Principles of the Horizon, Part 1

VP and BP Standings
Erin - 95 VP - 5100 BP - 2 Achievs
Sam - 87 VP - 7700 BP - 2 Achievs
Emi - 84 VP - 6050 BP - 3 Achievs
Marissa - 77 VP - 5000 BP - 2 Achievs
Claire - 76 VP - 11400 BP - 2 Achievs
Liesa - 75 VP - 5700 BP - 3 Achievs
Norah - 74 VP - 4350 BP - 3 Achievs
Emily - 62 VP - 5600 BP - 2 Achievs (2 used)
Dawn - 60 VP - 8300 BP - 3 Achievs
Chloe - 45 VP - 7775 BP - 1 Achiev
Riley - 23 VP - 7100 BP - 3 Achievs
Myra - 15 VP - 6800 BP
Laura - 13 VP - 6950 BP

Andy woke first, or thought he did, until he realized one of Emi’s hands was already stroking his knee. There was a softness to it—the way her little finger traced the curve of his thigh, the way her palm cupped his knee as if it were something breakable. The bed smelled faintly of her shampoo, the sheets alive with the residue of last night’s laughter and more than a little sweat. He tried to move and found he couldn’t: her arms, all six of them, had wound around him in a sleeping knot, a living blanket too complicated to untangle.

He lay very still, listening to her breathe. He could count, by pressure and by weight, the number of limbs touching him: two across his chest, one hooked over his thigh, another under his neck, one hand holding his bicep in a gentle chokehold, and one more between his knees, fingers knotted with his. He wondered if she’d woken up at all during the night, or if this was how she always slept: locked in, unwilling to let go even for a second.

He closed his eyes and tried to match his breathing to hers. For a while, it worked. Then she twitched, and all six arms squeezed at once, drawing him in so tight that, for a second, he couldn’t have escaped even if he wanted to, not without hurting her.

“Morning,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

He grunted something back, unwilling to break the spell. It was too early for talking, but not too early for this: the way the world felt just a little less sharp, the way his body fit into the puzzle of hers.

Emi nuzzled his neck, and Andy caught the ghost of a smile—her lips parted, tongue flicking out to taste the salt at his collarbone. “I dreamed I was a spider,” she whispered, “but you weren’t scared.”

“You don’t bite,” Andy said, eyes still closed.

“Not unless you ask,” Emi replied, and he felt her grin against his skin.

The joke hung there, easy and warm. He reached down and found one of her hands—he thought it was her upper left—and squeezed until she squeezed back. Then, with a gentle effort, he rolled over and pulled her on top of him, all six arms still locked in place, her legs straddling his hips.

The move didn’t surprise her; she just laughed and let herself settle, her hair a wild halo around her head. “You’re warm,” she said, as if this was the most remarkable thing about him.

Andy opened one eye and looked at her. The morning light made her skin look blue, then gold, then almost translucent in places. Her face was softer now, less anxious, and her lips had that just-bitten look he’d learned to watch for.

She pressed her forehead to his. “If I ever woke up without you in my life, I think I’d just go back to sleep and try again.”

“Could get old,” Andy said, and she shook her head, hair whipping his cheek.

“It’d be the best kind of forever,” Emi said. “I could sleep through all the other stuff, just to find you at the end.”

He wanted to say something clever, but found himself caught by the earnestness of her stare. Before he could speak, Emi's expression shifted to playful mischief. "Turn over," she commanded, pushing at his shoulder with one hand while another made a spinning motion. "You're all knotted up."

Andy complied, and suddenly six hands descended on him—two kneading his shoulders with expert precision, two working the tight muscles along his spine, one massaging his scalp, and the last tracing lazy circles at the small of his back. He groaned involuntarily as her thumbs found a particularly tense spot between his shoulder blades, pressing with just enough **** to make the knot surrender.

"God, right there," he mumbled into the pillow.

