The Kiln to the Crown, Part 1

The voting had been open for all of thirty minutes, and already the mood on the main beach was post-celebratory—a kind of languid, sun-bleached bliss you only get when the tension is over and the consequences haven’t quite landed. The Contestants had drifted into loose, low-voiced groups scattered along the fringe of the sand and the gazebo platform. Some lounged against the whitewashed railings, some sat in the slatted shade with drinks or fruit, and a few—Emi and Myra, notably—were splashing around in the tide pool, uncaring of the fact that neither was even pretending to wear a swimsuit.

Andy spent the time weaving between these constellations, a glass of water in one hand, the other usually caught up in a hug, or a long, careful squeeze on someone’s shoulder. The sky was high and utterly clear, the heat made bearable by the ocean breeze and the salt that seemed to dust every surface.

He checked his watch—it was a little past noon, the day already shifting into that peculiar, molten-bright calm of early afternoon. A few of the women were eating as Mildreds brought trays of small bites, but more were just talking, as if lunch would have been too much effort. Suddenly, Arabella’s voice rang out across the beach, somehow soft and thunderous at once: “Contestants, please return to the gazebo. Voting is now closed.”

The sound of her voice had a gravitational pull—within seconds, the scattered groups began to reform, all paths bending back to the white, sunwashed pavilion at the edge of the sand.

He let the women precede him, watching as they filed up the steps one by one. Each seemed a little changed, even just from this morning: looser, more present, more themselves. Myra was laughing, genuine and open, as she towel-dried her hair; even Norah, already wobbling on her heels, looked less defensive than usual. The last to join was Laura, both of her, hair streaming behind her in twin black swirls as she climbed the steps side by side with Liesa.

Andy sat on the Master’s Throne, which today looked even more absurdly out of place in the gentle chaos of bare feet, driftwood, and spilled lemonade. It felt different, too, as he lowered himself onto the wide, curved seat. He’d spent so many hours here tense, dreading the events of a challenge or trying to look like he had everything under control. Now it was—he had to admit—almost nostalgic. Maybe even a little bit sweet.

He looked out at the row of women on their stools. It struck him, all at once, how much had changed since the first ceremony, two months and a lifetime ago.

Norah was at the far left, perched stiffly but with her hands open in her lap. Her dark curls were wild in the wind, and her blouse—today, a ridiculous translucent blue that she’d tried to “fix” with a black bandeau—did little to hide the deep caramel skin beneath. When she saw Andy watching, she arched an eyebrow, as if daring him to say something snarky. Instead, he just smiled, and she looked away, but the hint of a smile tugged at her mouth.

Next to her was Marissa, tall and poised, her hair swept up in a severe twist. She wore a blue sleeveless dress that made her look less like a judge and more like someone who belonged in the sunlight. Marissa caught Andy’s gaze, and he saw—just for an instant—a flicker of arousal, an exact echo of his own, before she reined it in. The transformation that bound her to his emotional state was working perfectly, but she handled it with more grace than he ever could have.

Emi came next, a riot of pastel and color and arms. She was barefoot, as always, and her dress was a loose, watercolor number that somehow managed to make her look like both a goddess and a lost child. Emi noticed Andy and waved with two hands, then blushed as she realized it, and tucked all of them into her lap.

Erin, in all her impossible glory, lounged with her feet kicked up on the railing. Andy felt her gaze on him, and the instant he met her eyes, she broke into a slow, satisfied grin. He knew exactly what she was thinking. The plant-girl thing had become so normal that he barely registered it, except for the way the sunlight made her skin glow.

Sam was next, her hair a riot of blue, dressed in her usual “didn’t try, still looks good” way. Today she had a t-shirt with a hand-drawn coffee mug, and cut-off jeans, and when she saw Andy watching, she grinned and gave a salute. She knew her role, and it was to see everything and make sure nobody fell apart.

Claire sat with her legs crossed, her posture almost too perfect to be casual. The white dress she wore had little blue cats embroidered along the hem, and she had a single red pencil tucked behind her ear. She met Andy’s gaze with a directness that still startled him, and he felt her confidence.

Dawn and Liesa had ended up side by side. Dawn’s dress was loose and white and made her look like she belonged in a painting. She looked like the happiest person on the island. Even with her new transformation pending, she radiated a kind of hopeful serenity. Liesa was the counterpoint—artsy, sharp, always looking to the side, dressed in a t-shirt which, Andy suddenly noticed, had paint splatters near the hem, and running shorts. She never met Andy’s gaze directly, but her eyes flicked to him when she thought he wasn’t looking, and he caught the smile she tried to hide.

