Threads of Becoming, Part 4

Erin didn’t wait to be called. She stood up, muscles locked so tight that her jaw quivered, and faced Arabella head-on. “Let’s get it over with,” she said, voice crisp and cold.

Arabella inclined her head, a gesture more respectful than theatrical this time. “Very well. Erin Delgado, the audience has chosen your first transformation: Deliberate Connection.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not even a phrase,” she snapped. “Kindly remind me. What does it do, exactly?”

Arabella read the card, but her tone was different now—gentler, perhaps, though no less final.

• Deliberate Connection: Erin was extremely loyal to the Master once. She will find that she needs to rebuild that loyalty now. Erin becomes physically unable to orgasm unless she is directly in sight of the Master. (Loyal)

A ripple of disgust flickered across Erin’s face, followed by something darker—hurt, maybe, or panic. “So you’re making me… dependent on him? For that?” She jerked her chin at Andy, who felt the accusation like a slap.

Andy tried to find words, but they stuck. “That’s not—she shouldn’t have to—” He glared at Arabella, voice rising. “You can’t just take something like that away. It’s not even a joke! You’re breaking her!”

Erin laughed, sharp and mirthless. “Look at that, Andrew, finally got you to care about someone’s climax.” She bit the words off, each one louder than the last. “You know how many years it took to get past you? To feel like I was allowed to want things?” Her hands clenched, white-knuckled, at her sides. “And now she’s going to undo it in two seconds?”

Arabella let the storm rage, her posture unyielding but her eyes soft with something like regret. “I do not control the choices, Erin. Only their administration. This is the game’s design, not my personal wish.”

Erin took a shaky breath, then squared her shoulders, gritting her teeth. “Just do it.”

Arabella approached, slow and grave, as if about to confer a medal on a soldier who’d survived a war. When her hand touched Erin’s temple, the transformation was nearly invisible—no contortions, no physical change. Instead, Erin’s whole body seemed to shudder, as if a wave of ice had swept through her.

Erin staggered, clutching her stomach, then sank to her knees. For a second, she just knelt there, hair falling over her face, silent and shaking. Then she started to cry, silent, racking sobs that seemed to wring her out from the inside.

Liesa moved as if to kneel beside her, but Erin shoved her away, arms flailing. “Don’t touch me,” she choked. “I’m fine. I’m fucking fine.” She doubled over, fists pounding the sand, and wept until her voice went hoarse.

No one moved. Even Norah, who’d spent the evening making wisecracks, sat perfectly still, her eyes wide and damp.

Andy wanted, desperately, to help, to say something, to undo what had been done. But he knew without question that if he so much as took a step toward her, she would lash out and it would only make things worse.

So he stayed put, nails digging into the throne’s armrest, watching the woman he’d once loved dissolve in front of him. He felt sick, and hollow, and for the first time since arriving, truly powerless.

After a long, raw silence, Erin **** herself upright. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand, smearing sand and tears across her cheek, then glared at Arabella. “Happy now?” she said, voice shredded. “Go ahead. Make someone else a freak.”

Arabella bowed her head, the gesture almost penitent. “Thank you, Erin. Your strength is remarkable.”

Erin spat on the floor, then stormed to the edge of the group, where she wrapped her arms around her own chest and stared at the ground. No one followed.