Her fingers worked deeper, finding the places where stress had calcified. Each hand seemed to operate with its own intelligence—the ones on his shoulders using firm, circular motions while those along his spine employed a gentler touch, almost feathery. The hand at his scalp moved in small, hypnotic circles that made his eyelids heavy.

"Better than the Spa at the hotel," she whispered, leaning close enough that her lips brushed his ear. "And I don't charge extra for happy endings."

He felt the weight shift as she repositioned herself, straddling his lower back. Four hands now worked in unison, creating a wave-like motion from his neck down to his tailbone. The remaining two hands slid along his sides, finding pressure points he didn't know existed.

"Are you... okay?" he asked, voice muffled against the pillow. "After last night."

She pressed a kiss to his neck, hands never stopping their rhythmic work. "I'm always okay with you," she said. "I don't even know why I get nervous anymore."

"Because I keep you on your toes?" he ventured, and she snorted.

"You couldn't outsmart me if you tried," Emi said, but the words were affectionate. She bent down and whispered, "You're cute when you think you're clever," as her thumbs found another knot, and Andy felt himself melting into the mattress.

Gave the Master a massage! +2 VP

He grinned and let her take the lead. Emi rolled her hips, grinding against him with a slow, measured pressure. Two of her hands slipped between his torso and the bed, nails dragging gentle patterns across his stomach and up his chest. She didn’t rush, didn’t push; instead, she let the tension build, savoring every inch of contact. Andy shifted under her until he was facing her, and she smiled.

When he kissed her back, he used both hands and tried to catch up. She had the advantage in numbers, but Andy had patience and a good memory. He remembered the spots on her neck that made her gasp, the way her back arched if he traced the line of her spine just right, the way she loved it when he grabbed her small wrists, all six at once, and pinned them to the mattress.

He did all of that, and she responded exactly as he’d hoped: her breath hitching, her hips rolling harder, her cheeks flushed and bright.

“Can I…” she started, then stopped, embarrassed.

“Anything,” Andy said.

She blushed deeper. “I want to be on top, just for a little while.”

He nodded, letting her shift position. Emi pushed him down, then straddled his hips, her knees bracing on either side of him. She used four of her hands to brace herself on his chest, the other two to guide him inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—not just the physical, but the way she looked at him, the fierce intent in her gaze, the absolute certainty of what she wanted.

She moved slow, hips rocking in a gentle rhythm. Andy kept his hands on her waist, letting her set the pace. Every now and then, she’d lean forward and kiss him, or pause to run her fingers through his hair, or just stare at him with a look that said, I never want this to end.

He didn’t want it to, either.

They made love like that for a long time, neither of them in any rush. It was different from the night before—less urgent, more like a conversation neither wanted to stop. Emi’s hands were everywhere, her hair a veil between their faces, and when she finally came, it was with a soft, trembling laugh that made Andy fall for her all over again.

Afterward, they lay together, her arms a tangle around his chest, her head tucked under his chin.

“I wish every morning was like this,” she said, voice dreamy.

“Could be,” Andy said.

She shook her head. “No. If it was every day, I’d get spoiled. I like it better when it feels special.” She closed her eyes, smiling. “Like a birthday.”

He kissed the top of her head, not trusting himself to say anything. He wasn’t good at moments like this—never had been—but Emi seemed to sense the awkwardness and cuddled closer, squeezing him with all six arms.

“You’re thinking again,” she murmured.

He grunted.

“Don’t,” she said. “Not right now. Just stay here with me.”

He did.

Later, they made coffee. Emi was a whirlwind in the kitchen, pouring the water, scooping grounds, juggling mugs and spoons with an ease that made Andy a little dizzy. He watched her stir the pot with one hand while another spread butter on toast, and two more set out fruit and napkins. She even managed to slip one set of arms around his waist while she did all this, hugging him from behind and swaying gently as if to music only she could hear.

He let her. It was nice, being part of her orbit.