Chloe, with her enormous breasts and a lavender sundress that failed at its only job, perched delicately at the end of the row. She blushed when Andy looked at her, but didn’t hide her face. Instead, she offered him a smile that was pure gratitude, and it felt like something he wanted to put in a jar and keep.

Riley was next to Chloe, her boots kicked up and her arms folded. She had a new confidence, the kind that came from being chosen and not just surviving. When Andy’s eyes found her, she lifted her chin, daring him to look away first. He didn’t, and the moment hung there a little longer than it should have.

Emily sat cross-legged on her own stool, all pink hair and nakedness and the faint scent of coconut oil. She was smiling, lost in some thought or memory, and when Andy made eye contact, she flushed, then immediately tucked her hair behind her ear, which only made it worse.

Myra, next to Emily, was as composed as ever. Her eyes, though blind, never stopped moving, and her fox ears were radar-locked on every sound. Her tail, huge and soft, wrapped around her ankles. She didn’t react to Andy’s gaze, but sensed his attention and turned to face him with absolute certainty.

And then, at the center, Laura—both of her. She wore the same white dresses she had worn in Warrenville, and Andy didn’t think it was a coincidence, but had added a ribbon to her hair, just for the hell of it. She didn’t look at Andy so much as through him, and when he met her eyes, both sets, he felt the gravity of everything that had come before. She smiled, and he realized: she didn’t need anything from him right now. She was complete.

Andy let himself breathe, just for a second, and looked down at his hands gripping the arms of the Throne. He thought about how this might be the last time he sat here for this kind of ceremony, the last time this group would ever be together for something like this. Arabella had implied, after all, that the final ceremony would be different. He wondered if that was good, or bad, or just inevitable.

He looked up, and saw the women—all of them—watching him back.

It was time.

Arabella stepped to the center of the gazebo, her white suit catching the noonday sun in a way that made her seem both less and more real—like she was half-angel, half-host, and entirely in charge of the moment. She scanned the rows of women, her gaze pausing on each in turn. Andy noticed, for the first time, a hint of real feeling there—a kind of parental pride, maybe, or the fondness of someone who’d watched a group of weird ducklings grow into full-fledged swans.

She smiled, and her voice cut through the hush. “I want to thank you, all of you,” she said. “I know that sounds like something I say at the end of every Challenge, but today, I mean it in a different way.”

There was a subtle shift in the air. The women leaned in, attentive but not on guard. Even Erin, who usually spent these speeches checking her phone or zoning out, seemed to take this one a little more seriously.

“You’ve all come so far,” Arabella continued. “And I’m not just talking about points or victories or the number of times you’ve managed to circumvent the rules without actually breaking them.” Her eyes lingered on Sam, who gave a sheepish, two-fingered salute. “I’ve seen each of you overcome things that, frankly, would have broken you before coming here.”

Marissa nodded, slow and measured, as if agreeing for all of them. Myra’s fox tail twitched once, then curled around her ankle. Even Norah, arms folded tight, didn’t bother to hide the small, genuine smile at the corner of her mouth.

Arabella took a breath, and when she spoke again, it was softer. “I’m proud of you. Each and every one.” She glanced at Andy, and something unspoken passed between them—an acknowledgment that he, too, had come farther than anyone expected, himself included.

Arabella took a moment to let the words land. She looked down, brushed an imaginary speck of sand from her lapel, and then met the gaze of each woman in turn, slow as sunrise.

“I mean it,” she said again, voice softer now. “There have been rough patches—“ and here her eyes lingered on Myra, then on Riley, and for the briefest instant, on Erin and Laura—“but you are a remarkable group. I could not have hoped for a better cast, or a finer Master, to bring my... to bring my contract to its close.”

There was a tiny, almost-invisible shiver on the last word, but if anyone noticed, no one commented. A hush fell over the women, and Andy realized most of them didn’t know, yet, that this was going to be Arabella’s last season.

Chloe was the first to break the spell. She raised her hand, sheepish. “Does that mean this is, um, your last time running a show like this?”

Arabella nodded, and her smile was genuine, if tinged with something that felt like the echo of goodbye. “Yes, Chloe. After this season, I will not be hosting another. My contract with the Harem Hotel ends at the conclusion of this cycle, and it has been extended for as long as permitted.”

She said this as if it were funny, but Andy heard the catch in her voice. He wondered if anyone else did.

Sam, never one to let an awkward moment fester, said, “What do you do when you retire from this gig? Is there, like, a Host country club, or do you just finally get to have a vacation?”

Arabella laughed, and for a second it sounded real. “Either one would be pleasant, Sam. But the important thing is that you, all of you, are the last group I get to mentor. Which means—“ her eyes flicked to Andy, then back to the group—“that I intend to make this ending one worth remembering.”

