Probably because she's a horrifying monster?

As much as you and Eva try to slip into the crowd, everywhere you turn, you can spot someone watching you. Sometimes, it takes Eva helping you to notice. They aren’t “always on,” in that sense; most of the time they just seem like themselves, if a bit too smiley. Still, in every room you walk into, at least one of you notices someone take sharp rather than casual attention of your presence. You’re not sure if it’s an effect that CAN’T be subtle or if Atlee wants you to know what’s going on.

“I …” you tell Eva, not really caring if anyone overhears, “am going to go to the bathroom.” You then lower your voice briefly. “Maybe there’s a window and I can get upstairs? I want to check out the room everything happened in, see if it looks different. Can’t do that with the Stepford Sisters ogling us.”

“They’ll be distracted,” Eva answers back quietly. “Besides, it looks like it’s a handful of them, not the whole shebang yet. I don’t think they’d try anything out here. But I’ll still be careful. And not agree to any Fisherman’s Wife roleplay.”

“Your cross to bear.” Eva grins, then lightly kisses you on the cheek before you part. In the bathroom, you take a moment to touch your hand to where her lips were. Even through the echoing worry, some part of you still feels almost giddy at the sensation. Still, it’s tamped down by a combination of guilt and desperation to figure out how to do ANY kind of snooping. The bathroom offers no window to climb out of, and even if it did, you can hear voices from all around you. It could be the echo, but it makes an unpleasant kind of sense that Atlee would post people outside given it’s how you escaped last time.

Craning your neck, you scan the ceiling for false panels or secret passages, as insane as it sounds. It wouldn’t be weirder than your life’s become by this point. While you can see the old wood of Kappa house has plenty of creases, they’re none you could fit through.

‘Yet,’ something whispers to you.

A chill runs through you with a sharp ripple, making you stumble a little. First instinct is to catch your breath, but, y’know, done. The next is to see if you’re hurt. Which … you don’t think so? But the inky-black shape that’s now your body doesn’t really comfort you, either. Moving your hand, you watch it wave back and forth, a little looser than your actual hand, but still more or less in time with your mental commands. Experimentally, you stretch your arms upwards and find yourself ascending towards ceiling. Your body no longer looks recognizable as humanoid when you do, arms almost melting and pouring on to the ceiling in sheer defiance of gravity.

With a great deal of will and struggling, you manage to find a sufficient crack. Squirming and wriggling, you check if the coast is clear, then scout between the floors. You shortly find a way into the guest room through a peeling tile in the bathroom (no doubt the Kappas will be scandalized), shaping into a rough approximation of your form again. The lights are out, but you can see without any effort. Unlike your night vision, this seems to just be strictly upside, the light from the windows outside not causing any blinding flares. Moving close to the ground, not so much walking as gliding, you skim over the floor.

You wish Eva could do this part. She’s so much more perceptive than you. Sure, you can talk your way out of problems easier, a little due to how fiery she tends to get if someone’s being a bastard, but she always picks up on things you miss. Still, you sort of doubt getting up here like this is an option for her. It’s frustrating in combination with feeling like nothing there is new. No shards of lamp remain, Kurt’s long gone, and Atlee certainly isn’t lying dead on the mattress any more. You groan, jumping back a little from the sound of your own voice. You didn’t expect to be able to speak, but it sounds more or less like you. Just … tinny, like through an old-timey radio.

“Lose something?” The simple, teasing tone of the question is more unsettling than its sudden arrival. You spin around, rearing back up to full height, and see Atlee leaned up against the closed door, observing you casually. “Well, Jaquelin, it seems BOTH of us have secrets now. Don’t worry, it looks good on you. Adds to our feminine mystery.” She casually walks over to the window right past you, not even bothering to keep her eyes on you.

“… we killed you.” Idiot, she knows that.

“Technically, no. You killed a part of me, the worthless shell of my mother broken beneath the hands of your servant,” she sighs casually, crossing her arms as she watches the people in the house’s yard. “My other parent reconciled that situation, though. And the differences between it and my mother. Which made me.” She spins around to face you on that note, spreading her arms. “You can still call me Atlee. I am, mostly. Atlee was just missing some key pieces before. You know the expression ‘not playing with a full set?’ Well, she wasn’t.”

“She was a sadistic, petty ****-by-proxy scumfuck who ruined people’s lives,” you find yourself spitting, unnerved by how comfortable she seems talking to you. Part of it is that you don’t like her disregarding you, another is just that if she’s still Atlee, she’s still someone you don’t want to hear waxing about their awesomeness. “I don’t see a lot having changed.”

“Please, my scope was so limited before!” she argues, grinning widely. “Before, all I wanted was control, power, the ability to get what I want, when I wanted it. But you …” she points as she walks closer, “you freed me from that. Fixed me.” The chill that runs through you is vile, even in the chilly form of a moving shadow. “Do you know what Atlee was missing?”

“Basic human empathy? The structural integrity of her neck? Her marbles?” You try to sound confident. It doesn’t feel like it’s working.

“Her center, Jaquelin.”

“Don’t call me Jaquelin.”