They ate at the table in the living room, sun pouring in through the windows. Emi perched cross-legged in her chair, a mug in front of her, and a plate of berries balanced on her knee. Andy sipped his coffee and watched the world happen around him.

For a while, Emi just talked. She told him about her plans for the day (help Dawn, finish a new sketch, maybe reorganize her art supplies, see if she could find a better way to keep her hair from getting tangled at night). She asked if he thought the sea here was saltier than the one back home, because the shells always felt slicker, almost glassy. She pointed to the seashell pyramid on the coffee table—the one Laura had built as a prank—and said she liked it, that it made the place feel less sterile.

Andy looked at the pyramid. It was still there, leaning a little more than it had last night, but otherwise unchanged. The top shell—pink and delicate—had survived the night’s chaos. He liked that, too.

Then Emi noticed something new: a single, tiny shell balanced on the edge of his spoon. She covered her mouth with two hands, trying not to laugh.

He stared at it, then at her. “Did you—?”

“No,” she said, eyes wide. “I swear! It must have been Laura.”

He picked up the shell, turning it over in his fingers. “Must have missed this one yesterday.”

Emi nodded. “She doesn’t want you to forget her. Not ever.”

Andy felt something tighten in his chest. “I couldn’t if I tried,” he said.

Emi reached across the table and took his hand—her upper right, the one she always used for the important stuff. “You don’t have to,” she said. “You can have all of us.”

He looked at her, and he saw the shadow behind her smile. He wondered how long it had been since someone made her feel like she was enough, just by being there. He wondered how many mornings she’d spent alone, wishing for a single hand to hold.

Emi squeezed his fingers. “I know it’s not much, but… even just a day with you, every couple weeks, is more than I ever thought I’d have.” She said it lightly, like a joke, but Andy heard the truth underneath.

He set the shell down and pulled her in for a hug, holding her as tightly as he could. “If you want to spend time with me, just say the word. I’m sure most of you would be okay sharing the day with another woman, and I’m just happy to spend time with all of you. You’re never going to be alone again,” he said. “Not if I can help it.”

She looked up at him, eyes bright. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said.

She smiled, softer now, and leaned in to kiss him. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I love you, and I want to stay.”

It was the simplest confession in the world, but it cracked something open in him. He blinked, surprised to find himself tearing up. He held her, not letting go, not wanting to. They stayed like that for a long time, the sun inching up, the coffee going cold. Emi’s six arms curled around him, safe and certain. Andy knew it couldn’t last forever, but for now, it was enough.

After breakfast, the Suite returned to the hush of two people who no longer needed to talk to fill the space. Emi stacked the dishes with a showy flourish—six arms working in perfect counterpoint, each hand assigned its own plate or glass, the whole process so seamless Andy couldn’t tell where muscle memory ended and improv began. She made a little pyramid with the coffee cups, then perched a butter knife at the apex like a weathervane. When Andy applauded, she flushed, pleased with herself, and tried not to look at him looking at her.

“Don’t say it,” she warned, wagging a pinky at him.

“Say what?” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the grin in check.

“You were about to tell me how lucky you are,” Emi said, stacking the plates in the sink with a clatter. “Or make a joke about how I’m a one-woman assembly line.”

“Was not,” Andy lied.

Emi gave him a look that said liar, then nudged the pyramid of seashells on the coffee table with the heel of her hand. It spun a quarter-turn, dislodging the topmost shell, which slid down and stopped at the edge of the glass.

“You going to keep it there forever?” she asked, sitting on the arm of the couch, tucking her knees up with effortless grace. “It’s a little… wobbly.”

He eyed the lopsided monument, then shrugged. “I like it. It’s proof she’s still herself. Laura, I mean.”

Emi traced the rim of her mug, thinking. “I was glad,” she said at last. “I thought she might come back wrong, but… it’s the same sense of humor, even the same handwriting.”

