The Rules, and the Popularity Poll

The silence that gripped the gazebo was brittle, as if the least vibration might shatter it. The air above the sand hung in a clear, shimmering dome, isolating the contestants from the world beyond. Andy, in his high-backed throne, tried to breathe, but every inhale filled him with a stale sense of unreality. He could feel the tension from the other seats, a field of opposing charges ready to arc at the slightest provocation.

Arabella was the one to break the spell. She did it not with words, but with a movement: shifting from her post at the edge of the circle, her hands folding behind her back, her dress glittering like crushed garnets. She stepped to the center of the semicircle and paused, waiting for the collective gaze to converge upon her.

“Now that we are all here… Welcome, ladies,” Arabella began, her melodious tone pitched to reach every ear with perfect clarity, “to The Harem Hotel.” The way she pronounced it—emphasis on the capitals, a ripple of fond amusement in her accent—left no doubt that she wanted the phrase to settle deep into their bones.

Andy watched as the faces around him snapped into attention. Some—like Norah and Erin—became pure stone, any hint of confusion now masked behind fortifications. Others—Liesa, Dawn, Claire, Emi—showed their nerves on the surface, eyes wide, knuckles white where they gripped notebooks, knees, or the edges of their seats. Sam frowned as if she had eaten something unpleasant. Even Dr. Holt, the ever-professional, let her lips part just enough to betray the intensity of her focus.

Arabella began to pace, her movement slow and deliberate, like a lecturer in a courtroom drama. “You have all been selected for your unique backgrounds, your connection to Andy, your romantic inclinations towards him, whether past or present. But also for your talents, your unresolved stories.” She let her gaze rest on each woman in turn. “This is not merely a retreat. Nor a spa. And no, it is not a cult.” She glanced pointedly at Dawn, who blushed. “It is a game, and you are its essential Contestants.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, her lips quirking with the urge to heckle, but she bit it back, perhaps out of deference for the gravity of the moment.

Arabella stopped at the precise midpoint between the throne and the first stool, her posture now fully regal. “The Harem Hotel operates by a set of rules. They are simple, but inviolable. Please listen carefully, as your understanding of them may determine not only your experience here, but your future as well.”

A ripple of discomfort ran through the group, as if the mere mention of “future” had introduced a chill to the tropical air.

“First.” Arabella raised a finger, and with it, the tempo of the scene shifted. “Victory Points. Every Contestant begins with zero. You will earn Victory Points, or ‘VPs’, through participation in the weekly challenges, as well as through… intimate interactions”—here, she smiled, sly and just shy of inappropriate—“with our beloved Master.” Her eyes flicked to Andy. He wanted to shrink, to dissolve, but there was no escape in the geometry of the moment. Norah gagged.

Liesa, to Andy’s right, crossed her arms, skepticism painted across her brow. “And how do we win?” she said, voice dry as desert wind. The other women exchanged uneasy glances, a ripple of discomfort passing through them. Dawn shifted uncomfortably, biting her lip, while Erin rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed by the implication. Dr. Holt shook her head slightly, a frown creasing her forehead, as they all silently questioned the boundaries of what was being proposed.

Arabella nodded, as if this was the expected move. “An excellent question. The Contestant with the most Victory Points by the end shall be granted a Wish—one true, unbounded wish, which the Harem Hotel will, within the limits of cosmic reason, fulfill. Only a few small stipulations - you can’t wish yourself free of the harem. You can’t kill anyone. You can’t undo all transformations, though you could undo those of a single person, including yours. And you can’t undo the changes occurred in anyone who was eliminated.”

A ripple passed through the group. Even Norah, locked in her professional disdain, flickered with something like interest.

“Second,” Arabella continued, lifting a second finger, “Each week, you will compete in a series of challenges, designed to test more than mere physical prowess. There will be puzzles, performances, displays of character and cunning. Your every triumph and defeat will be ranked, and you will score Victory Points. All but the winner will also receive… transformations, picked by the Audience from options tailored to you…” here, she allowed the words to hang, loaded with implication, “and they will be irreversible. For the first four weeks, there will also be a reckoning, and the Contestant with the lowest score in that weekly challenge will be eliminated from contention. A new Contestant will replace them, inheriting their status.” She paused, her emerald eyes scanning the women. “After the fourth challenge, we will no longer hold challenge eliminations. However, any Contestant who does not reach 100 Victory Points by the time we finish the last challenge will be eliminated as well.”

At the mention of audience, Andy’s stomach dropped. He scanned the surroundings, searching for a camera, a speaker, any sign of outside presence, but the air remained disturbingly clean.

Emi’s hand shot up, timid but undeniable. Arabella met her gaze with a warmth reserved for shy children. “Yes, Emi?”

Emi cleared her throat, barely above a whisper. “Um. When you say… transformations…?”

A smile curled at the edge of Arabella’s lips. “Some are physical. Some are behavioral. Some are more… inventive. But each is tailored to create the most entertaining, or perhaps enlightening, experience for all involved. Do not fret—our audience has, in the past, shown a remarkable sense of… humor.” She let the word linger, a mild threat disguised as charm.

