first.”

“You were first.”

“There was no discussion,” Norah said. “She walked up to me and I tilted my head like a woman getting her passport photo taken.”

Emily, delighted, said, “I was last!”

“And then,” Erin said, “when she finished, it just… unlocked a second one. ‘Master the Art of the Grope.’ That was the title. Or it might as well have been.” She spread her hands. “And I looked around, and I could see it landing on every single face in that circle. Everyone was already working out where they’d be standing.”

Riley admitted, “I’d have gone first.”

Andy said, “I remember thinking it was strange.” A pause. “I remember thinking it and not saying it.”

“Yeah,” Erin said. “That’s how it works. Somebody announces something ridiculous in a calm voice, and we all just fall in, because objecting means saying out loud where we actually live.”

Arabella, holding in laughter, said, “That was a very popular question, for the record.” She checked her notes. “Here’s another one.”

{letter}

You started out so angry and now you’re mint green, naked, radiant, pregnant and getting married. If someone had shown day-one you a photograph of right now, what would you have done?

{endletter}

Erin’s lips quirked. “I’d have asked if I was dead, or if I’d finally lost my mind.”

Chloe, supportive, said, “You look amazing.”

Erin rolled her eyes. “I look like a mutant celery with a breast obsession. But thank you, I’ve come to like it.”

Riley, dry, commented, “You look happy. That’s what matters.”

Erin looked at Andy, then back at Riley. “That’s the real change. I used to think happy was something you found, not something you made. I was wrong.”

Andy, quietly, said, “I think we all were, at first.”

Erin deadpanned, “Yeah. I just didn’t think I’d need to abandon the concept of clothing to feel happy.” She smiled. “But I am. So, for what is worth, I’m glad no one showed me that photo and I didn’t run for the hills.”

Arabella nodded, as if confirming a hypothesis. “Thank you, Erin.” She went on: “The last one is more personal.”

{letter}

Erin, you get wet when he LOOKS at you. How many times has that gone off during a group breakfast and you just had to sit there being normal. Give me a number, I will not judge.

{endletter}

Erin didn’t even hesitate. “Every single day. Sometimes twice before noon.”

Riley, cackling, said, “You’ve never once been normal at breakfast. Ever.”

Erin shrugged. “If he wanted me to be normal, he shouldn’t have made eye contact.”

Chloe, eyes twinkling, said, “What about the time you had to stand up for a toast and couldn’t?”

Erin glared. “That was sabotage. He did it on purpose.”

Andy, valiantly, said, “I swear I didn’t mean to.”

Marissa, voice syrupy, said, “I’m sure you didn’t, but it was very memorable.”

Erin, smirk in full force, said, “Good. I want the record to show I made the best impression possible.”

Arabella, pleased, said, “That concludes the Erin section. Thank you for your candor.”

The room was alive now, fully at ease, every woman relaxed in her own way, no matter how different or strange or unorthodox. The questions were getting sharper, the answers more honest. Andy felt himself lean into the rhythm, a little less like the Master of the Hotel and a little more like a passenger in his own story, delighted to watch it unfold.

Arabella glanced down at her clipboard, then up, eyes locking with Laura, who waited in the back row with both bodies perfectly still. “Next,” she said, “we have a few very interesting questions for Laura Cooper.”

---

Arabella met Laura’s eyes—both sets of them, which was always slightly uncanny, but today felt more like an honest accounting than a trick. “First,” she said, “we have a mechanical one.”

{letter}

Have you checked if any upgrades for Have a Spare let you get a third body? If so, why didn’t you upgrade already?

{endletter}

There was a brief, audible shift in the row. Laura’s two bodies looked at Andy, as if expecting him to take point. Then, with eerie simultaneity, both turned to Arabella. “There is an upgrade,” she said, perfectly in sync. “It’s called A Pair and a Spare.” She folded her hands in her laps, fingers lacing tight enough that Andy wondered if she could feel her own pulse double. “I haven’t bought it. I also can’t. I spent everything I had on two days.”

Chloe, who lived for the chance to pop the bubble, said, “Wait. Is that, like, two Lauras and a backup?”

Claire scrawled a note and flipped it around for Emily: previous evidence says three bodies, one soul.

Andy waited to be unsettled by the picture. Three of her, in sync or out of it, bickering with him over the kettle at seven in the morning. Nothing came. He had gotten so used to two that three arrived as a schedule change, and he sat with the small, private discovery that his own sense of normal had moved without asking him.