“It’s not easy, though,” Andy admitted. “For her, or for the others. They’re all still trying to figure it out.” He didn’t want to mention it to Emi, but he could sense Laura was a bit distressed, and he worried, but he also knew he couldn’t rush and fix everything for her. It would only make things harder for everyone, so he hoped she could find her own way, or that someone else could guide her.

Emi considered this, her face thoughtful. “Is that what you’re doing, too?” She didn’t ask it like an accusation, just curiosity. “Trying to figure it out?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Every day,” he said. “I’m still not sure how I’m supposed to be.”

She reached out, upper right hand catching his wrist, thumb drawing a soft circle on his pulse point. “Maybe you don’t have to pick,” she said. “Maybe you just… keep us all, and see what happens.”

He smiled, because it was so simple. So Emi.

“I always wished for something like this,” she said, very quietly. “Not the game show, or the challenges, or even the transformations. Just… being part of something where nobody goes away, no matter what.”

He squeezed her hand, held it tight. “You’ll never go away, Emi.”

She glanced up, eyes shimmering with gratitude. For a moment, the Suite felt too small for what was happening between them.

Then she made a face and wiped her nose with the heel of a hand. “Sorry,” she said. “I get sappy when I’m happy.”

He laughed. “Better than getting sappy when you’re sad.”

“Or both,” Emi added, and they both snorted.

The silence was gentle. Emi let go of his wrist, only to immediately braid her fingers through his again, as if she’d changed her mind about personal space. Her other hands fidgeted with the edge of the sofa, the seam on her jeans, the soft, fine hair that kept slipping over her cheek.

She looked at him, suddenly serious. “Can I tell you something?”

Andy nodded.

Emi’s voice, when she spoke, was the softest he’d ever heard it. “There’s something I need to show you. It’s in your bedroom.”

He blinked. “Right now?”

She nodded, all six hands going still. “Please?”

“Sure,” Andy said, getting up. She followed at his shoulder, two arms around his waist. If he hadn’t already known something was up, he’d have known by the way she clung.

He opened the bedroom door, and saw Emi scanning the far wall—the one where the painting hung.

It was hard to miss. Even in this room of oversized everything, the canvas dominated: a naked woman with hair to her ankles, eyes green as emerald, body so meticulously rendered it seemed almost cruel. The figure’s gaze tracked anyone who entered, and the arms, bent just so, looked like they might reach out at any moment.

Emi stared at the painting, then looked at Andy, her expression hard to read.

“I saw her before,” Emi whispered, “in the Museum. It was a replica, but it was her. The same girl. And—” Emi stopped, then licked her lips. “And I think she’s an eliminated Contestant.”

She said it carefully, like she was bracing for denial—or worse, ignorance.

Andy swallowed, the memory of that night surfacing all at once. “She is,” he said. “I know. Her name is Katherine.”

Emi startled, eyes snapping back to him. “You— you knew?”

“Yes,” Andy said quietly.

Emi approached the painting, standing so close her breath would have fogged the canvas if it were glass. “I keep wondering,” she said, voice gentle, “whether there’s anything left of her in there. Whether she knows she’s seen. Or if she’s just… frozen in time.”

Andy didn’t answer right away. He looked at the painting. At Katherine’s eyes. At the way her posture seemed almost expectant. His jaw tightened, just slightly.

“Yes,” he said finally. “She’s aware.” He took a breath. “She can see us. Hear us. Think. And she can move—inside the painting.”

Emi’s hand flew to her mouth. All six of her arms went rigid, then slowly folded inward, like she was holding herself together. The woman in the painting, as if on cue, tilted her chin, a tiny acknowledgment. Her green eyes flicked from Andy to Emi, then back.

Emi let out a shaky breath. “Oh.” Then, softer: “Oh, that’s… that’s so much worse. And also—” She swallowed. “I’m glad.”

She stepped closer, so near their noses might have touched if the canvas were air. Her three right hands hovered, hesitant, as if she wanted to touch the paint but was afraid of breaking something sacred.

