Threads of Becoming, Part 1

Chapter V: Threads of Becoming

A crystal chime echoed across the beach, high and cold, followed by silence so crisp Andy thought even the waves held their breath. Arabella stepped into the dying sun, the gauzy curtain of her dress ignited from behind in a soft, orange corona. She looked every bit the ringmaster about to pull the curtain on some final, fatal trick.

“May I have your attention, please?” she intoned, her voice designed to reach not just the ears but the bones. The women sat up, and Andy, still on the “Master’s Throne,” felt a flush rise to his cheeks. He had to look away from the spectacle of her, away from the row of women who seemed, for the first time, both audience and prey.

“Thank you, all, for your patience,” Arabella began, her voice soft but filling every gap in the air. She didn’t raise her hands for effect, but the way she turned, pausing on each face, felt as deliberate as the movements of a conductor’s baton. “Before we begin with the results of the panel’s voting, I would like to share with you the results of your popularity poll.”

Sam: 19.06% - 2500 BP
Claire: 15.90% - 2000 BP
Emi: 13.89% - 2000 BP
Liesa: 13.89% - 2000 BP
Dawn: 12.50% - 2000 BP
Marissa: 10.03% - 1500 BP
Norah: 7.95% - 1000 BP
Erin: 6.87% - 1000 BP

The women stared at the words that had appeared out of thin air. Dawn raised a hand, and when Arabella looked at her, she piped up, “Uh, is two thousand a lot?”

Arabella smiled fondly. “That depends on what you wish to purchase, Dawn. The Commissary in the Main Lobby has a list of purchases, and the Annex’s stores will serve more mundane needs. I recommend visiting both, when you have time.”

“Eight percent?” Norah grumbled. “That’s a joke. The librarian scored higher? The fucking barista?!” The woman was livid.

Sam smirked. “I can't figure out why people didn't vote for you. You’re such a sweet and likeable girl!” Norah stared at her with venom. Sam shrugged.

Arabella’s tone softened. “Ladies… please. Catfights can wait. As promised, it is time for our opening transformations. These are gifts, in a way, for each of you… or perhaps a key, unlocking a truer version of yourselves. They are also the mark that indicates the start of our contest.” She cast an unreadable glance at Andy while she let the words hang, then fixed her attention on Dawn.

Dawn gasped, one hand flying to her chest. “Me?” The word was as small as a dropped coin.

“Yes, dear.” Arabella’s smile was motherly. “Would you join me here?” She gestured to a spot at the front of the gazebo, and Dawn, legs quivering, padded across the planks, feet in fuzzy socks leaving nervous prints. She stood at the appointed place, arms hugging herself, hair wild in the ocean air.

Sam was the first to react. “Go, Dawn!” she said, in a voice that was probably meant to be reassuring but came out as **** cheer, the kind waitresses used before dropping a check with bad news.

Dawn nodded, lips pinched tight, and stood up from her seat. Her knees trembled, and for a second Andy thought she might faint or run, but she did neither. Instead, she squared her shoulders and walked to the center, where Arabella waited with the patience of a jeweler about to reset a precious stone. He admired her courage. He didn’t know that he would have been able to face Arabella, had he been in her place.

“Dawn,” Arabella smiled softly, looking at the young woman, “I think you know what our judges have selected for you, yes?”

Dawn bit her lower lip, hesitated, then looked into Arabella’s eyes with a courage that surprised Andy and the other women. “The servant one?”

Arabella nodded, not unkindly.

Dawn’s cheeks blazed crimson, but she didn’t say anything. Andy did. He rose partway from his throne, then stopped, not sure what gesture would even be allowed. “Arabella, isn’t there a way for her to refuse?”

Arabella met his gaze, and for a moment, Andy saw something almost sympathetic in her expression. “She is not compelled to act against her morals, nor to harm herself,” Arabella said. “The compulsion is not absolute, but it is… urgent. This is the wish of the judges, and—” her eyes flicked to the other women, a gentle warning, “as I mentioned, inaction is not a shield in the Harem Hotel.”

Liesa snorted. “So, she is a slaaf… a, a… ****, but very polite one?” She said it loud enough for everyone to hear, but her foot bounced as she waited to see what would happen next.

Arabella smiled, though there was a steeliness behind it. “I think you will find the truth far more nuanced than that, Liesa. And admittedly, it is a more... benign transformation than the others. But let us not delay.”

Dawn looked at Andy, and the look stabbed him. “I can handle it. I can.”

Arabella gave a little nod, approval mixed with genuine affection. “Well said, Dawn. Are you ready?”

