The Assigned Abodes

The massive screen above the hallway chimed once, the sound ringing cleanly through the upper floor as the bars of light finalized into place and the results locked themselves in with a satisfied glow.

Jocelyn tilted the brim of her hat upward and gave a theatrical little bow to the camera only she could see, before turning back to the contestants.

“Well then, darlings,” she said brightly, tapping her cane once against the carpet, “the audience has spoken, and as usual, they spoke with impeccable taste.”

She gestured lazily toward the doors.

“Team Study Buddies will be staying in the Apparition suite, Team Hellfire gets the Wraith room, and Team Sparkplug shall enjoy the… energetic ambience of the Poltergeist quarters.”

Sylvie exhaled before she even realized she’d been holding her breath, the tension in her shoulders melting away so subtly she didn’t notice it herself.

“Excellent,” Cassandra said stiffly, chin raised despite the faint hesitation in her voice. “A room befitting of my dramatic atmosphere.”

Babs snorted. “Yeah, dramatic, alright.”

Jocelyn gave two quick claps, sharply enough that everyone flinched.

“And that concludes tonight’s festivities,” she announced, voice lifting back into her usual polished cadence. “It is officially bedtime for contestants.”

She turned toward Jason and smiled, not quite warmly.

“Though you, Master, you’re with me. I’ll be showing you your quarters.”

Jason blinked. “Wait, I don’t stay down—”

“Nope!” she chirped, already turning away. “You get a whole different floor!”

She snapped her fingers toward the small floating girl beside her.

“Lyn, dear, remain here and make absolutely certain everyone retires for the evening. No wandering, no midnight explorations, we need them all well rested for their first full day tomorrow!”

“Roger!” Lyn saluted crisply.

Jocelyn turned and floated down the hallway without waiting, dragging Jason behind her. He looked back, giving the others one last uncertain look before getting hauled into the elevator.

The moment the doors closed—

Cassandra pivoted sharply toward the stairs they came up from.

“I refuse to be ordered about like a common—”

She did not get to finish.

Lyn zipped forward, scooped her cleanly off the ground, and lifted her over her head as though she weighed nothing at all.

“Bedtime!”

Cassandra kicked uselessly in mid-air, scandalized. “Unhand me this instant—!”

She was carried directly into the Wraith room while the others watched in stunned silence.

Babs barked out a laugh and bent over, slapping her knee. “Alright, that was pretty good,” she said through her laughter, wiping a tear from her eye as she followed Mika into the Poltergeist suite.

April glanced nervously between Esme and Sylvie, then towards the pale glowing door.

“…Guess that’s us.”

Team Sparkplug — Poltergeist

The Poltergeist suite greeted them with the same gentle defiance of physics it had shown earlier. The bed hovered an inch above the floor, its frame drifting lazily in place. A pair of wardrobes stood adjacent to the bed, doors gently rocking as though they were leaves caught in a slow breeze.

Mika stepped inside first, tail flicking uncertainly behind her.

“…It’s kind of pretty,” she admitted quietly.

Babs paused. “They weren’t open when we came in before, were they?” she gestured towards the wardrobes.

Mika shook her head slowly.

They approached together.

Inside, hanging neatly, were clothes.

Not random clothes. Not hotel robes.

Their clothes.

Babs reached in first, fingers brushing the cotton vests. All of her boots sat lined neatly at the bottom, polished. Her spare jeans were folded precisely on a shelf, along with shirts she never expected to see again.

“…No way,” she muttered.

Mika stepped to the second wardrobe.

Her overalls hung there. Several versions, clean and pressed. Her soft winter sweaters, her summer shorts. Every one of her pairs of shoes, down to the scuffed laces, exactly how she remembered them.

She swallowed.

“…They’ve recreated everything.”

Babs hummed in acknowledgment and opened one of the floating dressers.

Inside lay folded sleepwear.

For Mika: soft cotton shorts and a loose tank top, pale blue, the fabric light and breathable.

For Babs: a simple dark vest shirt and drawstring pants.

Babs exhaled slowly. “At least they didn’t try anything funny.”