Sam snorted. “So, like, magical punishments?”

Arabella’s eyes glinted. “If you wish to see it that way, Sam. Some have found them illuminating. Others, mortifying. That is the essence of transformation, is it not?”

Dawn was hugging herself now, the knuckles of her left hand digging into the flesh of her right arm. “Do we have any choice? Or are we just… along for the ride?”

Arabella inclined her head, the gesture softening her authority. “You have every choice, my dear. You may choose to excel in the challenges. You may choose to interact, or not, with the Master. You may even choose to do nothing at all, but inaction has its own consequences.” She paused, turning a slow circle to address all. “At the end of each of the first four challenges, the Contestant with the fewest Victory Points for that challenge will be… eliminated from the Hotel. This will occur up to the fifth challenge, at which point all who remain will stay to the end. But everyone who has not reached 100 Victory Points by the time the last challenge ends, will automatically be eliminated.”

Andy flinched at the word eliminated. He heard, in it, the same clinical detachment that marked all those years of peer review, of being assessed by the world’s most merciless graders. He felt the girls around him stiffen, each calculating their odds, their angles of attack and defense.

Arabella let the suspense hang, then pressed on. “Eliminations are not without mercy, and do not release you from the harem, merely… adjust your positioning. Those who are eliminated receive a transformation of their own—typically of a more… dramatic flavor. Admittedly, it may make it… difficult… to reintegrate into society alone. And yes, their elimination is permanent, at least as far as we are concerned. They will remain with us, but will no longer be considered Contestants.”

Erin’s voice was tight and cold: “You mean, we’d be stuck like that? No re-dos?”

Arabella gave a sad, sympathetic smile. “That is the nature of consequence. There may be some few chances for re-dos, but only as long as you are a Contestant, and they come with a price.” She paused. “It should be noted that both Andy and I have a single elimination veto each. Each such veto allows us to prevent the elimination of one Contestant. But each of our vetoes can only be used once.” She looked at Andy pointedly.

Norah couldn’t help herself. “This is insane,” she muttered, but there was an edge of **** curiosity to her voice.

Arabella ignored the comment, pressing forward with the inexorability of a cruise ship. “There is one final rule. If any Contestant should reach 100 Victory Points before the end of the challenges, she shall immediately become the Queen of the Harem, alrhough the game will continue and VPs shall be accrued for the Wish. The Queen will enjoy some of the Master’s authority.” She flashed her perfect teeth, a Cheshire Cat closing in. “Ambition is not only allowed, but encouraged.”

Claire was scribbling frantically in her notebook, lips moving as she tallied dates and numbers and points. Andy saw her brow furrow, her tongue sticking out just a little between her lips, and felt a pang of old, bittersweet memory. She was still herself, even in this madness.

Arabella let her arms drop to her sides, fingers splayed in an open gesture. “These are the rules of the Harem Hotel. They are simple. They are final. You are not prisoners, but players in a grand experiment—one that will, if you allow it, remake you in ways you never imagined possible.” She turned, letting the gaze rest a fraction longer on Andy, who felt himself shrink under its weight.

It was Sam who broke the new silence. “What about the Master?” she asked, her voice even and level. “What happens to Andy? Does he just get to walk away with a bunch of girls forcibly devoted to him?”

Arabella’s smile turned enigmatic. “That is a secret for the endgame. Suffice it to say, the Master is not immune to consequence. He, too, is being tested. But… yes, all of you shall be forever bound to him. The nature of that bond will depend on your position in the rankings, your elimination, and… other factors.”

Andy felt a cold sweat on his upper lip. He wanted to speak, to apologize, to say he hadn’t chosen any of this, but the words were pinned under a mountain of shame and confusion. Meanwhile, Arabella glided forward, and the air seemed to follow her, as if she displaced not just the breeze but the attention of everyone within range.

“A third rule. To ensure fairness and transparency,” she announced, “each night, the Master will share his quarters and his bed with one Contestant, according to a pre-determined schedule. No repeats until all have had a turn. This is not optional. However, you are only required to sleep in his bed, although I would remind you that there are points to be had otherwise.” She smiled, gaze fixed on Andy for a fraction of a beat too long. “Tonight is a reprieve: Andy will sleep alone. You may use this evening to rest, to reflect, to acquaint yourselves with one another, or—should you wish—to request a private audience with him. The elevator to his suite is at your disposal, though he can choose whether to let you in. One at a time, please, and thirty minutes at most. Our Andy needs to rest.”

The words landed like a handful of pebbles in a still pond. Claire’s eyes widened as she calculated her mental grid. Dawn visibly bounced in her seat, hands clenched with nervous energy. Marissa betrayed no outward response, but the crease in her forehead deepened. Norah muttered something under her breath; Andy caught the word “prostitution” before she clamped her jaw.

Sam grinned and leaned over to whisper, “Is it weird I want to see the suite before I see you? That’s probably weird.”

Andy tried to chuckle, but the sound snagged on a hook of dread. He pictured himself at the center of a rotating carousel of expectations, each night another round of anticipation and probable disappointment, with women in his bed who did not want to be there. He didn’t want to know what “private audience” might mean in this context, or what would be required to keep the peace.