There was a ripple of reaction down the row. Erin snorted and muttered, “Always the overachiever,” but her grin was too wide to read as insult. Marissa gave a small, approving nod. Dawn blinked hard, and for a second looked as if she was about to ask a question, but then just shook her head and smiled.

“So what happens now?” Riley asked, as if she couldn’t bear to let the moment slip into sentimentality. “Do we get the new upgrades and then the final round is, what, a free-for-all?”

Arabella shook her head. “Not exactly. As I mentioned before, if you continue at your current rate—if everyone crosses the one-hundred point threshold in the Sixth Round—there will be no further ‘normal’ transformations. The last round will be dedicated solely to ‘exit’ transformations.”

She let that linger, then added: “Exit transformations are not like the others. They do not alter your essential nature, or challenge your identity. Instead, they are designed to help you return to the world outside the Hotel. They exist solely to ensure your future happiness, your security, your integration back into the lives you left behind.”

A silence. This time, it was Norah who broke it, her voice brash but not unkind: “So, if we do this right, we get to go home. No fine print, no catch.”

“That’s correct,” said Arabella. “You have my word on it, and more importantly, you have the word of the Producers, which is binding.”

Emily, who had been hugging her knees and swaying a little in her seat, raised a hand shyly. “Do exit transformations fix, uh... the outside world? Like, will people notice if I show up to Thanksgiving with no clothes and pink hair down to my butt?”

Several women snickered. Even Riley looked amused.

Arabella’s expression grew more serious. “A perceptive question, Emily. Exit transformations do not automatically include a Reality Adjustment. If you wish for your external changes to be invisible or unremarkable to outsiders, you must purchase a Reality Adjustment from the Commissary. I strongly advise anyone with physical or behavioral transformations that would cause alarm in public to make the investment.”

She paused, as if to let each woman do the quick math in her head.

“Myra, for example,” she said, “your fox ears and tails are charming, but in the real world, they may draw more attention than you prefer.”

Myra nodded, her fingers tracing the edge of her tail. “Noted,” she said, voice dry as sand.

“Dawn, your ears and cottontail. Emi, your six arms. Erin, your coloration and the whole, well, nudity thing—“ Arabella let the list trail off, then turned to the rest: “You all know who you are. Please consider the option. We want you to return safely, and with dignity intact.”

Erin smirked. “You’re just worried I’ll upstage other women at the supermarket.”

Arabella didn’t miss a beat. “You do have a commanding presence,” she said, and Erin blushed, but didn’t refute it.

Claire, who had been taking notes in a tiny book, wrote furiously, then ripped off a page and handed it to Andy. It read: Will the wedding also require us to buy a Reality Adjustment to be legal in our world?

Andy cleared his throat and said, “Claire wants to know if the marriage will be recognized legally despite its, uh, unusual structure, or if we need a Reality Adjustment for it.”

Arabella turned to face Claire directly. “It will be legal. For anyone who wishes to join the Master in matrimony before the end of the show, I will ensure that the wedding is Reality Adjusted as well, without need for you to purchase anything—your union will be as binding and official as you wish it to be, regardless of the number of partners. No one, not even your families, will find it unusual that several of you married the same man, or, for that matter, that some of you also married each other. Even in jurisdictions where polygamy or polycules are not normally legal.”

Claire nodded, satisfied. Several of the others gave her a thumbs-up, or in Marissa’s case, a discreet smile.

Norah said, “If I get a Reality Adjustment, does that mean I can wear normal shoes again, or am I stuck with the heels forever?”

Arabella shrugged. “The Reality Adjustment applies only to the perception of others. You’ll still experience the world as you do now, but to anyone outside the harem, it will be perfectly ordinary. If you’re not wearing heels and you crawl, those who see you will assume it’s perfectly normal, but they will still see you crawl.”

Norah looked half-relieved, half-cheated. “That’s almost clever,” she said.

Myra, who had been silent for most of this, spoke up. “Is there a limit to the Reality Adjustment? Or can I just, you know, make the world see me as the old me?”

Arabella answered: “Reality Adjustments will ensure no one finds your tail or ears noteworthy. Your family will believe they’re perfectly normal on you, and will not feel any logical dissonance from memories of you not having either. But they’ll still see them. They may comment on them the same way as they’d comment on your hair, or your looks. They simply won’t draw attention as unnatural, unusual, or legally challenging. The rest is up to you.”

Dawn, who had been quiet, said: “That sounds nice.”

Arabella smiled at her, and for a second, Andy thought he saw something proud and sad at the same time.

Emi, who had been twirling a pencil in her upper left hand, said: “If we all buy Reality Adjustments, does that mean we get to, like, have brunch in New York and not get arrested?”