While Mika was still admiring the contents of the wardrobe, one of the pillows drifted off the bed and lazily rotated in midair before bumping into her.

She jumped, fur standing on end.

“Eeep!”

Mika’s moment was shattered. Babs glanced over, rolled her eyes, grabbed the pillow, and tossed it back toward the bed.

Babs barely aimed the throw, though the pillow drifted back toward the hovering mattress and settled perfectly into place as if guided by invisible hands.

As she threw, the motion caused the weight of her breasts to shift enticingly beneath the thin fabric of her vest.

This did not go unnoticed.

Mika’s ears twitched first, then her eyes followed the swaying motion before she realized she was looking. Once she did, she immediately glanced away, though she couldn’t help her tail flicking excitedly behind her.

“…This room’s going to take getting used to,” Babs muttered as she watched the bed seemingly make itself. She turned back to Mika to see what she thought, only to see her looking away with a bright blush decorating her features.

“…What?”

“Nothing!” Mika said quickly, hurriedly grabbing her pyjamas and rushing to the bathroom to get changed.

Team Hellfire — Wraith

The Wraith suite received them in silence.

The moment the door slid shut behind them, the hallway’s warmth vanished entirely, replaced by that same flattened grey atmosphere that swallowed every color except their own. The bed sat perfectly made beneath the window, sharp shadows cutting across the sheets, while two wardrobes stood along the far wall like sentries posted in a painted world.

Eleanor stepped in first, hands folding neatly at her waist as she took a slow look around.

“Well,” she said gently, “it is… tasteful.”

Cassandra did not respond. She still looked fairly offended after being Lyn-handled, and she carried that indignation with her as she crossed the room, heels clicking softly against the muted floor.

Her attention was fixed immediately on the wardrobes, or more specifically the out of place colour reflecting from within.

She reached the nearest one and peered inside.

For the briefest moment, her composure cracked.

Her eyes widened, and she drew a short breath before she could stop herself, then stepped back quickly, positioning herself between the open wardrobe and the rest of the room just as Eleanor approached.

“Oh? What is—”

The doors slammed shut.

Eleanor paused, hand half-raised in mid-gesture.

“Cassandra? What is wrong?”

Cassandra straightened at once, chin lifting, her defensive stance replaced by practiced poise.

“…My adornments,” she said stiffly, not turning around, “are not for simple eyes.”

Eleanor hesitated, lowering her hand politely.

“I meant no intrusion. I was only curious.”

“There is nothing to see,” Cassandra replied, stepping aside at last. “Merely garments befitting my station.”

A shadow stretched along the wall beside her, lengthening until it nearly overlapped her own silhouette before receding back into the flat grey as if it had never existed.

Eleanor watched it go, then quietly turned her attention to the second wardrobe.

When she peered in her breath caught in her throat.

Inside hung familiar dresses in careful order — soft pastel day dresses, a darker church dress for Sundays, even the heavier winter coat she had for winter walks. Each one looked exactly as the day she last saw them, the fabric looking worn from the years of use she remembered them enduring.

She reached out, fingertips brushing the sleeve of a pale blue dress.

“…Goodness,” she murmured.

After a moment, she moved to the dresser beside the bed and pulled the top drawer open.

Folded carefully within lay a white cotton nightgown, modest lace trim along the collar and cuffs.

Her shoulders softened immediately.

“Oh… how thoughtful.”

Behind her, Cassandra turned slightly, saying nothing, only tilting her head as she watched.

Eleanor smoothed the fabric gently between her fingers.

“My husband bought me one just like this.”

“You were married?” Cassandra asked, the question slipping out before she bothered to disguise her interest.

“Oh yes,” Eleanor said, a small fond smile touching her lips. “For twenty loving years.”

Cassandra felt a quiet flicker of pleasure, almost enough to make her moan audibly, though she did not show it. She made her way toward her own dresser.

She opened the drawer and appraised the contents before she removed her sleepwear with a satisfied sigh — a simple long chemise of pale linen, modest and old-fashioned. She closed the drawer again with careful precision and headed for the washroom.

Neither woman spoke further.