Erin, deadpan, didn’t miss a beat. “If you get a third, will you rent out the extra one for tasks? ‘Hello, this is Rent-A-Laura, what chores can I tackle for you today?’” Her voice was so flat that Andy couldn’t tell if she was joking or testing.

The harem burst out in varying degrees of “hell no” and “actually, wait, yes,” but it was Dawn who said, “We could use a backup for emergencies. Or at least so someone could keep an eye on JJ when the other two are busy.”

Emily, more earnest than the others, said, “Wouldn’t that be lonely? If the third one had to go sleep in a closet at night?”

There was a small hush, and Andy saw both of Laura blink at the same time, a little out of phase, as if the question had landed somewhere she hadn’t braced for.

“It isn’t lonely,” Laura said, both voices together. “It isn’t two of me taking turns. It’s one of me, in two places, and I’m good at it now. I like it.” Her hands stayed laced, but her cheeks pinked. “It’s a budget issue.”

Norah, who kept a running tally of everyone’s balance whether they wanted her to or not, said, “You’re at zero.”

“Yeah,” Laura said. “And most of what I spent the second time wasn’t mine to begin with.” Both of her faces started doing the same thing at the same moment, and both of them stopped. “So.”

Emily said, “I’ve got seven thousand six hundred.” It came out fast, before anyone else could get there, and then she looked slightly startled at herself and said it again anyway. “Seven thousand six hundred. I don’t spend it. I never know what to spend it on.”

Dawn was already sitting forward. “Thirty-three hundred. I’m happy to help.”

Claire wrote without looking up and turned the notebook around: I also have enough to spare. This is a solved problem. Stop treating it like a hard one.

“I’ll chip in,” Erin said, “on the condition that the third one takes the chore rota. I said what I said.”

Laura put both sets of hands up, one beat apart. “Stop. Stop it. I’m not taking—”

“You took mine,” Marissa said gently, and Laura shut her mouth.

Andy waited for the row to settle, and then said, “For the record, mine goes to three too.” Every head turned. “Same branch as Twice the Ruler. I’ve never bought it either.” He shrugged. “If she goes to three, I go to three. I’m not getting outnumbered in my own house.”

Norah, not looking up, asked, “Normal state is one Andy, one Andi… so what is the third one of you?”

“No idea.”

“That’s not a comforting answer.”

“It’s not a comforting menu.”

Both of Laura’s faces did something complicated at the same moment, exasperation and a warmth she plainly hadn’t meant to show in front of an audience. “Ask me again,” she said, “when it’s my money.”

Arabella nodded, not unkindly. “Thank you for the clarity, Laura. Next!”

{letter}

When both you and Andy are in the same room and one of you is about to lie, does the other know before you decide, or at the same time?

{endletter}

The room went still. Laura, to her credit, didn’t look away. “It depends. If we’re physically touching, it’s before.” She flexed her fingers, as if testing the idea. “If we’re not, it’s about the same time. But lately…” She trailed off, then started again. “Lately, the signal has been fuzzier. Like someone is tuning a radio and keeps missing the station.”

Andy, heart in his throat, said, “Yeah.” He felt the room look at him, all at once. “We both know why.”

There was a pause, heavier than the ones before. The only sound was the faint hum of the air system and the softer, always-running chatter of emotions that lived under the surface.

Erin broke the silence, because someone had to. “So you’re saying if you ever try to bullshit each other, it’s basically a disaster?”

Laura, both of her, smiled. “It’s more like a feedback loop. If one of us tries, the other gets it instantly. There’s no point.”

Andy, feeling braver, said, “It’s like fighting a magnet with another magnet.”

Claire, without raising her head, flipped a page: Mutual self-annoyance as a defense mechanism.

There was laughter, softer than before, but genuine. Arabella let it crest, then dipped back in. “Next question.”

{letter}

There are two of you but you’re one person. When people get it wrong—when they say “the Lauras”—does that actually sting, or is it just tiresome?

{endletter}

Both of Laura grinned, sharp and matching. “It only stings if they mean it as a plural. It’s not plural. It’s just me.” She turned, both bodies at once, to look at the front row. “I’m not sure there’s anyone else like that. So when it happens, I usually just correct them. If they keep doing it, I get annoyed.”