“That is the idea,” said Arabella. “But please use common sense. I cannot be held responsible for what you do with six arms in public.”

This got a genuine, warm laugh from almost everyone.

Even Sam, who usually played it cool, looked moved. “This is actually... really cool. Like, more than I expected.”

Arabella nodded. “That is the hope. Now, if there are no more questions, I believe it is time to assign your transformations. We will begin with...” She paused. “Riley, you’re up first.”

There was a collective, held breath, as if the whole world was about to tilt forward into something new.

Riley moved like she’d rather be anywhere else, but she squared her shoulders and marched to the front anyway, boots thumping on the sun-bleached boards. “I assume,” she said, arms folded, “that I either have to speak in verse for the rest of my natural life or you’ve made it so I can’t come unless Andy ties me up.”

Chloe, who was two stools down and already white-knuckling her glass of juice, blurted: “Don’t say that. You’ll jinx it.”

Arabella’s smile was sly but not unkind. “You underestimate this harem’s Audience, Riley. This may be the most supportive collective I’ve ever seen. With 61.76% of the vote, you have been given Dead Reckoning.”

Riley’s face, which had been braced for a joke or a humiliation, went blank.

Arabella explained: “You will have a constant, unerring sense of where the people you care about are, at all times. The stronger your connection, the more exact the location. It works for everyone, not just Andy, but be aware: the signal is strongest for those with whom you share deep connections, emotional or physical intimacy.” She paused. “I should emphasize, Riley, that the transformation does not make any distinction between whether you acknowledge that connection or not. If you have a deep connection with someone but refuse to acknowledge it, Dead Reckoning may well prove to you that your denial is meaningless.”

Riley blinked. She didn’t have a prepared response, so she just said, “That’s... not what I expected I’d get.”

• Dead Reckoning: Riley develops an unerring instinct for where people she loves are at any given moment — just their location, precise and constant. The more emotionally or physically intimate she becomes with someone, the more precise the sense becomes. Casual affection gives vague direction—deep connection gives exact positioning down to inches. (Widow’s Wake)

Arabella nodded, then softened, the way you do when a kid is caught off guard by their own birthday cake. She stepped close enough to brush a lock of black-red hair from Riley’s forehead, her touch featherlight and unexpectedly gentle.

“Guarded Release,” Arabella continued, “received 35.29% of the vote. If you don’t reach the 100VP finish line, it’ll be back next round. Stanza Stutter, with 2.94% of the vote, will be available for purchase in the Annex, should you ever wish to experiment with it. But I suspect you’ll make Dead Reckoning your own in no time.”

Riley just nodded, unsure what to say. She turned to look at the ring of women arrayed around the gazebo, like she was listening for a sound that hadn't existed until just now. Her expression was uncharacteristically open — not soft, exactly, but stripped of its usual armor.

At first, nothing happened. Riley scanned the faces, her gaze sharp as ever. But then her head tilted, and her expression shifted: curiosity, then surprise, then a kind of nervous concentration as she honed in on each signal.

She started at her own end of the row, eyes shifting from one woman to another as she gathered how precise the directional sense was for each of them. “Okay,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “Okay, that's — that's weird.” At first, she seemed almost disappointed by the fuzziness of most signals. Then came Chloe. Riley paused, looked at her for a long beat, and something relaxed in her whole body — a subtle shift, like tension draining from a muscle you'd forgotten was clenched. She held the gaze, letting the signal wash over her, and a lopsided smile broke across her face.

Chloe flushed bright pink, but met Riley’s eyes anyway. Andy grinned, realizing the question they had both answered with that gaze.

“Yeah,” Riley said quietly, still looking at Chloe. “That tracks.” She held it a moment longer than necessary, as if savoring the confirmation of something she'd been afraid to measure.

Riley looked back at Arabella, as if to ask if this was all there was, but then she kept moving, running the scan all the way around.

Then she found Andy. Riley’s head snapped around, and her eyes went wide, and for a moment she just stared at Andy with an intensity that bordered on invasive. The warmth she'd shown Chloe didn't vanish, exactly, but it was overtaken by something that looked a lot like alarm. She opened her mouth, closed it. “That's —” she started, then stopped. “That's not what I signed up for,” she said finally, half under her breath, more to herself than to him.

She held the look for a second too long, then jerked her eyes away, as if refusing to let him see how rattled she was. But the afterimage lingered in the air between them, and Andy felt the weight of it like a secret he wasn't supposed to know.

Next, she locked onto Emi. There was a hesitation, a kind of double-take, as if the signal was both familiar and not. Riley frowned, her eyebrows knitting. Emi looked back, blinking, and then shrugged all six hands in unison, as if to say, Beats me.