“She’s beautiful,” Emi said, softly. “And so sad.”

Katherine in the painting smiled faintly. It was always like this—each time he looked, it was as if she had been waiting for him, watching, ready to participate in any conversation that reached her world.

Emi stayed quiet for a long moment, studying Katherine’s face. Then she spoke, softly. “That must be the worst part,” Emi said. “Being able to see people. Hear them. And never… ever touch another person again.” Emi studied the painting for a long moment, then looked at Andy. “Is there anything we can do for her?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “There is a Gift—Comfort. If I use it, I can pull her into a dreamspace where she can be real, just for a while. We can touch, like normal people.”

“Have you done it?” Emi asked, almost holding her breath.

Andy looked at Katherine, who nodded subtly. “I have,” he said, feeling unexpectedly shy. “It’s helped. I think it’s the only time she isn’t alone.”

Emi blinked. Then she smiled—slow, knowing, unmistakably teasing. “So,” she said, “she’s your secret harem member.”

Andy snorted despite himself. “That’s— no. Well. I guess technically, yes. But not entirely secret.” He sobered. “She’s been my confidante since the beginning. Before anyone else. She listened when I couldn’t talk to anyone.”

Emi watched his face carefully as he went on.

“She’s in love with me,” Andy admitted quietly. “And… I’m in love with her too.” He swallowed. “I won’t leave her like this. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way to free her from the painting. For good.”

Emi didn’t tease him this time. All six of her arms folded around him, hugging him, understanding. “She’s lucky,” she said simply. “To have someone who refuses to give up on her.”

Then, to Andy’s shock, Emi addressed the painting directly. “Do you have friends, in there?”

Katherine’s posture changed. She lifted one hand and pointed—clearly—at Andy. Then, after a pause, she gestured outward, two fingers extended, a soft echo of inclusion Andy recognized instantly. Finally, her gaze returned to Emi, and she inclined her head—just enough to make it unmistakable.

Andy smiled. “She means me. And Claire. And Erin.” He glanced at Emi. “And now you.”

Emi’s breath caught. “Oh.” Then, warmly: “I’m honored.” She looked at the painting, then at Andy, then back. “If it’s not weird… could you bring me in, next time? I’d like to meet her. For real.”

He blinked, surprised. “Are you sure? It’s strange, and she’s always naked, and—”

Emi laughed. “Andy, I’m a six-armed girl and I spend my days with women who have tails, are naked, or have breasts the size of ottomans. Nothing’s too weird anymore.” She turned to the painting and waved, her smile genuine. “I’d like to be her friend, if she wants.”

Katherine straightened, then touched her cheek in a gesture that was both old-fashioned and heartbreakingly human. Her eyes glistened with something that might have been gratitude, or just the memory of it.

Andy felt a little awed, a little relieved. “I’ll set it up,” he said. “Next time, we’ll go together.”

“Good,” Emi said, eyes bright. She lingered, looking at the painting as if she wanted to memorize every detail. Then she turned and hugged Andy, all six arms wrapped around him, holding him tight.

“You don’t have to pick,” Emi whispered, face buried in his shoulder. “You can have all of us.”

He held her back, one arm around her waist, the other stroking the fine hair behind her ear. “I want all of you,” he said, “I thought it was greedy, but… it’s the only way this works. I love all of you. And I won’t let anyone be lonely. Not again.”

They stood that way for a while, the painting a silent witness.

When Emi finally let go, she was smiling, a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said, “I just… I’m glad you showed me.”

“Me too,” Andy said.

Emi reached out, upper left hand taking his, and together they left the bedroom, leaving Katherine in her painted world. As the door swung shut, Andy glanced back, and saw that she was watching them go—smiling, as if she had just been included in something she’d always wished for.

Back in the living room, Emi pulled him onto the sofa and curled into his side, all six arms wrapped around him in a gentle tangle.

“Next time you go see her,” Emi said, “I want to be there. Even if it’s just a dream.”