Chloe, soft, said, “We’ll work on it. Right, guys?”

Emily nodded, and Claire, with a small scribble, held up: One Laura, two bodies, infinite patience.

Arabella nodded, then: “Next question.”

{letter}

You wanted sisters your entire short life and you got twelve of them. Which one surprised you most by actually behaving like one?

{endletter}

For a second, it looked like Laura might stall, but then she just blinked and said, “Thirteen, actually. There’s Katherine.” She looked at the naked woman, which nodded in acknowledgment. “I didn’t think I would get along with Erin. I thought I’d want to, but I figured we’d be rivals or something. Instead, she acts like a sister. She even tried to show me how to punch right.”

Erin, uncharacteristically pine green, said, “You never let me show you the left hook.”

Laura grinned. “You’d have broken my jaw.”

Erin shrugged. “It would have healed.”

Andy, catching the undertone, saw that what was being said was different from what was meant. There was a fierce pride to being called out, and a deep, unspeakable relief at not having to fight for the role.

Chloe, quietly, said, “I was going to say, I didn’t think we’d be friends again. But we are, right?”

Laura nodded. “We are.”

Marissa, voice gentle, said, “You’re an amazing sister to all of us.”

Liesa, across the semicircle, said, “I’m glad I have you as a sister.” She paused, then added, “Or two.”

The room rippled with a series of “Awww” and “That’s sweet,” and for a moment, the logic of the place held.

Arabella waited for the energy to quiet, then hit the next line.

{letter}

You once gave yourself a henna wolf and gave Mr. Cooper something recorded as a half-blind possum. Was the possum a failure of draughtsmanship or a deliberate act? And has he ever been informed of the answer?

{endletter}

Laura, both faces perfectly neutral, said, “It was a test. If he could tell it was a possum, it was a pass. If he couldn’t, I’d have told him it was a wolf anyway and he’d have believed it. He did pass, but he also didn’t complain. So he kept it for the week.”

Chloe, giggling, said, “That makes so much sense.”

Claire, in large block letters: Should do again.

Erin, deadpan, said, “That’s the most on-brand thing you’ve ever said.”

Laura, dry, replied, “Thank you. I aim for consistency.”

Arabella, holding in a laugh, set her clipboard aside for a second and said, “Next.”

{letter}

What’s the thing about being twenty-nine that thirteen-year-old you would be most delighted by?

{endletter}

The question stopped Laura in her tracks. She sat, two bodies side by side, and didn’t say anything for a long time. Andy wondered if she was struggling, or just giving herself the chance to feel it all the way through.

When she finally answered, it was quiet, but it rolled through the room. “That I’m alive,” she said. “That I get to try again. That it wasn’t a waste. I thought, if I was gone, everything would just keep moving and I’d be erased. But Andy didn’t let go. Nobody here did. Even when I didn’t want to stay, they kept showing me I could.”

Riley, who had never once been caught weeping in public, wiped her face and said, “You deserve it, L.”

Emi said, “You really do.”

Laura, blushing, said, “That, and the coffee here is better than anything we ever had at the old place.”

Chloe, after a beat, commented, “That’s what I would have picked, too.”

Arabella cleared her throat, delicately. “Thank you, Laura.” She looked down at the page, then at the assembled group. “Last one for now. From Sarah Hawkins, a Contestant who just joined a new season, where the Master is her husband. She'll be at the wedding.”

{letter signed "Sarah Hawkins"}

Is there anything you think the other girls do for Andy that you don’t or can’t give him yourself?

{endletter}

Andy saw it land, sharp and sudden. He watched as Laura looked at the group—at Claire, at Chloe, at Riley, at Emi, at Liesa, at Marissa, at Erin, at all of them—and for once, she didn’t have an answer ready.

It was Claire who wrote: You don’t have to answer.

But Laura did. “I think… I think every one of you gives him something different. I used to want to be the only one who mattered. Now I know that’s not how it works.” She drew in a breath, then said, “I’m not the best at forgiveness. Or at starting over. Or at letting go. I think Chloe is better at that. I think Claire is better at noticing things. I think Riley is better at holding the line. I think Emily is better at believing things will turn out all right.” She hesitated, then: “But I don’t want to give him all of it. I want to share it. Because that’s what makes us work.”

There was a moment of total, unguarded silence.