“You,” Riley said, pointing at Emi with a faint accusatory note. “Why are you so —” She trailed off. “I don't know what that is,” she admitted, and it was clear from her tone that not knowing bothered her more than the signal itself. Riley mouthed, “What the fuck?” but Emi just smiled and wiggled her fingers, unbothered.

The last two signals were Myra and Laura. Riley turned to Myra, and this time her face went truly blank. She searched Myra’s face, looked again, and her frown deepened. “That doesn't make sense,” she said, out loud this time, with the bluntness of someone who has given up on being tactful. She looked at Myra, then at her own hands, as if checking whether the transformation was malfunctioning. “We barely —” She stopped herself. Myra tilted her blind gaze in Riley's direction, ears pricked forward, sensing the confusion clearly. Riley shook her head and moved on, but the frown stayed.

Riley looked like she wanted to ask something, but didn’t know how, so she shook her head and moved on to Laura.

With Laura, Riley didn’t even have to try. The **** of it hit her like a slap, and for a split second, she froze, blue-green eyes wide as the sea. She stared at Laura, both bodies, and her lips parted, the breath catching audibly. The look wasn't what it might have been years ago — not the ****, teenage longing she'd once carried for Laura and never spoken aloud. It was something older and less explicable than that, a recognition that went deeper than memory or desire. Riley looked like someone who had just found proof of something they had believed on faith for years and didn't know whether to feel vindicated or undone by it. She held the gaze for a full breath, then let it go, her hands curling tight around her own elbows.

She blinked hard, twice, then turned back to Arabella.

“I don’t get it,” she said, voice flat but trembling at the edges. “Is it broken? Why is it so—“

Arabella gave her a kind look. “Because of your connection to them,” she said, as if it was the only explanation that mattered. “Though the nature of that connection varies from person to person.”

Riley returned to her stool without another word. The effect lingered on her face—she didn’t try to hide the way her jaw clenched, or the faint tremor in her hands as she sat down. But she looked at Chloe again, when Chloe took her hand, and this time her smile was even braver. Her eyes kept darting back to Myra, unsettled, the way you kept returning to a sum that wouldn't add up.

Andy wanted to say something, but it seemed right, for now, to just let the new transformation settle. He caught Riley’s eyes, gave her a nod, and she gave him one in return—a compact, a truce, a promise not to run away from this version of herself.

Arabella waited for the moment to breathe, then looked at the assembled women. “Emi, you’re next. Please come up.”

And so the ceremony rolled forward, the sun climbing, the world opening up just a little more, the women—each in her own way—finding out how much more there was to themselves, and to each other.

Emi stood up, smoothing the loose fabric of her dress with a flourish of three hands while the other three tucked nervously behind her back. She walked toward Arabella with the same measured pace she used for art gallery openings—trying to look casual, but secretly counting every step.

Arabella smiled as Emi reached her, and for a moment, there was a softness to the Host’s expression that made Emi forget about the votes, the other women, the sun on her arms, everything. “I remember,” said Arabella, “how much these ceremonies used to scare you. Now you look like you’re ready to run them yourself.”

Emi’s six hands twined together, then apart. “I’m still scared,” she admitted, but her voice was steady. “Just... more scared of letting Grandma down than of what comes next.”

Arabella’s eyes sparkled, and she took one of Emi’s hands in both of her own. “You could never let her down,” Arabella said. “But I have it on good authority that Anna is already proud.”

A flush started at Emi’s cheeks and radiated out, visible even on her pale skin.

Arabella straightened and raised her voice just enough for everyone to hear: “Due to a tie, and the Audience’s overwhelming support, you have received both Inanna’s Garden and Dream Gate, at exactly 42.86% of the vote each.” She smiled, letting it sink in before continuing. “Something Borrowed, with 8.57% of the votes, will return if the Sixth Round does not complete the game, and Orgasm Hoarder, with 5.71% of the vote, is available at the Annex if you ever wish to try it.”

• Inanna’s Garden: Emi's body is Inanna's sacred ground in miniature. Where she rests, things grow. Where she loves, the air changes. Where she is aroused, the space becomes a temple in the oldest sense — a place set apart, where ordinary rules soften and truth (and arousal) comes more easily. (Innocence)
• Dream Gate: Each night, one Contestant is chosen at random and their sleeping mind is connected to the dream of another person on the island. The receiving dream is almost always intensely erotic, and both dreamers remember it on waking. (Dreamer)

Emi blinked, genuinely shocked. “Both?” she said, as if unable to process it.

“Both,” Arabella confirmed, squeezing Emi’s hand. “The Audience was clearly divided, and perhaps thought it would be cruel to make you choose between them.”

