Emily's Night

The elevator doors slid open with a hushed pneumatic sigh, revealing the lounge of Andy's suite. Emily stood frozen at the threshold where polished elevator floor met plush carpet. Angled gold from the far windows spilled across the room, leaving the corners in shadow. She smoothed her hair—unnecessarily, her transformation had taken care of that years ago—then checked her breath and pressed a palm to her racing heart, letting a deep exhale settle her nerves. She stepped forward, her sneakers silent on the carpet, hovering at the boundary between entry and intrusion.

“Come in,” Andy called. His voice was low and even, but she heard the faint catch at the end, as if he’d just taken a deep breath himself.

Emily slipped inside. The suite was already warm from the afternoon sun, carrying the aroma of garlic and butter and something herbal—thyme, maybe. Andy stood at the kitchen counter, his back to her, focused on a pan where a piece of salmon sizzled, its skin crisping to a perfect golden-brown. With practiced movements, he flipped the fillet, then reached for a lemon, slicing it in a single fluid motion before squeezing it over the fish. The round table by the window was already set: two chairs facing each other, a loaf of crusty bread, a bowl of greens, and a bottle of white wine catching the light from several mismatched lamps.

He turned at the sound of her entrance, spatula still in hand, and his whole face brightened. "Hi," he said. "Perfect timing. This is just about done. I promise it tastes better than it looks—cooking is the one thing I actually got good at."

She smiled. “I like the sound. It’s honest.”

Andy grinned, shrugged. “That’s one way of putting it.” He gestured at the table. “You can sit wherever. Or, if you want to help, there’s a bowl over there for the salad. The trick is not to let the leaves get bruised.”

Emily drifted toward the kitchen, letting her hair sweep the air behind her. She caught her reflection in the microwave—her long, gold-and-pink hair curtained perfectly, her skin pale in the lamplight—and wondered if she looked too strange. Not to Andy, maybe, but still. She picked up the salad bowl, found the tongs, and started tossing. The motion was repetitive, meditative. She felt her pulse slow.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” Andy said. “So I made a few things. The bread is fresh, though. Got it from the back kitchen this afternoon.”

“It smells amazing,” Emily said, and meant it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been nervous about a dinner.

Andy wiped his hands and set the fish on a small plate, then pulled out her chair for her. It was an old-school gesture, not **** or showy, just considerate.

Emily sat, tucking her knees up and crossing them under the table. She glanced at the wine bottle. “Can I—?”

“Of course,” Andy said, and poured two glasses. “I think you’re legally allowed in most countries.”

She laughed. “I’m not that young. I was a bartender before the show, you know!” She protested, then took a sip. It tasted of apples and maybe something floral, but not so much that it felt perfumed.

For a moment, they both just sat, watching the light waver on the table. Andy broke the silence first. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “I know it’s… weird. Being here. With me.”

Emily shrugged, letting her hair fall forward as a makeshift shawl. “I’m used to weird. But this is nice.”

He nodded, mouth turning up at the edges. “It is.”

They started with bread and salad, then the fish, and Andy produced a small dish of olives and a jar of pickled onions, which he insisted went perfectly with the cheese. Emily tried everything, careful to savor, and made a point of complimenting the bread so he’d know she appreciated it.

The conversation began easy: the food, the resort’s quirks, the endless struggle to figure out if there was only one Mildred, folded temporally so she’d appear in more places at once, or a multitude of identical Mildreds. Emily told stories about her first week in the Hollow Garden—how she’d gotten lost twice, how she’d once spent two hours hiding from a goose that turned out to be a statue.

As they ate, the dialogue shifted, slowly, into deeper water.

“Can I ask you something?” Emily said, setting her fork down.

Andy looked up, attentive. “Anything.”

She watched his face for a moment, searching for the tells—tightness at the jaw, eyes narrowing, a flicker of defensiveness. She saw none. “How do you do it?” she asked. “I mean… keep everyone together. Even when they’re falling apart, or fighting, or… changing.”

Andy’s brow furrowed, but not in annoyance. He thought for a second, then said, “Honestly? I have no idea. Sometimes I think it’s inertia—if I just keep moving, things won’t come unglued. But other times…” He trailed off, looked at his hands. “Other times, I think maybe it’s just about listening. Not trying to fix everything. Just letting people be as broken as they need to be.”

