Thresholds

"Yeah."

Evan's voice drifted down the hallway. Not from downstairs, where Stacy had expected to find him. But upstairs. Behind her. That meant that he had seen her studying, trapped in his command, engrossed in the Master Manual.

And he hadn't tried to stop her.

"...Yeah. I think it's probably time."

She stopped in the middle of the staircase. For a brief moment, Stacy felt the temptation to turn around and hide back in the bedroom. It would be easy enough. Crawl beneath the blankets. Pretend she hadn't heard him. Pretend none of this had happened.

A peaceful home is built for your Master through calm responses, not emotional reactions.

The sentence appeared in her mind with irritating clarity.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered under her breath.

Not to anyone in particular, except for herself. The manual had wormed its way into her mind. Now committed to memory, its lessons sat uncomfortably close to her own thoughts.

Fighting down the heavy feeling of hopelessness that threatened to sink her, Stacy turned and walked toward the office.

David's office.

The room had always belonged to David, the man who had once been her husband. It had been his retreat after work, the place where he'd balanced accounts, answered emails, or simply escaped for an hour whenever life became too noisy. Evan had rarely crossed its threshold. For as long as Stacy could remember, Evan, even as a teenager, had respected the invisible boundary around the room.

A boundary that hadn't applied to Stacy. She'd brought David coffee. She'd interrupted him with kisses. Sometimes she'd simply sat quietly on the couch and read while he worked. Good memories.

The thought lingered. Were they good memories? She had loved David. Deeply. Truly. He had been good for her, and she for him. But now, walking toward the office that he'd once occupied, she wasn't sure how she felt. Was love the word she would still use? The question felt strangely difficult.

The version of Stacy created by the first potion certainly hadn't loved him. That woman had dismissed David almost immediately, reducing him to little more than an inconvenient obstacle standing between herself and Evan. She would have smiled while signing divorce papers, helped him pack, and carried his bags to the car if offered the opportunity. She'd practically forgotten he'd ever existed.

Of course, that wasn't this Stacy. Not since Evan had drank the second potion. This Stacy remembered loving David. Remembered building a life with him. Remembered believing they'd grow old together. And yet...

The memories felt oddly... distant. Not erased. Just muted. Like photographs left too long in the sun. The feelings were still there, but not as strong, as if they'd been worn down, eroded, washed out.

"I had a good life," she whispered, reminding herself that it was true, that she should hold on to it.

Whatever remained of it after two magical potions had finished chewing through reality was another question entirely.

But one thing remained certain: she wanted it back.

The office door stood slightly open. Stacy pushed it wider, then paused.

Evan looked up from behind the desk. Just seeing him sent warmth spiralling through her stomach before settling lower.

God.

There it was again. That stupid craving. Not love. Not affection. Just the potion reminding her that somewhere inside her body, something still wanted him. She hated it. She hated that it happened every single time. But that didn't lessen the desire.

She leaned forward to step into the room, but found that she couldn't move. As much as she tried, as much as she wanted to, her feet just wouldn't cross the threshold. It was as if there was an invisible barrier around the room, like the one she had believed Evan had been subject to when David was her husband.

"Fuck," she muttered.

"What's wrong?" Evan asked, leaning forward, concern on his face.

"I can't come in," she said, frowning. "It's like I'm not allowed. My feet won't move."

"That's so weird," Evan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "What if I tell you to come in? Will that work?"

"How would I know?" she asked, frustrated that it would even have to be considered.

"Stacy, come in here," he said.

Evan's voice sounded normal to her ears, but not to the rest of his body. It was as if he had spoken to her very soul, the words resonating throughout her being. Her eyes went wide as one foot moved, then the next. Crossing the room, Stacy tried to ignore the sensation of arousal that increased the closer she got to him. Her heels clicked softly against the hardwood until she reached the desk.

Instead of taking one of the guest chairs, she stopped in front of the desk, clasped her hands in front of her and said, "Yes, sir."

Then, horrified, she slapped her hands over her mouth.

What the fuck was that?

An order from your Master is a blessing, and should be received as such.

