Intermission: The Hot Seat, Part 3

Arabella’s gaze lingered on Myra for a beat, a subtle, testing warmth in her Host-smile. “Myra, if you’re ready, we’ll begin.” She didn’t wait for confirmation—just let her voice feather out into the curious hush of the room. “Your first question concerns two transformations: Echoes of Inner Worlds and Emotion’s Map. The submitter writes...”

{letter}

Which is louder: one person feeling something enormous, or thirteen people all feeling something small at the same time? And which would you rather stand in?

{endletter}

Myra, caught off guard, hesitated. The empathy transformations made hesitations hit different. For her, the question came with a dozen undercurrents: the collective buzz of anticipation, the faint pulse of someone’s restless boredom, the throb of arousal (always there, now, a faint green glow like foxfire at the edges of her emotional vision). She felt the room’s attention focus on her—more pointed than sight could ever have been.

She thought about the question. She had her hands folded on the table, one tail wrapped loosely around her own ankle in a nervous rhythm. “One person feeling something huge,” she said, slowly, “can fill a room. It’s like thunder, or a fire alarm. But if everyone feels something together—if it’s real, not just copying each other—then it’s… more like standing in a wind. You can’t get away from it. You breathe it. It moves you.”

She flushed. She didn’t need to see her hands to know she was fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, running the looped thread between her thumb and finger. “If I had to choose, I’d rather stand in the wind,” she said. “Because it’s never just one person against you. You’re all in it together. Even if it’s bad, you’re not alone.”

There was a little pause, and the whole room nodded as if she’d gotten the answer right. Even Norah, who usually counterpunched with a joke, just said, “That makes sense,” and left it at that.

Arabella, pleased, moved to the next line on her clipboard. “A related question, though perhaps less obvious.”

{letter}

Does Arabella have a color, and has it changed?

{endletter}

The air went sharp, like a violin string drawn tight.

Myra’s first reaction was to play dumb, but she was done lying about her vision. “She does,” Myra said. “When I first got Emotion's Map, it was white. Not like blank-paper white, but the kind of white you see if you close your eyes after someone shines a flashlight at you. It hurt to look at. It was everywhere. But now…” She hesitated, feeling Arabella’s scrutiny, and also the faint, prickling hope behind it.

“It’s less blinding now. There’s a gold in it, and a little green. Sometimes a blue, if she’s really focused on something.” She risked a smile. “It’s still bright, but it’s not trying to push everyone away anymore. It’s like sunlight that actually wants you to step into it.”

Arabella, just for a second, looked like someone had told her a secret about herself she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “Thank you,” she said. “I was hoping you would say that.”

Myra said, very quietly, “You’re welcome.”

Arabella, without lingering, pressed on. “Next!”

{letter}

Is there anyone in that house whose emotions you can’t read cleanly?

{endletter}

This one, Myra answered instantly. “Yes,” she said, and pointed a finger at Mildred.

There was an actual shudder, like a ripple of cold water through the harem. Even Marissa, who usually maintained perfect composure, winced. Chloe said, “I would have guessed that.”

Arabella said, “Does it register as a gap, or as something actively hidden?”

Myra chewed her lip, considered. “It’s more like static. There’s something behind it, but it gets scrambled before it comes out. Like a voice on the wrong radio frequency. Sometimes I get flashes—usually hunger, or irritation—but even then it feels like someone else’s memory, not her own.”

Mildred, not looking at the crowd, said, “That is intentional.”

Arabella raised an eyebrow, but let it go.

Myra, flushed, tucked her tails closer. “Everyone else, I can sense. But even the girls who are really good at hiding things… there’s always a leak. Not Mildred.”

Andy, voice soft but curious, said, “Is it a scary feeling, or just confusing?”

Myra actually smiled. “Both. But I don’t think she means harm. I think she just doesn’t want to be seen.”

Mildred, for the first time in the entire session, looked pleased.

Arabella allowed a half-beat for the group to process, then looked back to the page. “All right, moving on.”

{letter}

Myra, you GLOW when you’re turned on. Glow. How does anybody in that house get away with anything. Are you the smoke detector.

{endletter}

The room broke, every woman present immediately pivoting to stare at Myra, whose ears went full vertical and whose tails began to vibrate with tiny, unconscious movements.

Sam, always the first to rescue or roast, said, “She does, you know. I’m not even sure she realizes how much.”

Myra, mortified, said, “I can’t see the glow! I know it happens, but—”

Emi, who sat nearest, patted her hand. “It’s really pretty. Like Northern Lights, but not cold.”