Emily turned that over. “Doesn’t it hurt, though? Carrying it all?”

He smiled, and it was not a sad smile, just a true one. “Of course it hurts. But it hurts less than the alternative.”

She nodded, then asked, “Do you trust them?”

Andy didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Every single one.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed, skeptical but not unkind. “Even Riley?”

He nodded. “Especially Riley. She’d never admit it, but she’s the most genuine person I know. She says what she feels, even if it’s ugly. She may deflect grief with anger, but if something’s bothering her, I’m pretty sure you’ll know immediately.”

Emily nodded, impressed. She took another sip of wine, then went quiet for a bit. Andy didn’t rush her.

Finally, she said, “You know, I thought I’d be the outsider here. I thought everyone else would be… more together. Or maybe just less weird.”

He laughed at that. “We’re all weird. That’s what makes it work. If we were normal, we’d implode.”

She smiled. The tension in her jaw softened. Her hands, which had been twisting her napkin into knots, now just rested in her lap.

They finished dinner, clearing the plates together. Emily insisted on helping wash up, and they found an easy rhythm: Andy soaping, Emily rinsing, both careful not to splash. The lamp in the corner flickered, and for a moment she wondered if this was what her life would have been, if everything had gone differently. Not perfect, but peaceful.

After the dishes, Andy brought the remaining wine and two mugs to the low coffee table. He’d made tea—jasmine, from the smell—and poured a mug for each of them. They sat cross-legged on the rug, facing each other, the bottle between them.

This was the part Emily had been rehearsing for all afternoon.

She wrapped her hands around the mug and said, “Can I ask one more thing?”

Andy nodded, patient.

Emily hesitated, then said, “How do you know who to trust? Or, I guess, when?”

Andy leaned back, considering. “It’s not about knowing,” he said. “It’s about deciding. You make the leap, and then you see what happens. Most of the time, people rise to meet it.” He glanced at her, his eyes soft. “Even if they’re scared. Or think they don’t deserve it.”

Emily looked down at her mug, the steam curling around her face. “What if you’re both?”

Andy’s voice was gentle. “Then you take it slow. No rush, no pressure. Just keep showing up until it gets easier.”

She smiled, not at him but at the table. “I like that.”

They sat in silence, drinking tea. The suite was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional click from the hallway as the Mildreds did their rounds.

Emily’s eyes wandered, taking in the room: the books stacked on every surface, the guitar leaning against the wall, the folded origami cranes perched on the lampshade. She recognized herself in the clutter—lives lived out in small, persistent details.

When she looked back at Andy, he was already watching her.

He smiled. “You seem less nervous now.”

She nodded. “I am.”

He poured the last of the wine, splitting it between their mugs. “Anything else you want to know?”

Emily hesitated, then shook her head. “I think I’m good.”

Andy raised his mug in a toast. “To weirdness,” he said.

She clinked hers against his. “To trust.”

They drank. Emily felt the heat of the tea in her throat, a warmth that spread through her chest and loosened the last tightness in her shoulders. She set her mug down, uncrossed her legs, and let herself relax into the moment. For a while, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unhurried. Emily let the peace settle in, let herself believe it would last at least for tonight. Finally, she broke the silence. “There’s something else I should tell you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Andy waited, his eyes steady. Emily drew a slow breath, then let it out. “It’s kind of a long story. And a little bit weird, even for me.”

Andy grinned, his posture loose, his hands open on the table. “I like weird,” he said. “Try me.”

Emily smiled, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and looked him straight in the eyes.

“I want to,” she said. And she meant it.

They moved to the couch, abandoning the empty wine glasses and half-drunk tea. The suite was quieter now, the outside world shut out by the thickness of the glass and the hush of evening. Emily sat with her knees drawn up, her hair pooled around her like a security blanket. Andy perched on the opposite end, arms resting on his thighs, hands clasped. He looked at her, not with expectation, but a kind of bracing calm that made the words easier to find.

“It’s hard to start,” Emily said, staring at the seam of the couch. “Because it sounds weird when I say it all at once. So, I’m just going to try.”

Andy nodded. “Take your time.”