Andy, very quietly, said, “That’s what I wanted, too.”

Laura, both bodies, smiled at him, and then she said, “You’re not allowed to start crying, or I’ll start, and then everyone will, and Arabella will never get through her cards.”

Andy said, “Noted,” and tried to laugh, but it came out crooked.

Chloe, soft, said, “We love you, Laura.”

Riley, gruff, said, “Yeah. Don’t ever forget it.”

Arabella closed the moment with a practiced, Host-perfect sweep. “Thank you, Laura. I think we can all agree you’ve answered more than enough for now.” She turned, fixing the full force of her smile on the next in line. “Liesa, are you ready?”

---

Arabella’s eyes lingered on Liesa for just a heartbeat, as if she was enjoying the anticipation almost as much as the event itself. Liesa herself shifted in her seat, hips cocking sideways in that absent, feline way her body had adopted since her last transformation. Even seated, her posture was a kind of performance—a subtle, lived-in sensuality that made you want to check if she was doing it on purpose. She wasn’t. That was the point.

“Liesa,” Arabella said, and somehow made the name sound more musical than the word itself. “This one comes from a very thoughtful viewer.”

{letter}

What’s the sexiest thing anyone in that house has ever done that wasn’t sexual at all?

{endletter}

Arabella gave it a little beat, then added: “You may exclude Andy for the sake of fairness.”

The room went momentarily weightless, as if everyone had just realized the question could, in fact, mean them.

Liesa’s cheeks flushed, not the delicate blushing of embarrassment, but the full-wattage pink of someone who’d just been surprised with their own feelings in public. She considered, eyes scanning the semicircle as if searching for the right answer at the back of the class. Then, inevitably, her gaze settled on Sam.

The moment stretched. Sam, who had not been expecting to be put on the spot, looked like she was about to joke it off—then she caught the look in Liesa’s eyes and went very, very still.

Liesa said, “Sam. The night I told everyone about the ribbon.” Liesa’s voice went softer, almost reverent. “I stood up at that table and I could not get the sentence out cleanly, and she was already out of her chair. Before I finished. She put her arms around me and she stayed there for all of it.” Her voice fluttered, and she looked away for a second. “She was crying. I could feel it. She held on anyway.”

Sam, who was usually unflappable, visibly flinched. A flush crept up her neck, and for once, she had nothing ready to say.

The room absorbed the story. There was no giggling, no “that’s what she said,” just a hush that was all respect and a little bit of envy.

Riley, who never missed a chance to puncture a moment, said, “That’s the sexiest thing? A hug?” Then she remembered where she had been sitting that night, and what she had said from it, and the rest of the joke went out of her.

Liesa met her eyes, sharp now. “Yes. Because she didn’t have to. I lied to her for weeks. To her, specifically, more than anyone.” She looked at Sam again. “Everybody at that table was still deciding what they thought of me. She had already decided. She’d had weeks to decide, and I hurt her, but she came around the table anyway.”

Sam, voice rough, said, “I didn’t think I was doing anything. I couldn’t sit down.”

Liesa’s mouth curled into a smile that was half shy, half daring. “You still can’t.”

Chloe’s hand went to her heart. “That’s actually really sweet.”

Even Norah, who was allergic to feelings, said, “I made you buy me drinks over that.”

“You did.”

“That was not a fair trade.”

Arabella, eyes twinkling, said, “Thank you, Liesa. That was beautifully honest. Here’s your next one.”

{letter}

You move sensually whether or not you wish to. Is there still a version of you underneath, moving normally, or has the body simply become the body?

{endletter}

The question landed like a stone dropped from a great height. Liesa blinked, caught slightly off guard. She sat back, her hands smoothing the hem of her skirt in a motion that was somehow both nervous and cinematic.

She didn’t answer right away. The harem waited, as if giving her the dignity of finding the words.

“I think…” Liesa’s accent was stronger, as it always was when she got nervous. “I think there’s still a me in here. I see the way I move. Sometimes I even get angry at myself, because I want to just walk across the room, and instead I have to do this—” She demonstrated, twisting her hips and arching her back in a way that made several women in the front row look away, embarrassed. “It’s not always fun. Sometimes I just want to be left alone. But it’s also… part of me now.”

Andy, gentle, said, “Do you ever feel like it’s too much?”