Emi’s lower left hand crept up to her mouth. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Arabella explained, “Dream Gate may not be immediately apparent. You’ll know when it activates, because you will remember the dreams your targets share. The subjects will become clear as you experience them.” She paused, and her tone turned playful: “Inanna’s Garden is more immediate. You will affect the world around you, Emi. Where you sleep, where you love, even where you simply rest—life will bloom, and the atmosphere will change to match your spirit.”

Emi’s hands fluttered in what could only be described as emotional semaphore. “Does this mean I need to warn people before I go places?” she said, half-joking.

“Only if you wish to remain inconspicuous,” said Arabella, “but I rather hope you’ll leave a little beauty everywhere you go. It’s your birthright.” She paused, then grinned. “Might want to keep an eye on the Suite during your date night with Andy, especially in conjunction with Velvet Hours.”

There was a small hush as Emi processed the information. For the first time, she looked directly at Andy. “Do you think it’s... too much?” she asked, voice soft.

Andy shook his head. “I think it’s perfect for you,” he said, meaning it absolutely.

Emi grinned, her six hands coming together in a self-hug. “Then I’ll do my best.”

“Excellent,” Arabella said. “You may return to your seat, and congratulations, Emi.”

Emi nodded, offered a little bow, and turned to walk back to her spot. As she passed the other women, several reached out to pat her shoulder or squeeze her arm—each gesture leaving her a little more radiant than before.

When she reached her stool, she sat with her back straight, her hands folded primly in her lap. Arabella glanced down the line. “Erin,” she called, “please join me.”

Erin got up with her usual predatory confidence, shoes slapping against the boards, the sunlight catching green undertones in her skin. When she reached Arabella, she stopped and tilted her chin up, meeting the Host’s gaze without an ounce of deference. “Ready for my next act of public humiliation,” she said, loud enough that even Chloe snorted.

Arabella just laughed. “It’s remarkable, the change from our first meeting, don’t you think? I remember you arguing, very convincingly, that you’d never participate in anything like this. Now look at you.”

Erin grinned, spreading her arms to display her nakedness, her breasts moving with the gesture. “I’d argue you did most of the heavy lifting.”

There was a soft ripple of laughter from the harem. Arabella smiled, and if there was a hint of respect in it, Andy wasn’t surprised. “Your voters really love you, Erin,” Arabella said. “A tie for first place. So, you will get two transformations today.”

For a moment, Erin’s eyes narrowed, like she was scanning for a loophole. “And you’re sure you can’t just give me a pass?”

“Not a chance,” said Arabella, voice bright. She placed both hands on Erin’s shoulders, like she was conferring a knighthood. “With 41.67% of the vote each, your new transformations are Fertilizer and Yoga Therapist. Congratulations.”

A low whistle from Sam, and even Andy could feel the tension release into low-key amusement.

• Fertilizer: Every time the Master ejaculates inside Erin, or she eats his cum, she is satiated for a day. Additional ejaculations that day temporarily add to the size of her breasts, butt, or to her height (randomly chosen) until the end of the round. (Ki)
• Yoga Therapist: If Erin leads someone else in a yoga session, the other person finds themselves refreshed, and any stress, anxiety and depression they may feel are diminished. Repeated sessions with Erin may dampen or even cure pathological anxiety or depression. (Yoga Fanatic)

Erin snorted, not unkindly. “I hope you’re keeping score, Andy.”

Norah, who had a gift for turning anything into innuendo, leaned forward. “Does it stack? Like, if you go at it four or five times, are we going to need to widen the doors?”

Erin shot her a look, but she didn’t seem annoyed. “I’d rather find out the hard way,” she said, deadpan.

Arabella moved on, unphased. “I'll let Erin discover that one. As for Yoga Therapist, it is exactly what it sounds like: if you lead someone else through a yoga session, it will provide measurable improvements in stress, anxiety, even depression. Repeated sessions might even have a lasting therapeutic effect. The more you invest in others, the greater the benefit.”

A softer beat, and then Marissa, genuinely impressed, said, “That’s actually... incredible. Gunning for my job, Erin?”

Erin’s eyes flickered, and for a second she seemed almost embarrassed, but then she caught herself and shrugged. “If it means fewer panic attacks around here, I’m game.”

Arabella nodded. “Both Leashed and Living Bouquet also tied at 8.33% of the vote each. But as a returning option, Leashed will be available in the Annex,” she added, “should you ever feel the urge for, ah, more traditional constraints. And if the Sixth Round is not completed in time, Living Bouquet will return.”

Erin grinned wider. “Good. I prefer to stay unchained. But if my hair starts sprouting roses, I’m blaming you.”

“Noted,” said Arabella, and there was real affection in it.