She did. She counted the stitches in the upholstery, let her breath out slow. Then, “When I first got here—like, the first time, with Jake and Hannah and the rest—I thought it was all some kind of prank. Or a social experiment, or maybe a nightmare. But then the transformations started, and I realized it was real.” She paused, watching him for a reaction, but Andy just waited, steady.

Emily flexed her toes against the rug, searching for words. She knew how she sounded when she started talking about this—like she was rehearsing an AA share, or reading someone else’s script—but there wasn’t another way to do it.

“It’s hard, you know,” she said. “To explain what it’s like, when your brain gets… changed. It isn’t like being hypnotized. You’re still you, but with a whole layer of you running on new code, underneath.”

Andy didn’t flinch. He just sat, hands loose on his knees, eyes on her but never pinning her down.

“My first transformation—” She laughed, not kindly. “I didn’t even know it was happening. I thought it was just stress. Or maybe I was being extra weird because I was scared. But then the suggestions started working faster. Not just from other people—sometimes I’d catch myself doing something because I thought I ought to, and the next second, I’d realize it wasn’t my idea at all.”

She risked a glance at Andy, then looked away.

“I liked it, at first,” she said, and this was the hardest part. “It was like finally getting a handle on my own chaos. You could tell me to clean up, or to go to bed, or to be quiet, and I’d do it, and… and it felt good. Really good.”

Her hands curled around her mug, white-knuckled. She kept going, the words bumping into each other. “But then it was more than just doing what I was told. Every time I followed an order, it was like getting this little hit of—” She stopped, searching for a less embarrassing word, then settled for the truth. “Pleasure. Sexual, and it built up. I’d have to… well, relieve myself… if I was given orders or suggestions too often. And after a while, the pleasure and the obedience were so tangled together that I didn’t even try to separate them.”

She stared at the mug, tracing the rim with a finger, watching her own trembling.

“I was worried about what would happen if I just… let it go. If I let other people tell me what to do, all the time.” She tried to laugh, but it sounded thin. “I kept waiting for the catch. For someone to say, ‘Hey, Emily, go jump in a lake,’ and then I’d just do it and disappear.”

The next part was easier, because it was just history. “So, Hannah and I—we made an Arrangement. In public, we acted like nothing was happening, but in our room, she would… take over. She liked being in charge, and I liked… being told what to do. It worked. We were both happy, and nobody got hurt.” She shrugged, letting her hair fall over her shoulder in a curtain. “It was private. We never talked about it with anyone. Not even Jake.”

Her mouth pressed into a tight line. "I did tell Jake, actually. At the very end of our season. He seemed...interested. Not shocked or anything. He even smiled in this way that made me think—" She swallowed, fingers twisting in her lap. "But then they put everything on hold. Lights out, cameras down. I never saw him again after that night. Never knew if he really understood, or if he was just being polite."

She finally looked at Andy, her shoulders hunched forward as if preparing for impact.

Andy’s face didn’t change at all. If anything, he just looked more present, more with her.

She went on, voice barely above the hum of the fridge. “I know it sounds weird. Like a fetish, or a kink, or something. And maybe it is. But it’s also just… who I became.” Her hands twisted in her lap, the tips of her hair brushing her knees. “I’m not telling you because I think you’re into it. I just want you to know what you’re getting.”

She waited for a response, but Andy let her finish.

“So, here’s the punchline,” she said, trying for a smile. “If you tell me to do something, I’ll do it. I can’t help it. It takes a lot to resist, and it’s easier not to. And it’ll feel good. Too good, sometimes. And if you ever want me to stop, you have to say so, or I’ll just keep going, because it feels right. Even if it isn’t.”

She slumped a little, the weight of the words settling in her spine. “It’s okay if you want to back out,” she said. “Or if you want to be careful around me. I’d get it.”

She **** herself to look at him again. “I just wanted to tell you. Before…”

Andy leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s… brave.”

Emily blinked. Brave was not the word she’d expected.

He kept talking, soft but clear. “I don’t think you’re broken. Or weird, or… anything like that. I think you figured out how to survive, and you made it work for you.” He smiled, a little crooked. “That’s pretty impressive, honestly.”

She could feel the tears rising, but she blinked them back. Not now, not yet.