“Promise,” Andy said.

She rested her head on his chest, letting herself go heavy and soft.

“Thank you,” she said, so quietly he almost missed it.

He didn’t answer. He just stroked her hair, letting the morning stretch out around them like a second chance at happiness.

The Inner Gardens were awake by mid-morning, everything slick with dew and a gentle haze of light suspended above the beds. Andy found Erin in the back plot, kneeling over a tangle of blue fescue and bleeding-heart, shears flashing in her left hand. Her mint-green skin glistened where the sun hit it, and her body—bare as always, save for sneakers—was so at home among the foliage that Andy half expected to see new shoots sprouting from her legs if he looked closely enough.

She didn’t notice him at first, too intent on tracing the web of a morning glory vine that had strangled its own trellis. He stood back, watching her work. It was careful, not rushed—every cut a silent argument with herself, every handful of dead growth dropped onto the path with a kind of reverence. She paused to touch a drooping flower, the motion tender, almost apologetic.

Finally, Andy cleared his throat. “You know Mildred’s going to yell at you if you mess up her beds.”

Erin glanced over her shoulder, grinned. “Not likely. She’s on an extermination run. But I got tired of watching her **** everything in sight. Also, she never prunes the right way. She just hacks. Sometimes with a machete.”

He walked closer, stepping over a row of wet stepping-stones. “That’s a strong visual.”

She finished her cut, then turned and dropped the clippings into a trug already overflowing with blossoms and stems. “The first few days, I just ‘helped’ her. Now I think she expects me to do half her job. Which, honestly, I like better.” She eyed him, an evaluating glance. “She said if I ever bail, she’ll just take over again, so it’s not a big deal.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, then scowled at the shears. “Every time I look around, there’s more of them. I think the island is fighting back.”

Andy watched a tiny shoot uncurl from the dirt and reach for her bare thigh. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed it aside with his fingers, a small, instinctive act of protection. “Maybe it’s you.”

She made a face. “Don’t. I’m not some Poison Ivy cosplay.”

He shrugged. “Could be worse. You could be growing mushrooms.”

She gave him a sidelong look, equal parts insulted and amused. “If I ever start growing mushrooms, just shoot me.”

“Do you ever miss, you know, not being half chlorophyll?” he asked.

Erin snorted. “Sometimes. I miss hunger, weird as it sounds.” She straightened, flexing her hand around the pruning shears. “But it’s not so bad. I get to work out here all day, I don’t burn anymore, I feel, uh, kinda aroused in the sun, and the plants are happy to see me.” She gestured at the riot of color behind her—roses and zinnias, nasturtiums exploding out of the beds like they’d been paid to show off.

Andy stepped closer, close enough that her shoulder brushed his thigh when she shifted. She didn’t move away. He nodded toward the shears. “So what’s the plan today?”

“Containment,” she said. “The vines are getting aggressive. If I leave them alone for a day, they start eating the path.” She jerked her chin at the footpath behind her, where a single runner of morning glory had wound itself around two lamp posts and was making for a third.

Andy watched her work, the easy confidence in her movements. She snipped, deadheaded, and gathered fallen petals with a care that reminded him of the way she used to fix his hair before an event.

Without asking, Andy reached out and took the trug from her, setting it beside him so she could keep working unencumbered. He sat down on the damp stone, elbows on his knees. “Why do you do it?” he asked. “You don’t have to. Nobody would care.”

Erin was quiet a moment, the snip of her shears the only reply. Then, without looking at him, she said, “It keeps me from thinking.” She moved to the next bed, knuckles brushing the leaves. “I spent so much of my life trying to keep things under control. My body, my anger, my mom’s shit. Now I can actually do something about it, even if it’s just clipping vines.” She shot him a dry smile. “Call it meditation, if you want.”

Andy reached out, resting his hand lightly at the small of her back. He could feel the tension in her through it. He could see the appeal. Things grew the way they were supposed to, no matter how much you yelled at them.