"Shut up," she said through her fingers.

"What?" Evan asked, a confused look on his face.

"Nothing."

"Okay..." he said, uncertainty in his voice. "So, uh, this is weird. Weirder than before, I mean."

"You think?" she said, aware that standing before him like she was, she was completely vulnerable. Probably more vulnerable than she'd ever been in her entire life. A simple sentence, an instruction, and she would be powerless to resist him. He could order her to do anything. Anything! And she would do it.

But he wouldn't would he? Sure, he'd already ordered her to study the stupid manual, and to come into the room, but those had been accidents. He wouldn't actually use his influence against her, would he? She had known Evan for a long time, and he had always been a loser, but he'd never been cruel.

At least not yet.

"Do you want to sit?" he asked, nodding toward the arm chairs behind her.

She made to move toward one of the chairs, but found that whatever rule had prevented her from entering the office without permission was holding her in place.

"I don't think I can," she said, casting her eyes down, blushing. "I think you need to tell me I'm allowed."

"Holy shit," he said. "So much weirder. Okay, you can sit."

Instantly it felt like her joints unlocked. Relieved, she moved her leg, wanting to plant herself in one of the plush chairs, but instead she hopped onto the corner of the desk, right near Evan. Part of her felt satisfied that she was sitting higher than he was, that she was looking down at him, but she knew what this was. Stacy wasn't an equal. She was his property, like anything else on his desk. His to use.

Evan stared at her, uncertainty covering his face, his mouth opening and closing as he abandoned the words he was about to say. Finally, after at least a minute of silence, he spoke.

"So... about the studying..."

Stacy's eye twitched.

"Studying?" she snapped. "You mean the studying that you ordered me to do? The demeaning, horrible, bullshit ideas that are now stuck in my brain?!"

"I didn't mean..."

"You could have come in and stopped me at any point, asshole," pain stabbed through her temples at the insult, but she didn't stop. "And you saw me, too! You walked right by me to get to this room. Your father's office! And you let me just sit there! You are such an unbelievable, selfish, dickhead!"

She winced, the pain back, twice as bad this time. Evan noticed immediately.

"Again?"

"Yeah," she replied, steadying herself with her hands on her knees as the pain evaporated. Another phrase from the manual floated into her thoughts.

Correct gently. Only when welcome. Never with contempt.

She wanted to scream.

Evan leaned toward her, his hand hovering between them, then dropping into his lap.

"So the pain really does happen every time?"

"I think it scales."

"What?"

"The worse the insult, or maybe the more I do it," she sighed, "the worse it hurts."

"I'm sorry," Evan apologized, his expression falling.

"I know."

The words came out more gently than she'd intended. Annoyingly gently.

When your Master expresses concern, receive it graciously. Remember: He is above you, and owes you nothing.

"Stop helping," she muttered to the manual.

"What?"

"Not you."

"Huh?"

"It's the stupid book," she said. "The manual. I studied it. Just like you told me to. And now it's in here," she tapped her forehead.

Evan nodded slowly, understanding sinking in.

"Shit," he breathed. "I didn't... I mean..."

Another silence settled between them. Eventually Evan folded his hands on the desk.

"I've been thinking."

"I'm sure that's dangerous," he said quietly. "I don't think either of us can solve this alone."

Immediately her shoulders tightened. His words reminded her of the second part of his command, where she'd been instructed to figure out what to do with him. She had come to the same conclusion, but there was no way that she would give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

"Oh really?"

"I know how that sounds," Evan continued, a pleading tone to his voice. "And I know that I don't really deserve your help."

"No, go ahead, Your Highness," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice, wincing from a sharp pain in the back of her head. "Let's hear your great idea."

"I ruined your life," Evan said quietly. "I'm not arguing that. I also don't think pretending none of this is happening is going to help."

He wasn't wrong. Unfortunately.

"And I'm not asking you to trust me, not after I screwed up the second time so badly."

Or the first time, she thought.

"I'm just asking if we can take a run at it together."