Andy hesitated, then reached for her hand. He waited until she nodded, then took it, his grip warm and steady.

“I can work with that,” he said. “If you need it, I can help. We can make our own Arrangement, if you want.”

She exhaled, a shuddering release.

“I do,” she said, and meant it.

They sat like that for a while, hands linked, not needing to say more.

But Emily had one more thing to confess.

She broke the silence, her voice smaller now. “There’s… something else.”

Andy raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“It’s a side effect of the third transformation. Every night, one of the women here will dream about me. And when they do, it makes them—” She fumbled for the word, embarrassed. “Attracted to me, the next day. Sometimes just a little, sometimes a lot. And it'll make me drawn to them too, though not as much.”

She winced. “I can’t tell who’s going to dream about me, or how they’ll react. I only realize it when I see them, that day. I just… I worry it’ll make things complicated. Or worse.”

Andy’s mouth quirked up. “It already is complicated,” he said. “But I’m not worried. Are you?”

She shook her head. “No. Not anymore.”

He squeezed her hand, and for the first time that night, she felt something close to hope.

She curled into the couch, tucking her legs under her, and let herself relax. Andy didn’t let go of her hand. They watched the lights shift across the ceiling, the shapes dancing just out of reach.

After a while, Andy said, “Do you want to try it? The Arrangement.”

Emily looked at him, startled, then smiled.

“Yes,” she said, and this time, she didn’t feel afraid at all.

They lingered on the couch, the empty cups and plates forming a still life of good intentions. Andy’s hand found hers again, fingers lacing with hers on the cushion. There was no rush, no current of urgency—just the hush of evening and the low hum of something about to start. Emily could feel the weight of her confession settling not like a stone, but a soft, heavy blanket. She thought the silence might crack under it, but Andy only squeezed her hand, as if to anchor her there.

He looked at her, and she saw the question before he spoke it: “How do you want to begin?”

Emily tried to answer, but found herself tongue-tied. She squeezed his fingers back, feeling both the warmth and the tremor in her own grip. “I don’t know,” she said, “I’ve never done it with someone who… wanted to help.”

That made Andy smile—a real one, not the polite smile of a host or a therapist, but the shy, hopeful curve of someone figuring things out in real time. “Let’s start small,” he said, “and see where it goes.”

He let go of her hand, then tapped the armrest next to him. “Come sit here,” he said, voice gentle, the words themselves almost weightless. But as soon as the command hit her ears, Emily felt a rush—like a small bolt of lightning ran through her, quick and bright. She slid over without hesitation, her bare thigh brushing his denim, her hair falling to shroud her shoulders as always.

She looked up, startled by the sharpness of the pleasure. It was instant, intense, like being squeezed from the inside. Andy’s eyes widened—he must have seen the reaction in her face.

“Is that how fast it works?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Emily nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. If you say it just right, it’s…” She gave a nervous laugh. “It’s like being hit with a happy hammer. Every nerve lights up.”

He nodded, absorbing this, then rested his hand on her knee—just above where her hair pooled across her lap. He let it rest there, warm and steady. “What if I say, ‘Tell me how you feel right now’?”

Emily exhaled, the pleasure giving way to a dreamy softness. “Like my head’s full of sunlight,” she said, honest. “And like I want you to do it again.”

Andy’s hand slid down her knee, fingers splaying. “Okay,” he said. “Sit up straight.” He said it playfully, but the effect was the same: Emily’s posture snapped perfect, and a shiver rolled up her spine. She giggled, unable to suppress it. “You’re going to get addicted,” she warned.

“I think I already am,” Andy said, voice warm. “But I won’t overdo it.”

She smiled, letting herself fall into the safety of his attention. “You don’t have to be careful with me,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if it was true. “I trust you.”

He looked at her hair, then back to her eyes. “Does the hair always cover you?” he asked.

She nodded. “Unless I pull it back. I can do a ponytail, or a braid, but I only do that when I really trust someone. Or when I want to… surrender.” She flushed at the word, but Andy just nodded, as if she’d shared a recipe or a song lyric.

“I want you to be comfortable,” he said, “so you don’t have to change a thing unless you want to.”