Liesa smiled, a little sad. “It’s only too much if I try to stop it. If I let myself just feel it, it gets easier. That’s what Sam taught me.” She looked at Sam, and there was so much affection in the gaze it could have lit the room. “You told me once it was okay to be who I am, even if it’s a lot.”

Sam shrugged, but her voice was low and earnest. “You are a lot. In the best way.” She smiled. “I love you.”

Liesa’s whole body relaxed, as if the confession had lightened her by half. “I love you too,” she said, and this time it was just for Sam.

Arabella let the silence ring, then said, “That was perfect. Thank you, Liesa.” She looked over her notes, then shifted to the next chair. “Marissa, are you ready?”

Marissa was always ready. She had the look of someone who had already lived the entire panel in her head the night before and had prepared bullet points for every possible branch of conversation. She folded her hands, straightened her posture, and nodded once, all business.

“Excellent,” said Arabella. “The first question is from Hardric, and it reads...”

{letter signed "Hardric"}

If this show gave you a way to allow Sarah and Jennifer to have children together, would you try and offer it to them?

{endletter}

Marissa blinked. It was the tiniest, most controlled sign of surprise imaginable, but it was there. “That’s very… specific,” she said.

“It is,” said Arabella. “But it’s also not hypothetical. There are two different ways in this room alone for two women to have a child together.”

Marissa’s eyes flicked, involuntarily, to Sam and Liesa, then to Arabella. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Does it help with your answer?” Arabella’s tone was purely curious.

Marissa hesitated, then said, “I’m not sure. I spent most of my life thinking of Sarah as someone to protect. As someone I’d have to watch out for, and never as…” Her face softened, her whole body losing its usual shield. “Never as someone who would want to be a mother.”

Claire, softly, scribbled a note and held it up: The question is if you would want it for her, not if it’s possible.

Marissa read the note, took it in. “I don’t know if I want it for her. But I want her to have whatever she wants.” She looked at Andy, then at Arabella. “So, yes. I’d want her to have the choice. Even if it meant letting her go farther from me.”

The harem took it in. Andy saw, for the first time, the echo of the woman who had once parented her own sister at nineteen, the one who could not let herself need anything as long as Sarah needed her. It made sense that Marissa would find the possibility of Sarah’s independence both wonderful and a little bit terrifying.

Erin, deadpan, said, “You realize she’s probably going to have, like, six.”

Marissa, without missing a beat, admitted, “She always did like to win.”

The room broke into laughter, not at Marissa but with her, and even Arabella seemed delighted.

“Thank you,” Arabella said, her smile warmer than before. “Next.”

{letter}

Did you ever take notes on Arabella? Psychological notes, I mean. If so, what is your conclusion?

{endletter}

Marissa answered instantly, not even pausing to consider. “I did. Several times.”

“And?”

Marissa’s tone went full clinical. “Arabella is very good at her job. She has an internal schema for every person in this building and is constantly revising it. But her main motivation isn’t power, or control, or even the show. It’s to create a story that everyone will want to remember. I think she’s been lonely for a long time.”

There was a pause, then Arabella, half-laughing, said, “That’s very flattering, but not entirely accurate.”

“Which part?”

“I would add ‘to create a story with an audience.’ The story doesn’t mean anything if nobody is watching.”

Andy, softly, said, “Does it matter if they’re watching, or if they care?”

Arabella’s eyes sharpened, just for a second, then softened. “That’s the same thing, in my experience.”

Liesa, from across the row, said, “I think you like being seen, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Arabella gave her a long, level look. “Perhaps I do.”

Marissa, clearly satisfied, nodded.

Arabella found her place on the clipboard. “Moving right along.”

{letter}

On a scale of one to “call somebody,” how is everyone in that house actually doing? And are you included in that assessment?

{endletter}

Marissa actually smiled. “You want the full list?”

“Please.”

She took a moment, scanning the room. “Riley: 4 out of 10. You’re carrying more than you show, but you let it out in small doses so you don’t collapse. Chloe: 1.5 out of 10, but only if you’re given enough cookies. Erin: 2, but trending downwards. Dawn: 1. She’s living her best life.” Marissa went around the circle, naming each in turn, and each rating landed with a mix of amusement and genuine affection. “Liesa: 4, but that’s because she’s always convinced she should be a 6. Sam: 2.5. Norah: 3, but she’d never admit it. Emily: 2, unless someone makes her cry, in which case it goes up to 6 for the rest of the day. Emi: 1. Claire: 1, but add one if you make her answer in public. Katherine: I’d put her at 2, but I want to be clear that’s a very good 2. She’s found something most people in this room haven’t.” A small pause. “Laura: 7. But she’s working on it.” Another pause, quieter. “Myra: 5, but descending fast.”