Raising a hand, Arabella exclaimed, “To clarify, the initial rotation will start tomorrow night, with Dawn, followed by Claire, Emi, Erin, Sam, Liesa, Norah, and Marissa. After each challenge, a new rotation will be established.”

The women on the stools began all speaking at once, but Arabella wasn’t finished. She folded her hands in front of her, the gesture oddly priestly. Somehow, the women were quieted, although their eyes were wild. “Fourth. Regarding points: Victory Points are awarded for challenge performance and, as mentioned, for intimate interaction with the Master. However—” and here her voice sharpened, like a conductor calling for attention—“no Contestant is compelled to engage in any act against her wishes. The only penalty for abstention is the lack of points. This may hurt you in the long run, and I urge you to remember the final elimination round. But… autonomy is paramount.”

There was a low exhalation from several women—relief, maybe, or just the release of tension held too long. Arabella smiled, genuinely pleased. “But in addition to Victory Points, there is a second currency: Bonus Points, or BPs. These may be earned through acts of creativity, service, or popularity with the audience. You will receive regular updates about your BP balances, and you can view your VP and BP rankings in the main lobby at any time. BPs can be used to purchase advantages or privileges at the discretion of the Hotel. The Commissary you can access in the main lobby will provide you with information on what you can purchase, and stores in the Annex will allow you to exchange BPs for merchandise. You will soon find out what you can purchase with them.”

Liesa was the first to process this. “So, we can bribe you?” she said, half-sarcastic, half-hopeful.

Arabella let the question hang, then replied, “Think not of them as bribes, and more as… additional help to achieve victory. Within the boundaries of good taste and fair play. The Hotel respects initiative.” She winked, and for a moment, her face looked years younger.

Emi’s hand fluttered up, then down, as if she wanted to ask something but lost courage at the last moment. Arabella noticed, and gave her a nod. “Emi?”

Emi’s voice was barely audible. “At the end… of the game, what happens to us?”

A new stillness settled over the group. Arabella’s eyes softened. “As I said, at the conclusion of the final challenge, all Contestants and former Contestants will be bound, inextricably, to the Master as his harem. Those who have been eliminated, in particular, may find this a necessity, as exit transformations may make it hard to re-integrate alone. However—” she tilted her head, “all transformations, whether obtained during play or at exit, will persist. There is no undoing what you have become. Other than that, the choice, as always, is yours.”

Erin let out a sharp breath. “What if we refuse to choose? What if we just… don’t play?”

Arabella turned to her, expression unyielding but not unkind. “Then the world will make the choice for you. The Hotel is patient, but it does not tolerate stagnation. If you do nothing, you will be swept along with the current and will be eliminated quickly.”

Norah snorted. “Great. So it’s a magical cult after all.”

Sam raised her hand, as if in a classroom. “If we have to choose,” she said, “what’s the actual difference between staying and going?”

Arabella’s gaze grew distant, almost nostalgic. “Some have found joy in the bonds forged here. Others have braved the world anew, forever changed. But all have become more than what they were. It is the only guarantee the Harem Hotel offers… alongside my recommendation to avoid an elimination for as long as you can.”

There was nothing left to say. The Host smiled, one last time, then gestured to the resort grounds. “You are free to explore. Dinner is served at seven in the main dining room. The first popularity contest will start shortly. We will meet here at six fifteen, to go through its results, assigning BPs, and to handle one more element. Until then, enjoy yourselves. Andy, you can join them at six fifteen, but you’re expected in your Suite by seven. Dinner will be ready for you there.”

With a bright smile and a smoldering look for Andy’s benefit, she sashayed away, leaving the eight women and Andy alone under the hot, judgmental sky.

The group hesitated, then, like birds flushed from cover, scattered in different directions. Liesa and Norah, who had been whispering to each other during Arabella’s speech, stalked off together, voices low and urgent. Erin hung back, then wandered toward the water, arms wrapped around her ribs. Dawn made a beeline for the main building, muttering about the bar, trailing Emi and Claire, who had already fallen into quiet conversation. Marissa lingered, eyes on Andy, then with a tiny shake of her head, departed.

Sam remained, hands in pockets, blue-dyed hair a beacon against the sand. She looked at Andy, her gaze soft for once, and shrugged. “Well. At least the drinks are probably comped. You want to walk or just sit here and brood?”

He tried to answer, but the words came out hollow. He was too full of longing and guilt and the weird, giddy terror that comes when your life has officially lost all resemblance to the version you’d planned. But Sam’s presence grounded him, and after a few seconds, he found his voice.

“Let’s walk,” he said.

They did, leaving the throne and the empty platform behind. The breeze was heavier now, thick with the scent of salt and the promise of rain. Andy glanced over his shoulder, wondering if the next step would matter, if there was any way to regain agency in a game that had been written for him before he was even born.

But Sam was there, walking at his side, and that was enough for the moment. It was all he had. The next phase would come soon, and he had a sinking feeling it would be even stranger than anything that had come before.

The initial Best Girl Poll

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