She paused, looking over the tangle of cut stems. “Back home, I had a grudge garden. It’s stupid—every time someone pissed me off, I’d buy a seedling, name it after them, and plant it in the crappiest dirt I could find. The rule was, if it lived, I had to forgive them. If it died, I’d hold onto the grudge forever. I tried to put them in the basement, water them with cold coffee, the works.” She grinned, sheepish. “Usually, I couldn’t kill them. I’d have to rip them out of the soil. So the joke’s on me.”

“That’s dark,” Andy said, but he liked it. His hand traced a small, **** circle against her back. “Did you ever run out of grudges?”

She snipped a final branch, dropping the last of the clippings into her basket. “You’d be surprised how many assholes there are in conservation,” she said. “But on this island, it wouldn’t work. Everything thrives.” She picked up the trug, hugging it to her hip, and motioned for him to follow.

“Maybe you should make a forgiveness garden, then,” Andy suggested.

She considered this, then shook her head. “That’s too much work.”

He watched her for a while, her hands deft and sure even when she was lost in thought. She moved down the row, clipping, clearing, whispering little encouragements to the stubborn patches. The farther she got, the brighter the bed became—yellow, blue, a deep purple he’d never seen on a flower before.

He was about to ask another question when she stopped, stiffened, and let out a low whistle.

“Want to see something weird?” she asked.

“Always.” Andy stood and walked over, sliding an arm loosely around her waist as he leaned in to look.

In the bed where she’d trimmed the most, a sudden burst of color—orange blossoms, tight-fisted an hour ago, now all flared open, like a stadium full of spectators rising at once. The effect was so immediate, so coordinated, he felt his pulse jump.

Erin looked at him, cheeks darkening to a green he hadn’t seen before. “That’s been happening,” she said, voice low. “It started yesterday. The more I cut, the more it grows back. Like it flares up.”

Andy crouched beside her, fascinated. “Does it happen every time?”

Erin nodded. “I can’t tell if it’s the island, or me, or both. But I don’t want to screw it up by asking Arabella. She’ll probably turn me into a houseplant for fun.”

He tried to imagine Erin as a ficus, but couldn’t. He looked at her, saw the tension in her jaw, the way her hands shook a little. He reached up and took her hands gently, steadying it. “Are you scared?”

She shook her head, but it was a small shake, a maybe. “It’s just weird. It’s not in any of my transformations, and anyway, I’ve been a plant for over two weeks, and it’s never happened before.”

He reached out, touched the back of her hand. It was warm, almost feverish. “It’s beautiful, Erin. Not weird. Not scary.”

She glanced at him, relief flickering in her eyes. She leaned forward just enough that her forehead brushed his shoulder for a second before she caught herself. “Thanks,” she said, barely above a whisper. She leaned forward and kissed him warmly. Andy returned the kiss, until she pulled away breathlessly. “Between the sun and your gaze,” she gasped, “one more kiss and I’ll be a puddle. I’ve got things to do today.” She grinned, a little uncertain. “Fun can wait, can’t it?”

Andy smiled back. “It’s going to be challenging, but if that’s what you want…” Erin blushed, her cheeks flushing a deeper green.

“It’s not what I want, but it’s the responsible thing to do. Today, you’re Claire’s. Besides…” She cast a sly look at him, “You did sneak in some fun times yesterday afternoon.” She paused, reaching out to stroke his cheek gently. “Thank you, for that. I needed it.”

They gathered the flowers—there were more than they could carry, petals spilling over their arms and onto the stone. When they finished, Erin tied a few into a bundle with the stem of a daisy, then handed it to him.

“For you,” she said. “Sorry it’s not a grudge bouquet.”

He accepted the flowers, feeling their improbable weight. “I’ll take a forgiveness bouquet any day.”

She smiled, a softening of her whole face.