She paused, then said, “Mildred: I have no idea. She’s off the scale. I would rate her as ‘Ask Again Later.’” The room giggled. “Arabella: 8, but don’t ask her about it.” She turned to herself. “Me? I think I’m a solid 7, but I know better than to trust my own numbers.”

Andy, quietly, said, “You’re not doing that badly, Marissa.”

Marissa nodded, but didn’t argue.

Riley, not missing a beat, said, “What about Andy?”

Marissa looked at him. “7. But it fluctuates. He does better when the rest of us do.”

The room agreed with a series of nods, and Arabella moved to the next question.

“This one is from someone very special,” she said, “and I’d like you to answer it in your own words. It’s from Maeve.”

Marissa’s eyes went very bright. She sat straighter, her focus absolute.

{letter signed "Maeve Petrov"}

Do you ever regret… opening yourself to Andrew? Would you change anything? Did we make a mistake?

{endletter}

Arabella did not add commentary; the words alone carried enough gravity.

Marissa took a long breath. When she answered, it was as if she was speaking directly to her mentor, and not a room full of people. “I don’t regret it. I needed to know if I could ever trust anyone again, after what happened to Mom and Dad. Andy isn’t perfect, but he tries so hard to be good. Even when he fails, it matters that he keeps trying.” She looked at Andy, held his eyes, and said, “I think you would understand, Maeve. It isn’t about being safe, or certain, or even right. It’s about not hiding anymore.”

She swallowed, voice a little rougher. “I hope you didn’t make a mistake. I hope you let yourself have the thing you wanted.”

The room was dead quiet. Andy, for a moment, felt like he was intruding on something private, but he also knew the question had been meant for everyone in the room.

Marissa added, “Will you make sure she gets that, Arabella?”

“I promise,” said Arabella. “She’ll have it by tomorrow morning.”

Marissa nodded, then let herself breathe again.

Arabella continued. “Here’s a question from Emma.”

{letter signed "Emma Murphy"}

I know therapy doesn’t really work on quick tricks, but do you have any advice for someone still in the first round to try and get everyone through this?

{endletter}

Arabella added, “Emma is a contestant in a very recent season, and her Master is her ex-boyfriend. It’s been difficult, I think.” She paused. “Matt, pay attention. Emma could use support.”

Marissa didn’t hesitate. “There are no tricks. But if you’re in the first round, you should find the person who needs help the most, and help them first. Don’t try to fix the whole group at once. Just one person. Even if it’s yourself.” She looked at the rest of the harem. “Does anyone else want to add?”

Chloe, hand up, said, “Be honest, even if you don’t want to be.”

Riley nodded. “Don’t waste energy on the people who hate you. It’ll kill you before the Hotel does.”

Emily smiled faintly. “Let yourself be loved. Even if you don’t think you deserve it.”

Dawn nodded. “It’s okay to ask for help. Even from the staff.”

Claire wrote, in block letters: *Be gentle with yourself. Nobody else will*.

Emi grinned. “Even if you mess up, you get another chance tomorrow.”

Liesa, softly, shrugged, “Don’t be afraid of wanting things. It’s okay to want.”

Marissa smiled at the collected wisdom, then said, “I hope that helps, Emma.”

Arabella, pleased, nodded. “Last question, Marissa.”

{letter}

You’ve said that being handled — being told what to do — arouses you and frightens you in the same breath. Has the fear gone?

{endletter}

Marissa’s composure never cracked, but her fingers curled tight in her lap. “No,” she said. “The fear never goes away. I just know how to live with it better. And sometimes, if the person giving the order is gentle enough, it turns the fear into something good.”

Andy, softly, said, “I hope I am gentle enough.”

Marissa looked at him, eyes very warm, and said, “You are. Always.”

Arabella closed the segment with a graceful sweep of her hand. “Thank you, Marissa. That was even more than I hoped for.” She turned her full attention to the next seat, and everyone in the room felt the shift in the air as she said, “Myra, if you’re ready, we’ll begin.”