Andy, not sure what else to say, offered, “We’ll have to check out the upgrade options for Fertilizer. I’m curious what those include.”

Erin looked at him with a gleam in her eye. “You’re just hoping to **** it to my boobs,” she said, with no shame at all.

Andy shrugged, playing it cool. “I like all three options.”

Chloe, in a burst of pure honesty, piped up: “You’d look amazing taller. Or, um, any way. Sorry.”

Erin gave her a mock-bow. “Thanks, Chloe.”

There was a wave of laughter, and Andy could see the tension in the group had melted away entirely. Even those who weren’t directly in the spotlight seemed buoyed by the good humor.

“Congratulations, Erin,” Arabella said. Erin didn’t respond, but the set of her jaw softened just a bit.

She turned and walked back to her seat, making sure to exaggerate the sway of her hips as she passed Andy. He caught her eye and she smirked, a real, unguarded grin.

Arabella checked her card again, and called out, “Dawn, if you’d join me, please?”

Dawn made her way up with a hop in her step, though Andy could see the nerves in the way her hands twisted at the hem of her white sundress. Her bunny ears drooped, then perked, then drooped again—like a built-in mood ring. She paused in front of Arabella, who was now the picture of motherly warmth, every gesture designed to put Dawn at ease.

“This is a truly remarkable harem,” Arabella said, as if confiding a secret. “You have the most supportive Audience I’ve ever seen. Dawn, they have voted overwhelmingly in your favor. With 45,45% of the vote, you receive Staff Synergy.”

• Staff Synergy: Dawn is good at working with others. From now on, she can kiss another contestant to copy one of their transformations for 24 hours, and during this time, they both feel any sexual pleasure the other receives. (Consierge)

Dawn’s eyes grew wide. “Really? I… honestly thought they’d go for the bodice ripper or the high thing.”

Sam, from the row, called out, “You’re going to be the world’s horniest consierge by Thursday.”

The harem erupted with laughter, even Myra. Dawn blushed, ears drooping so far they nearly covered her eyes.

Arabella smiled, then said, “Accidental Burrowing was the runner-up at 27.27%. If you don’t finish the game by the Sixth Round, it will be back in the next vote. Chasing That High and Bodice-Ripper Logic, respectively at 15.15% and 12.12%, are available for purchase in the Annex.” She touched a single finger to Dawn’s lips, just for a second—a gesture both intimate and featherlight.

Dawn blushed deeper, but managed, “Do I get to pick which transformation I copy, or is it random?”

“Random,” said Arabella. “Every kiss with another contestant could be an adventure.”

Dawn glanced back at the other women. “Is that… dangerous?”

Before Arabella could answer, Emi shot up, six hands raised. “I’ll help!” she said, and scampered forward, her dress fluttering around her knees. “None of my transformations are too weird, and if you get the six arms, it’ll only last a day anyway. Plus, if you get Gotta Kiss Them All, maybe you can pick up some extra points.”

Sam deadpanned, “This is how supervillain teams form. Two seconds after the new power unlocks and already we’re running experiments.”

Dawn giggled, nerves forgotten for the moment. She turned to Emi. “Should we… do it?”

“Go for it,” said Emi, barely holding back a fit of giggles.

Dawn swallowed, ears drooping with each fraction of movement, and squared her shoulders. “Okay, Emi,” she said, “if you don’t mind. But, um, can we just do a normal kiss, and not one of the—” She waved her hands vaguely, as if this might convey “movie makeout” without having to say it.

Emi stepped closer. She had always been Dawn’s height, maybe even a little shorter, but today there was something ethereal about the way she moved—her six arms folded in a strange, shy ballet, her eyes big and impossibly gentle. “I promise it won’t be weird,” Emi said, her voice light as a feather. “You can even close your eyes if you want.”

Dawn laughed, but it came out more like a hiccup. She looked back at the other women for moral support, and immediately regretted it; Sam, Riley, and even Erin were all watching, rapt, as if waiting for the next move in a championship chess match. Marissa and Norah were less obvious, but Marissa’s lips curled in a smile and Norah was perched forward, arms crossed over her chest but a sparkle in her eyes.

Andy wondered if maybe this had been the plan all along—get everyone invested, make it less scary by making it communal. He couldn’t help but root for them.

Dawn bit her lip and took a half-step toward Emi. “Do I just…?”

Emi reached out, took her hand, and squeezed. “Let’s just try it,” she said, as if inviting her to step into a pool. The two women faced each other, close but not touching, and for a moment there was a hush, the kind that only happens before a first kiss.

Emi leaned in, her lips soft and careful, and Dawn met her in the middle—no fireworks, just the simple press of lips, the pause, the gentle exhale as they broke apart. It could have been the most G-rated thing in the world, except that the second it happened, Andy felt the air in the gazebo change.

