Intermission: Best Girl Poll and Sanctuary Polls

After Anna and Herman retreated to the hush of the suite, Arabella lingered at the edge of the terrace. The wind had grown colder; it swept up from the volcanic slopes, carrying with it the scent of crushed stone and distant rain. Below, the world curved away in impossible blues, but above, the sky darkened by degrees—the first heavy banks of cloud smudging out the sun, the island shadow stretching across half the bay.

She let her hands rest lightly on the marble balustrade, watching the old stone go from sun-hot to evening-cool beneath her fingers. In the glass doors behind her, she could see her reflection: tall, severe, hair pinned to perfection, the line of her dress sharper than any blade. She caught her own eye, and for a second, she saw the tremor in her shoulders, the subtle quirk of tension just before performance. Even Hosts were not immune to this, when they saw the end approaching.

A deep breath. In, hold, out. She straightened, pressed a smile into her cheeks, and pivoted to the invisible lens she always imagined hovering just above the far end of the balcony.

Then, with the ease of a practiced performer, she lifted her face to the wind and began.

“Good evening, viewers across the infinite,” she said, her voice neither loud nor ****, but pitched perfectly to carry over the empty amphitheater of sea and stone. “I’m Arabella, your host, but for tonight, let’s keep it simple. Welcome to the afterglow of the penultimate round.”

She waited, as if letting the applause and the fade-in credits roll.

“So much has happened since last we gathered: reunions, confessions, heartbreak, and healing. This is what you hoped for, of course, but even they could not have anticipated the particulars. Let’s do a quick recap for those catching up at home, or for those of you who prefer your drama with a dash of context.”

She let the silence of the balcony settle, savoring the anticipation. Below, the island was going dark, windows blinking on in the main house one by one, their glow mirrored in the slow sweep of the bay. Arabella turned to the lens—imagined, but always there—and let herself perform.

“Let’s begin with the impossible, shall we?” she said. “Against every odd, the impossible occurred: Laura Ashford, gone these sixteen years, has returned. Not as a specter or a guest star, but as herself, with the soul and shape she might have carried into this world if fate had not intervened. Her return is a credit to the teamwork of the harem—especially Emi, Claire, and Norah—but the miracle itself is due to the unwavering love of Andy Cooper, who braved memory and myth alike to bring her back. Welcome home, Laura. You were missed.”

She allowed herself a pause, so the weight of the moment could settle in the invisible audience’s chests. “It wasn’t the only miracle, of course,” she continued, smile sly. “We had revelations! Emi, already beloved for her creativity and grace, is now officially a scion of Inanna, Queen of Heaven and patroness of every difficult family reunion since Sumer was a thing. Congratulations to Emi, who someday may outrank nearly everyone on staff.”

She flicked her wrist, ticking off the next item. “Meanwhile, in matters of the heart: Chloe and Riley, whose friendship survived both the trenches of Willow Run and the unique pressures of handling a milk supply, finally declared themselves a couple. There were tears, there was laughter, there was at least one spontaneous hug. Let’s all wish them joy, and a very sturdy mattress.”

“Not to be outdone, Sam Collins—harem’s anchor, coffee supplier, and secret engine—proposed to Liesa. A surprise to no one, except perhaps Liesa, who required a second or two to process before saying yes. The island will be hosting two weddings in the final week. I’ve checked the budget, and yes, there will be cake.”

She allowed herself a dry smile at that, knowing the camera would catch it. “Closure was also had. In a beautifully orchestrated ceremony, the old wounds of Willow Run were finally laid to rest. Andy, Chloe, Myra, and Riley joined Laura at the dock, and together they rewrote the ending to a story that had haunted them all. If you watched, you know what it meant. If you missed it, there’s always the highlight reel.”

A deep breath, the barest tilt of the head. “Of course, it wasn’t all healing. Not all old wounds close cleanly. The argument between Laura and Marissa Holt defined the second half of the round—sharp words, sharper truths. Both survived, and as of this taping, neither has tried to poison the other’s morning coffee. That’s progress.”

She let the humor ride, then grew more sober. “There were other surprises. The revelation that Chloe, Erin, and Claire are all expecting children. Whether this was the result of careful planning, excellent timing, or just the usual island magic, I’ll leave to the statisticians in the audience. Congratulations to all three. May the next generation be more sensible than the last.”

She lifted her chin, not so much proud as conspiratorial. “Meanwhile, in the world of side bets and esoteric wagers: Inanna herself, guest-starring as Anna, married both Andy and Laura in a ceremony witnessed by a river, a footbridge, and the silent copse outside of Warrenville. The paperwork was filed. The vows were poetic, if slightly above grade level. And yes, for those keeping score, Laura is now officially the Consort.”

Another flick of the fingers. “Two new Harem Queens have been crowned: Sam, for her loyalty and wisdom, and Erin, for her resilience and the ability to put up with Andy’s sleep habits. Their reigns will be remembered.”

She gave the invisible audience a wink, letting the mask slip for a microsecond. “I know what you’re thinking: where does it go from here? That’s where you come in.”

Her smile sharpened, going Host-bright. “As promised, the mini-challenge for this round was Sanctuary construction. Each Contestant was invited to create a refuge—a space of comfort, beauty, or meaning. Some built from scratch. Some repurposed existing rooms. Surprisingly none, in a move both elegant and deeply lazy, simply annexed a beach towel and called it a day.”

She leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “Now, it’s your turn to judge. Two categories, because who doesn’t love options? First: Most Beautiful Sanctuary. Judge it on looks, on the view, on the way the light catches the tile at dawn—whatever stirs your heart. Second: Most Personal Sanctuary. Here, you’re looking for the soul of the place. Does it tell you who the Contestant is, or what they need most? Is it a mirror, a hiding place, or a blank slate for a new beginning?”

She gave the camera a sly, sideways smile. “Voting opens now. Victory Points and Bonus Points awarded according to the rankings, with an extra prize for the one who tops both. Remember: you can vote in both categories, and you should. If the season ends early—as some are planning—it may be your last chance to tip the balance.”

A brief silence, then: “Don’t forget, the Best Girl poll is also open. And as always, your votes may be the deciding factor in who leaves the island with a dream, and who leaves with only a story.”

She spread her hands, as if wrapping the entire audience in the gesture. “Three polls. Three chances to weigh in on the ending. All close at midnight, Monday, March 31. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She let the words echo, the hush returning for just a moment. “Thank you for watching,” she said, voice low but charged with a warmth the real Arabella barely let herself feel. “Thank you for caring. Even if you do it from a safe distance, even if you forget tomorrow. It all matters. Every vote, every witness. Especially here, at the end.”

She allowed herself the luxury of a real smile, one that almost reached her eyes. “I’ll see you for the finale. Bring tissues. And perhaps a glass of something celebratory.”

She turned, as if to step into the dark, but then glanced back over her shoulder, lips parted in the beginnings of a secret. “Until then, sweet dreams.”

A wave, a wink, and she was gone, sliding through the open doors and into the hush of the house. Only then, in the reflection of the glass, did she let the mask drop and allow herself a single, silent exhale.

Voting closed. Thank you for reading!