“Stop me,” she answers dismissively. “She was missing her core, the thing that I and all the sisters and even a thing like you still has: a soul. Just an empty shell, acting how an empty shells acts: bitter, short-sighted, vicious. And I appreciate that. It’s … fuzzy, the memories from my other parent, but I think all that bile helped it grow beneath us. Feed off the spite roiling off her every action, how she twisted other people around to suit her needs and savaged those she disapproved of. Something … else, too, but I can’t put a name to it.” She pauses, seeming to try, then sighs as she gives up. “Either way, when you and your servant-“

“Eva is NOT my servant!” you snap. You immediately regret showing that kind of weakness. Moreover, weakness with a target.

“Jaquelin, please. When my mother agreed to join with my other parent into one, glorious, perfect creature, one of the gifts it gave me was clear vision. I can see into people. Their hearts, what they truly want. And for some of them, I can even grant it. But I can also see their ties. Eva would do anything for you, and she carries your blood. And all that guilt and anger running along you to her, you know something she doesn’t. You did something to her.”

“When did we start talking about me?”

“When you interrupted, but agreed, too long on that. I don’t judge you, incidentally, for enslaving her. It’s … messy compared to my solution, but it’s a tangible exertion of your truth. I can respect that.” It’s kind of hard not to just attack her, but your instincts are screaming not to … and to stay in this shape. The lack of mass feels oddly secure. “But did you even get her permission?” … “That’s what I thought. For everyone I’ve welcomed to join me in flawless unity, they’ve come willingly.”

“I saw. Taped it, in fact,” you tell her, for the first time feeling any measure of leverage in the exchange. “But I also know it’s not a perfect fit. Even if you get them to agree to fucking you, the after part … doesn’t seem like what you promised.”

“It’s exactly what I promised!” she gasps, looking sincerely offended. “Not my fault if they can’t conceive of what true, united purpose looks like until they’re in it. They’ll come around. The longer we’re together, they less they fight my leadership. More they surrender, peacefully, blissfully to the collective making the decisions for them.”

“So … we’re just not reacting to the fact I recorded you busting out tentacles, huh?”

“Yeah, no one’s going to think it’s CGI. Has to be real. Are you out of your fucking mind, Jaquelin?” she sneers as she answers. “Even if they did, you wouldn’t. Not in your position.”

“Have you considered yours?” you hiss, looming above her as you do. Your shape fills about half of the room, tendrils of shadows starting to form out of it, wriggling excitedly to be used once again. Fuck instinct, if she bosses you around now, she’ll never stop. “No slaves up here, Atlee. Just you and me and the dark.”

“Yes, and downstairs, no you. Just Eva and me and all my hands.” You stop moving forward. “If you attempt to harm me, Jaquelin, I will put the full effort of all the collective besides my current form into killing your servant. If you want to destroy me, end me, there’s no reason to pull punches. She’ll be dead before you can reach the top step.”

“Jesus …” As the words leave your lips, you wither back down to size, tentacles slipping away with the mass of shadow. You look down, eyes widening as you realize you’ve unintentionally entered physical form again. That feels … bad. ‘RUN!’ something in you screams. ‘Leave the bitch, and RUN! Before this thing kills you!’ You **** back the scream of sheer panic that wants to part your lips as you resist the urge tugging at your legs.

“I know the two of you aren’t human, like me … but I’m betting she’s not up to your par. I’m not precisely sure how to kill YOU, Jaquelin. But I believe eight girls with knives would be sufficient for a lone, mildly-inhuman coed, don’t you?” You say nothing, but remain still. “Good. There’s a reason I wanted to talk to you. And Eva, but it’s a bit of fate our extensions occupy the lower floor while the clearer heads talk it out up here. I wanted to thank you. If you’d never killed Atlee, she wouldn’t have needed to become me. She would have stayed shattered and incomplete. Faced with ****, a monster chose to be made whole. That’s a beautiful thing the two of you created, and out of such a sad state of affairs. Normally, I only attempt to convince people I read to be accepting to my ideas. Looking for a purpose, **** for intimacy, exhausted by navigating reality … and, of course, willing to accept my gift so I can bring them into unity. I can tell you’re not inclined. But, in the interest of keeping my secrets secret, you can imagine what’s required if someone rejects me. Knowing that is a privilege as well, Jaquelin, I don’t want it affecting their decision. It would taint the beauty of the process. One time offer, for you and Eva: join now, or leave forever. And if you leave, stay the hell out of my way. I won’t have small, murderous minds obsessed with flawed ideas of justice and unnatural desires stopping this. I won’t let you deny the world union.” She clearly becomes slightly enraged by her very own words, the idea seeming anathema to her as she spits them at you. Still, she blinks slowly after, composing herself. “So, what is it, Jaquelin? Collect your **** and leave in peace? Or be part of the future?” As she speaks, green tentacles like the ones you saw before, dance out from behind her back. You can’t be sure from this angle, but you’re fairly certain they’re coming FROM her back. Despite her words, she clearly expects you to given and lay with her until you’re another drone in whatever kind of hellscape her “unity,” is.