Dawn blushed so hard her freckles nearly disappeared. “Did it work?” she asked, more to the sky than to anyone present.

Arabella answered. “It did! But let’s see which one you received.” She lifted her hand in a practiced gesture, as if plucking something out of thin air. “Congratulations, Dawn. You have indeed inherited the current version of Gotta Kiss Them All, and for the next 24 hours, you too will have the ability to earn VPs for specific, shall we say, activities.”

The crowd reaction was immediate: Sam whistled through her teeth, and even Laura—usually composed—let out a surprised, musical giggle.

Dawn’s mouth fell open. “Wait, I have to—” She flailed her hands, then slapped both over her face. “Oh, no.”

Riley, ever the instigator, called out, “Better start working through that list, Dawn!”

Dawn, peeking through her fingers, said, “If I don’t do it, what happens?”

Arabella’s eyes twinkled. “Absolutely nothing. But if you do it, you will receive a VP reward.”

Sam deadpanned, “That’s basically how it worked for Emi, too. Only in your case, it’s with more blushing and fewer arms.”

A beat, and then the group collapsed into laughter. Dawn covered her face, her bunny ears plastering against her cheeks as she half-groaned, half-giggled at the scrutiny. Then she eventually asked, “If I copy someone’s transformation, is it the basic version or the upgraded one?”

Arabella, patient as ever, answered: “You receive the transformation in its current state—upgrades, quirks, and all. So if you got Emi’s six arms, you would have full control over them, just as she does.”

Dawn nodded, still processing. “And I can’t upgrade a temporary transformation, right?”

Arabella nodded. “Exactly. Staff Synergy lasts for 24 hours, unless you make it permanent. You can do so by purchasing the appropriate item in the Commissary.”

Dawn considered this. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you.” There was a lull, the kind that happens when the emotional energy of a room briefly runs out of velocity. Andy realized everyone was waiting for the next cue.

Arabella gave it, eyes twinkling: “There is, of course, the second component of the transformation. When you’re copying a transformation, you share any pleasure the other person experiences.”

The group did a synchronized double-take. “Wait, what?”

Arabella nodded. “Try it now, if you wish.”

Emi grinned, clearly enjoying her role as the team’s guinea pig. “Andy?” she said, turning to him with all six hands ready for action.

Andy, on cue, stood up and walked toward Emi, trying to look composed. Her six arms wrapped around him, and it was like hugging a particularly friendly octopus. She pressed her face to his, her uppermost hands curling behind his neck, the lower two bracing his back.

He kissed her, gently at first, then with a little more intention. The world went a little fuzzy—her lips were soft and careful, her breath tasted of sea salt and tangerine, and the sensation of her hands moving in coordinated waves along his back was nothing short of exhilarating.

Somewhere behind him, Dawn made a noise. It was small and surprised, the kind of sound a person makes when they stub their toe and it takes a second to register. Andy felt, rather than saw, the ripple of sensation as the feedback hit her. He deepened the kiss for science, and Emi responded in kind—her lips opened, her body pressed close, her hands tightening their grip. In that moment, Andy was absolutely sure that Dawn, wherever she was in the circle, felt every bit of it.

He broke the kiss, and Emi, breathless and smiling, let go. The group turned to look at Dawn, who was sitting ramrod-straight, cheeks flaming red, hands knotted together in her lap.

Sam called out, “You okay, Dawnie?”

Dawn swallowed hard. “Yeah. Just… a lot. I wasn’t ready.”

Riley, ever the provocateur, grinned. “Imagine if they did something wilder.”

Chloe wondered, “Or if Emi did it with more than one person at a time?”

The laughter that followed was enough to break the tension. Even Dawn managed a giggle, though she looked at Emi with something like grateful terror.

Arabella, satisfied, said: “Well done, everyone. That concludes the demonstration portion.” She gestured for Emi and Dawn to return to their stools, and they did, side by side, immediately falling into a quiet, intense conversation, heads bowed and hands moving in a kind of intricate semaphore.

The energy of the group shifted. There was a new, excited charge, a sense that anything could happen now that the boundaries of transformation had grown so porous. Andy caught the look on Laura’s faces—both of them watching, both of them very much aware that the world was changing faster than even she could keep up with.

Arabella turned to the assembled women, eyes dancing. “Next, we have Laura,” she said. “I believe you’re due for something special.”

Laura, with a grace Andy couldn’t quite name, stood. Both of her moved in perfect unison, each step deliberate, eyes forward. For a moment, she didn’t look at Andy at all. She looked at Arabella, as if reading her for some secret. Then, without a word, she took her place at the front.