That was it, the key to the Arrangement. Emily let herself relax, melting against his side, her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for long minutes, letting the night outside press against the glass and the quiet of the suite fold around them.

The first real test came not as a command, but a suggestion. Andy brushed her hair back from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “Would you mind,” he asked, “if I touched you a little more?” He said it like a question, and the tenderness of it made her ache.

Emily nodded, and he trailed his hand from her jaw to her shoulder, down the line of her collarbone. Her skin prickled under his touch, the sensation layered over with the memory of the command. She felt his thumb pause at her pulse, felt it race under his hand.

He kissed her, softly at first, then deeper, his hand moving up to cradle her cheek. Emily parted her lips, letting him in. She melted into the couch, into him. When he pulled back, he whispered, “Kiss me again,” and her body obeyed before her mind even finished processing. The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming, but this time she let it ride—let the command and the affection blend together in one long, hot sweep.

Kissed the Master! +1 VP

When they broke, Andy was breathless, too. “God, you weren’t kidding,” he said, and Emily giggled, dizzy with happiness.

She wanted to keep going, but something inside told her to slow down, to savor. She curled against him, her hair still a curtain, and let her hands rest on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart through the thin cotton.

Andy leaned his head back, looked at the ceiling as if searching for the right move. “Is it always this intense?” he asked.

She nodded, smiling. “It can get stronger, if you layer commands. But then it gets harder to think, and I get kind of… floaty. Like I’m not even in control anymore, but that’s the best part.”

Andy looked at her, eyes gentle. “Please tell me if it ever gets too much,” he said.

She nodded. “I will.”

Andy considered her for a moment, the light from the streetlamps outside painting stripes across his face. “Can I ask you something?” he said.

Emily smiled, at ease now. “Anything.”

“Do you remember how you felt, the first time you obeyed?” His tone was gentle, curious, not clinical.

She thought for a moment. “It was like a muscle I didn’t know I had—one that ached, but in a good way, when I finally let it move.” She tucked her legs under her, folding herself tighter into the couch. “At first, it was just relief. Then it got deeper, brighter. Sometimes I’d do things just to see if someone would notice, just to hope for a command.”

Andy nodded, as if this explained a lot. “I want you to feel that, but I don’t want you to lose yourself in it. That’s important to me.”

Emily smiled, shy but strong. “I think that’s why I told you. I didn’t want it to be a secret. I want it to be… us.”

He grinned, a quick spark in the dark. “Then it’s ours.” He paused, considering. “Would you be okay if I tried something? For real this time.”

She nodded, her heart a live wire under her ribs.

Andy reached out and brushed her hair away from her face. “Lie down,” he said, and the command struck her like a low chord: not rough, but absolute, vibrating through every cell. She lay back across the couch, head on the armrest, arms folded loosely across her stomach. The pleasure built instantly, a tide that curled her toes and made her vision haloed at the edges.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and she did, a flush of arousal coloring her cheeks. She heard him shift, felt the heat of his body lean over hers. A moment later, the pad of his thumb pressed gently at the corner of her mouth, tracing her lips.

She opened her eyes, and Andy smiled down at her. “You’re glowing,” he said, awe in his voice.

She giggled, breathless. “Feels like it,” she whispered.

Andy trailed his fingers along her cheekbone, then said, “Tell me what you want.”

Emily didn’t hesitate. “I want you to keep going,” she said. “I want to see how far it goes.”

Andy nodded, his hand drifting down her arm, fingers linking with hers. “Then we’ll take it slow,” he said, “and if it’s too much, you tell me.”

She nodded, breath coming faster now.

Andy leaned in and kissed her forehead, then her temple, then her lips—softly, with a patience that made her ache. He kissed her again, deeper this time, and she met him, her body arching up to his as if pulled by a string. Her hair spilled around her, a gold-and-pink sheet on the dark couch, but always, miraculously, it covered her breasts, her belly, her sex—a veil that moved only if she allowed it.

“Lift your arms above your head,” Andy said, voice lower now, and Emily’s body obeyed before she knew what was happening. The new angle stretched her spine, made her feel exposed and beautiful all at once. Her nipples tightened, ached, even though they were still shielded by the river of her hair. Andy let his hand rest on her ribs, tracing small circles. “Does this feel good?” he asked.