Her jaw tightened. Together. That word irritated her. Everything about this situation existed because Evan had decided he knew what was best. He'd bought the first potion. He'd drunk the second. He kept trying to fix magic by throwing more magic at it.

And besides, he could have had all the together he wanted. Before he'd drank the second potion, before he'd stolen true happiness from her. All he'd had to do was give in.

She wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of that. The manual interrupted.

Resentment clouds judgement. Only cooperation can truly find solutions for your Master.

"I swear," Stacy muttered, rubbing her temples, "if I ever meet the person who wrote that stupid binder..."

Evan patiently waited for her to finish. Which made her even more angry.

Still, Evan was right. They were in this mess because he had been going about it on his own. He needed her. And she needed him.

"Fine," she finally said. "I know we're stuck together." Another sigh. "It's just hard. You broke it. My marriage. My life. And now you're asking me to fix it."

"Yeah, but I'm not sure anything else will work," Evan said, leaning back in his chair. "Hell, I'm not even sure this will work."

She wanted to argue, but she felt like the fight had drained out of her. He was an asshole. But he was probably also on the right track.

"I hate that you're right."

She felt Evan's eyes drilling into her at that last statement, as if he was weighing something. Some puzzle he was trying to put together, but the pieces were invisible to anyone but him.

"I think the changes might not be finished," he said.

"What makes you think that?" Stacy asked, her eyebrows rising.

"I fell asleep. When you were... um... studying..." he rubbed his forehead. "I fell asleep here, in the chair."

"So?"

"I had a dream."

Normally she'd have rolled her eyes. But something told her to keep her mouth shut and listen.

What came next wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare. A slow unfolding of increasing humiliation for her, first as a wife, then as a maid, then as some sort of party-girl bimbo. And the way Evan told it, with each version of herself more and more amorous toward him, it felt as if the total degradation of her dignity was inevitable.

"So what you're saying is that your prophetic magical vision says I'm eventually becoming a ditzy slut," She said, through clenched teeth. "And that I'm going to be all over you."

"I don't know."

"That better just be a dream, dipshit."

Again with the pain, more intense, exploding behind her eyes. This time it was much worse. Her vision blurred. Hands instinctively grabbed the edge of the desk.

"You okay?"

"No."

The pain lingered. Longer. Sharper. Stacy squeezed her eyes shut. Without thinking, she looked toward him.

"...Can you..."

She hesitated. The request felt absurd, especially after what she'd just said, but she instinctively knew that it would make her feel better.

"Can you hold my hand?"

Evan blinked.

"What?"

"Everything feels better when we're touching."

Embarrassing. Humiliating. True.

Slowly, he reached across the desk. Their fingers met. Instantly the pain dissolved. Not faded. Vanished. Like someone had switched it off. Relief washed through her so suddenly that her shoulders sagged.

"Oh."

She hadn't realized how tense she'd become. Neither spoke. They simply sat there. Hands joined across the desk. It felt completely comfortable, and not just physically. Emotionally, too. Like holding hands with Evan was something that she'd been craving, but hadn't noticed. For the first time since she ended up in the maid's outfit, she felt safe.

But eventually Stacy pulled away. These feelings were a falsehood, an invention created by the potion. And she owed it to herself to hold onto what she knew to be real.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Another awkward silence. Finally Evan cleared his throat.

"So I'm wondering," he began. "When I tried to leave earlier, it brought me back here. And when you tried to leave, it wouldn't let you go. What if the house is only trapping us individually. Like, we're not actually stuck here, just we're not allowed to be apart."

"You think we could leave together?" she asked, still thinking about how good it had felt to hold his hand.

"You want to test it?"

Stacy looked toward the office window. Outside, the late afternoon sun painted long shadows across the driveway. Freedom. Maybe. Or another magical dead end. Either way, sitting inside the house clearly wasn't solving anything.

"Okay," she said after a few moments. "I'm willing to try."

"Thank you," he said, relief in his voice.

"But before we go," she said, "can I change into something a little more dignified?"

"Of course," he said with a smile.

"Thanks," she said. "Because I think I might need your help picking out an outfit."