Dawn’s hands, which had been twisted in a **** grip at her waist, relaxed just a fraction. She nodded, her voice small: “Yes.”

There was no flash of light, no special effect. Arabella simply reached out, her palm hovering a few inches from Dawn’s forehead, then lowered it in a slow, ceremonial arc until it almost brushed Dawn’s hair. At that instant, Dawn inhaled—a shuddering, involuntary gasp that sounded almost like a sob. She doubled over, arms crossing her stomach, then staggered upright again.

For a moment, she just stood there, blinking, as if she’d missed her cue and was waiting for someone to prompt her. The group watched, every face frozen with anticipation. Arabella stepped back, hands folded.

• Gentle Servant: Dawn has been very helpful to the Master during his stays in Chicago. There is no reason why she should be any less helpful at The HH. She feels an uncontrollable urge to offer assistance or comfort to Andy before she can think of her own needs. Even when exhausted or aroused, she moves to help. (Consierge)

“Dawn,” she said softly, “how do you feel?”

Dawn pressed her hands to her cheeks, as if she couldn’t believe they were still there. “I… it’s weird,” she said, her voice thin and reedy. “I feel like I just drank three cups of coffee. Like, if Mr. Cooper needed anything right now, I’d… I’d want to help. I mean, really want to. But I don’t even know what to do, so it’s kind of—” She trailed off, her eyes darting helplessly to Andy.

He was on his feet, barely aware that he’d moved. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said, hands out, as if he could block the effect by sheer **** of will. “Dawn, you can just sit. Please.”

Her face twisted into something close to gratitude, but she took a step toward him anyway, as if the compulsion had a leash she couldn’t quite see. When she reached the foot of the throne, she knelt—not in a dramatic, medieval way, but like a hotel concierge crouching to pick up a dropped pen.

“Is there—um, do you need anything?” she asked, staring at his shoes.

He looked to Arabella, ****. The Host’s expression was placid. “Perhaps a glass of water?” she suggested, tone gentle but relentless.

Dawn sprang up, hands already moving toward the carafe on the side table. She filled a glass, careful not to spill, and brought it to Andy. As she held it out, her hands shook so badly he was afraid she might drop it, but she never did. Andy took the glass, though the last thing he wanted was to drink. “Thank you, Dawn,” he said, hating himself.

She beamed. The shift in her face was immediate—like a switch thrown, anxiety replaced by the warm glow of a task completed. She returned to her seat, her gait lighter, almost buoyant.

The group took this in with varying degrees of horror and disbelief.

Norah, whose own envelope still sat unopened, shook her head. “So, we’re all going to become… versions of that?” she said, her voice brittle.

Arabella shook her head, the first genuine smile of the evening crossing her lips. “No two paths are the same. Every journey is unique to the woman who walks it.”

Sam leaned forward, blue hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Dawn, does it hurt? Or is it just like… being extra nice?”

Dawn laughed, but it was a shaky sound. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just…” She searched for the right words, frowning. “It’s like there’s a radio in my head, tuned to Mr. Cooper, and if he’s even a little unhappy, the noise gets louder. I want to fix it. Or at least try.”

Liesa folded her arms. “How long does it last?”

Arabella answered. “It is permanent, unless otherwise specified. But transformations can… evolve, as the game progresses.”

Andy stared down at the water, trying not to imagine the other seven transformations waiting to be called. Dawn’s smile was fixed, like a mask, and through it he could see her confusion. Arabella had said she’d gain a sense for what Andy needed before he even voiced it… and he dreaded to find out if the compulsion extended to more… intimate activities. Dawn kept glancing at him every few seconds, as if checking to see if he needed anything else.

Claire broke the silence. “Is it always this fast? Do you, um, adapt after a while?”

Arabella’s eyes glinted. “The human mind is wonderfully elastic. Most adapt. Some even thrive.” She scanned the group, her gaze lingering on each woman in turn.

Dawn looked around, realized she was being watched, and hugged herself, shrinking a little in her seat. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s just… I want to help.”

Andy couldn’t stand it. “Dawn, it’s not your fault. None of this is. I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. It really is.” Her voice was trembling, but her eyes shone with a kind of fervor that scared him more than anything else. “I always like helping people, so this is… it isn’t that bad. I just… I want you to be okay, too.”

A hush settled over the group, thicker and heavier than before. Even Arabella, for all her composure, let the moment stand.

“Thank you, Dawn,” the Host said, her voice almost tender. “You have set a very high bar for courage.” She turned back to the table, where the remaining envelopes gleamed in the last light of day. “Shall we proceed?” Andy sat, the water untouched in his hand, and waited for the world to get worse.