She could only nod, the words lost in the current flooding her body.

Andy smiled, then said, “Breathe for me. Slow, in and out.”

She did, and every inhalation was pleasure, every exhalation release.

Andy ran his hand up her arm, and the contact was electric. “I want to see you,” he said. “Will you pull your hair back?”

The request, not a command, made her pulse spike. She hesitated—a single beat—then gathered her hair in one hand, letting her chest come into view. Her breasts were flushed, the nipples stiff and pink against pale skin, and she felt a new surge of joy at being seen.

Showed Boobs to Master! +1 VP
Showed naked body to Master! +2 VP

Andy’s eyes went wide. “You’re perfect,” he said. “I could look at you all day.”

Emily let the hair fall back, covering her again, and Andy let her. The restraint in his gaze—wanting, but not greedy—made her feel safer than she’d ever expected.

He kissed her neck, then said, “Can I touch you?”

This, too, was not a command, but a real question.

Emily nodded, then whispered, “You can do anything.”

Andy slid his hand under her hair, cupping her breast, thumb circling the nipple. The touch was delicate, almost reverent, but the effect was instant: Emily moaned, hips shifting on the couch as the pleasure multiplied. Andy watched her face, every microexpression, every intake of breath.

Master touched her boobs! +2 VP

“Do you like it when I touch you?” he asked, just above a whisper.

She nodded, eyes closed now. “Yes. More than anything.”

Andy used his free hand to stroke her side, then her thigh, always gentle, always attentive. He drew slow lines up her legs, pausing just above the knee, never pushing, always asking with his touch if she wanted more.

She did.

He leaned in, kissing along her collarbone, then down to her breast. His tongue flicked the nipple, then circled it, and the pleasure from the command and the sensation itself layered and swelled until Emily thought she might pass out.

Andy paused, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “Can I give you another command?” he asked, voice thick with hope.

She nodded, breathless.

“Open your legs for me,” Andy said.

The words hit her like an electric shock, and she obeyed instantly, knees falling apart, hair shifting to cover her sex but barely. The feeling was so intense she gasped, back arching, every muscle in her body singing. Andy’s hand slid up her thigh, fingers tracing the line between exposed and concealed, never crossing until she was ready.

He waited, watching her, and she realized he’d stopped giving commands—not because he was done, but because he wanted her to want it too.

She did. More than anything.

She reached down, took his hand, and guided it between her legs. Her hair still draped over her, but she pulled it aside herself, exposing her pussy to his touch. Andy’s fingers slid over her folds, gentle at first, then more insistent as he found her soaked and ready. Every stroke sent aftershocks through her, amplifying the pleasure of the earlier commands.

Andy kissed her again, then said, “I want to make you come. Will you let me?”

She moaned, almost ****. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, Andy.”

He used his thumb to circle her clit, the rest of his hand cupping her mound, and the sensation was so overwhelming that Emily felt tears prick her eyes. Not from pain, but from the pure, perfect sense of belonging. Andy touched her with purpose, with affection, with care. Every movement was tuned to her, watching for her reactions, adjusting, always checking.

“Come for me, Emily,” he said, and this time the Command was absolute.

She came so hard it felt like breaking and healing at once. Her vision whited out, her body shaking under Andy’s hands, every nerve ending a live wire. The pleasure rolled through her in waves, cresting and breaking, leaving her limp and gasping on the couch.

Master brought her to orgasm! +2 VP

Andy didn’t move, didn’t let go, just held her until the tremors faded. When she finally opened her eyes, he was there, his hand smoothing her hair from her face, his eyes soft and full.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Emily smiled, the afterglow making her body float. “Better than okay,” she said, and meant it.

Andy gathered her up, folding her against his chest. They lay tangled together, her head tucked under his chin, his hand running lazy circles along her back. She felt the gentle press of his heartbeat, steady and certain, and let herself drift.

For a long time, they stayed like that, saying nothing. Emily realized that, for the first time since Jake, she wasn’t just obeying—she was choosing. She wanted Andy, not as a master or a controller, but as someone who saw all of her and said yes, anyway.

She wrapped her arms around him, held tight, and let herself be held.

Hugged the Master! +1 VP

It was real. It was enough.

She closed her eyes, and let herself fall.