Across the wall, another shadow shifted briefly, stretching between them before fading back into stillness.

Team Study Buddies — Apparition
April — Apparition

April stepped inside first, her shoes making almost no sound against the carpeted floor as she took in the pale room. The air here felt different than the hallway.

Her attention immediately went to the now-open wardrobes along the wall, and she started toward them out of curiosity.

However, A sharp gasp behind her stopped her mid-step; she turned.

Sylvie stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide in a way April hadn’t seen before — Stunned. She followed her gaze.

The desk near the balcony held a typewriter.

Sylvie barely seemed to breathe as she walked toward it, each step slower than the last, as if approaching some wild animal that may be startled at any moment.

She reached out…

and stopped.

Her fingers hovered inches above the keys, trembling faintly, like she was afraid that the moment she touched it, the illusion would collapse, and the desk would be empty again.

The metal gleamed softly in the lamplight, polished clean, every key aligned perfectly. Even the ribbon looked freshly inked.

She could even smell it, that faint whiff of lubricant on cool metal, alongside the sharp inky smell.

For a moment, she wasn’t in the hotel at all, but back home, enjoying one of her long, quiet nights, where the only sound in the world was the steady rhythm of keys and the comfort of her own thoughts filling the silence.

Her hand finally lowered, resting gently against the carriage.

The cool metal brought a smile to her face.

Behind her, Esme watched the entire display with an unimpressed tilt of her head before letting out a small breath through her nose and turning towards the rest of the room.

She slipped past April toward the wardrobes and peered inside. Her clothes hung neatly arranged — dark skirts, casual tops, fitted jackets, and loose pants lined along the hangers, even her boots and shoes somehow having made it here.

“Whoa, are these all of your clothes?” April asked, in awe of the large amount of fashionable attire the girl owned.

“It appears that way, yes,” Esme replied calmly.

“Does that mean…?”

April walked over and looked into the other wardrobe. The anticipation faded almost immediately. Small floral dresses, pastel cardigans, and soft blouses filled the space — none of them hers. She opened the drawers beneath and found neatly folded underwear she definitely didn’t own, along with leggings and thigh-high socks she would never have bought.

Her brows knit together, irritation creeping in.

She turned toward the dresser beside the bed instead and pulled open the top drawer.

Inside lay a set of sleepwear folded with careful precision — a silky black and deep purple button-up shirt paired with loose matching pants, the fabric smooth and slightly cool to the touch, far softer than anything she remembered owning. The sheen caught the light subtly.

April frowned. “Wait… then where are my clothes?”

Before she could complain further, Esme stepped past her and reached directly into the drawer, lifting the set without hesitation.

“They’re mine.”

April blinked. “Oh.”

Esme didn’t elaborate. She simply held the fabric for a moment, the faintest smile touching her lips — small enough that it might have gone unnoticed if someone wasn’t looking for it — before turning and walking into the bathroom, closing the door behind her without another word.

The bathroom light hummed softly as it flickered on, casting a clean glow across pale tile and an impossibly spotless mirror.

She stepped closer to the white marble sink, her fingertips lifted slowly toward her cheek until they finally made contact.

Warm.

Solid.

Real.

The faint tension she hadn’t even noticed in her shoulders loosened as she traced the curve of her jaw and the bridge of her nose, watching the motion repeat perfectly in the glass.

She was alive.

Her eyes lingered on her face a little longer; she almost began to tear up before she noticed the dark liner around them and the subtle shade along her lips. She turned, grabbed a neatly folded washcloth from beside the basin, dampened it, and brought it to her cheek.

She wiped once.

Nothing changed.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she pressed a bit harder, carefully scrubbing along her cheekbone, then across the other side, but the cloth came away clean. When she touched her face again, her skin felt bare, not tacky or powdered, and certainly not like she was wearing any makeup at all.

Then the memory surfaced, her transformation! It hadn't just caused the new tightness in her corset; it also changed her face to have this makeup applied permanently.

Her gaze dropped briefly before lifting back to the mirror, a faint understanding settling in as she studied her reflection once again.

She could live with that.