Unraveling the Weave, Part 2

Arabella clapped her hands, bringing the group back to attention. “Thank you, Emi. You are very brave.” She smiled, then turned to the last two remaining.

“Claire? Liesa? Which of you would prefer to go next?”

Claire, who had been taking feverish notes during the ordeal, looked up. Her hand shook as she set her pen down, but she raised it, volunteer-style, the way she had in high school whenever the teacher called for someone to try a new experiment.

“I’ll go,” she said, voice thin but steady. “It can’t be worse than that.”

But everyone in the room, Andy included, knew she was wrong. There was always a new worse.

Claire stood up, her notes abandoned on the bench. She wasn’t shaking, but Andy could see the tension in the set of her jaw, the way her hands twisted the hem of her skirt. She stepped out into the center, looking first at Arabella, then at Andy, then briefly at Emi, whose six arms now hugged her like a cocoon.

Arabella gave Claire a gentle nod. “You know what the audience selected?”

Claire nodded, pale hair swinging forward. “I think I do,” she said, voice thin but even.

“Would you like to say anything before we begin?” Arabella asked, her tone surprisingly gentle.

Claire hesitated, then looked at the group, as if searching for words that would reach all of them at once. “It’s not as bad as you think,” she began, her voice growing a little stronger. “I… sometimes words are a wall, not a bridge. I’ve spent my whole life hiding behind them, or using them to say things I didn’t mean, or couldn’t mean.” She looked at Andy apologetically. “Maybe this is… maybe it’s better. I’ll still be here. I just won’t have to say everything anymore. I always lose my words when you’re around, anyway.”

Sam wiped at her eyes, and Andy felt his throat constrict. They both understood what transformation she was about to receive. “Claire, you make the rest of us look like idiots,” Sam said, not even trying to hide the emotion. “You sure you’re okay?”

Claire smiled wanly. “I really am. Or I will be.”

Arabella touched her on the shoulder, a blessing or a benediction. “Are you ready?”

Claire nodded, then turned to Andy one last time. “Don’t feel bad,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I want this.”

The moment Arabella’s hand touched her brow, the change was instantaneous. Claire blinked, once, twice, then pressed her fingers to her throat, as if searching for something already gone. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t cry out. Instead, she took a slow breath, shoulders relaxing. She looked around, testing her new state, then up at Andy.

• Silent Muse: Claire's voice and struggles with empathy have often led to trouble, including with the Master. Now she needs to worry no longer. She becomes the Master's perfect intellectual companion, able to anticipate his feelings, needs and desires without words. However, she loses her voice, communicating only through gestures, expressions, and written notes. (Muse)

He watched her, waiting for some sign of distress, but what he saw was different. There was a strange serenity settling over her. She looked at him, and in that look, he felt it: the sense of being observed and understood at a level far deeper than before, as if she could map out his every intention, worry, and unspoken desire by the rhythm of his pulse alone. A clarity, a connection, as if she was seeing him not as an object of longing or regret, but as a whole person, flaws and all.

He realized he was holding his breath.

She took the worn leather notebook, flipped to a blank page, and wrote something quickly. When she finished, she turned the page to Andy. In neat, flowing script, it read:

It is strange, but not scary. I can feel you, Andy, even the things you won’t say.

He stared at the words, then at her, and knew it was true. He felt a flush of gratitude, then guilt, then something like relief.

Claire smiled, then used her pen to draw a tiny heart at the bottom of the page. She tore the sheet out and handed it to him, her hand lingering just long enough to say the things she couldn’t now speak.

She returned to her seat, notebook in her lap, and began to observe the group, eyes bright and unburdened. For the first time all night, Andy saw her at peace. The other women stared at her in awe.

Arabella watched her go, the smile lingering. “There are gifts in every transformation,” she said to the group, her tone reverent. “Sometimes they are the ones we least expect.”

Erin, who had seemed on the verge of leaving the circle entirely, actually clapped, a brief, sharp sound. “That was… something,” she said. “You okay, Claire?”

Claire, unable to answer aloud, simply gave a thumbs-up and a warm, bashful grin.

Sam let out a low whistle. “If you start reading our thoughts, let me know. I’ve got some stuff I should delete.”

Claire pantomimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key.

Andy watched her, heart hammering, and wondered if it was possible for someone to become more themselves by losing a piece of who they were. It occurred to him that, in this place, she was the first one to look truly at peace.

He glanced at Arabella, who inclined her head, as if she’d known all along that Claire would handle it best.

“Thank you, Claire,” said the Host. “You’re an inspiration.”