As they walked inside, arms full, her fingers threaded through his automatically, like muscle memory. Andy glanced at her. “Are you happy, Erin? With all that has happened to you… Are you okay with all this, now? Even after it’s all over?”

She thought a moment, then shrugged. “If it means waking up with you every day, sure. I’ll buy Reality Adjustments, and power through the selfconscious moments. I’ll carry your two-tailed plushie if I need to. But maybe I could do with smaller tits.”

He laughed. “I don’t mind the current size.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’re subtle.”

He bumped her with his elbow, careful not to spill the flowers. “Seriously, Erin. You’re perfect.”

She blushed again, but didn’t try to deflect it.

Inside, the air was cooler, the light diffused through heavy glass. Andy sensed her even before they turned the corner, and for a moment he hesitated, but he didn’t want to make things awkward. They turned into the hallway, and found Laura there, both bodies pacing in perfect lockstep and wearing identical blue dresses, a book in one body’s right hand. She tried to read with one body while walking with both, the other body’s eyes directing where to go, but after a few circuits she stopped, defeated, and let her arms drop to her sides.

Erin slowed. Andy felt it in her grip before he saw it in her posture. She hesitated, then her lips tightened and she approached, pulling a spray of orange and purple flowers from the bouquet she had given Andy. “Here,” she said,voice steady but careful. “I, uh—these are for you.”

Laura—both of her—looked at the flowers, then at Erin. Two faces bloomed with surprise. The right body reached out, took the bouquet with careful hands; the left body mirrored the gesture, then hovered awkwardly, as if not sure what to do with itself.

Andy watched as Laura’s two selves smiled, identical and involuntary. For the first time since she’d been introduced to the harem, as far as Andy could tell, both faces held the same pure, uncomplicated joy.

“Thank you,” Laura said, both voices at once. She swallowed, then added, quieter, “You didn’t have to.”

Erin grinned, then ducked her head, a self-conscious movement. “I wanted to,” she said. “They… felt like something you’d get.” Then, after a beat, she added, deliberately casual, “You can split them. One for each?”

Laura did, and both of her tucked a blossom behind the ears, moving in mirrored choreography. For a moment, she looked startled by herself—then she laughed, softly, at the symmetry.

Andy caught Erin’s eye, and they shared a look—a moment of understanding. Not triumph. Not relief. Just effort, seen and returned.

He started to move on, but paused at the sight of the two girls: Laura, now doubled but less lonely, and Erin, who had never looked so alive.

“See you later?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Erin said. She didn’t look away from Laura when she said it, like she was anchoring herself to the choice. Then, “Andy?”

He turned.

She looked at him, then at the garden bouquet in his arms. Her mouth twitched, half-smile, half-uncertainty. “Promise you’ll never let me go weird on you?”

He smiled, soft and certain. “Never.”

He left them there, the flowers bright as fireworks, the girls standing near each other in the hush of the hall, and felt—quietly, cautiously—like something fragile had been set down between them and not broken.

Bonus Art! Erin's Pathfinder 2e character, the fighter Rowan Shieldbark:

Tomorrow: Melody Stagelight!

Recurring Author's Note: Remember to check out the wiki at: https://hhnetwork.miraheze.org/wiki/Harem_Hotel:_The_HH

Aside from info on the contestants, the locations, and so on, a new section - the Marginalia - highlights Easter Eggs, deep cuts, foreshadowings and hidden elements in previous chapters. The same section is also present as a thread on the Discord channel (the Marginalia Discord thread is usually updated more often). BEWARE! There are no spoiler tags in the wiki, so the Marginalia chapter includes spoilers up to the last published chapter!

Likes and comments (or DMs) are always welcome!

Also, don't forget: you're welcome to propose TF ideas for Contestants via the anonymous link here: https://forms.gle/NY5MbGrvv2ZkUknn9 While I can't guarantee they'll all be used, or that they'll be used at the next available TF vote, I look at all suggestions and will try to fit them in where necessary.

Thank you for reading!