Andy tried not to look at her, but Myra could feel his attention like a hand pressed to her back. “I mean,” he said, “there are worse alarms.” Tongues of foxfire danced on her arms.

Erin, from the second row, said, “It’s not even a warning. It’s more like… the world’s most obvious mood lighting. If you walk into the kitchen and Myra’s there, and she’s lit up, you know to give it five minutes before anyone else tries the fridge.”

Myra clapped a hand over her mouth and squeaked.

Arabella, gracefully ignoring the chaos, said, “So: does it make things easier or harder, being unable to hide what you feel?”

Myra, regaining composure, said, “It’s harder, but only because I used to think I had to hide it. Now I know I’m safe. Nobody here will ever use it against me. It’s embarrassing, but it’s also… nice.”

Andy, quietly, said, “I think it’s beautiful.”

There was a chorus of agreement—some sincere, some teasing, all warm.

Myra, still a little wreathed in fire, said, “Thank you.”

Arabella nodded, then switched to the next card. “This one comes from a Janessa Smith.”

{letter signed "Janessa Smith"}

Did you ever forgive yourself? You should, for as malicious as you were, you still never abused Laura or Andy the way I once abused Felix.

{endletter}

The air stilled, as if the question had put a lid on the room.

Myra understood what Janessa was referencing—her own role in the incident that had led to Laura’s death. She thought about it, then answered, slow and careful. “It took a long time,” she said. “I thought if I just kept being needed, or useful, or indispensable, I could forget about it. But it was always there.” She looked in Laura’s direction.

“It didn’t really start to heal until I heard Laura say it wasn’t my fault. And Andy. And—” She hesitated, voice quavering, “—and I guess, also from my real mom. When I found her, after so many years, and she still cared. I realized maybe I could start over, too.”

Arabella gave it space, then moved to the next card. “A question connected to the first.”

{letter}

Arousal is the emotion you feel most strongly, and you live in a house containing fifteen people in various states of relationships, meaning statistically, someone is always horny. Describe a normal evening.

{endletter}

The room erupted in laughter, even before the question had finished.

Myra, deadpan, said, “It’s like living in a bakery that’s also on fire. Half the time I’m hungry, half the time I’m panicking.”

Sam, grinning, said, “That is the best analogy I’ve ever heard.”

Chloe, through actual tears of laughter, said, “You must be so tired.”

Myra shrugged. “It’s not so bad, as long as it’s not more than three at once. If it gets above that, I can’t walk straight.”

Erin, perfectly straight-faced, said, “You should see the mornings after some of the busiest date nights. I once saw her tails wag so hard she spun herself in a circle.”

Andy, mortified, said, “I’m so sorry.”

Myra, this time, grinned. “I’m not.”

The harem howled.

Arabella, pleased, said, “Thank you, Myra. That was… illuminating, in every sense.” She turned her attention down the row. “Riley, if you’re prepared, you’re next.”

Riley stretched her arms behind her head, as if limbering up for a prize fight. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

---

Arabella raised her clipboard, just enough to make it a prop again. “Riley, the first question.”

{letter}

Laura came back, and you got to say the thing you never got to say. What was the first completely ordinary, boring, unmomentous thing the two of you did together afterwards?

{endletter}

The question should have landed as a joke, or at least as a way to take the edge off the last round. But the room recognized the real question behind it, and so did Riley. She locked eyes with Laura—both sets. “We watched a movie,” Riley said. “One of the old ones. The kind we used to borrow from the library, because neither of us wanted to pay three bucks for the real thing.” She let the words fall in, slow and even. “We watched the first one that came up on the list, and we didn’t talk, and she kept her arms around me the whole time like I was going to run if she let go.”

Laura smiled, small and real. “It was The Mummy. The one with the librarian.”

Riley nodded. “She still talks through the boring parts. I pretended to be annoyed, but I wasn’t. I just wanted to hear her talk again.” She shrugged. “I thought I would want a grand moment, some kind of—” She trailed off, then shrugged again, a thing she did when she wanted to brush the feeling off but couldn’t. “But all I wanted was to sit with her and feel like we were back at the old house, like nothing had ever changed.”

There was a quiet in the room. Not the hush of people too stunned to speak, but the kind of hush where you could feel everybody holding their own memory up against the answer, seeing if it fit.

Andy said, “It sounds like the right thing.”

“It was,” Riley said, with a softness that surprised even her. “It was enough. Having her back—having her here—healed things I didn’t know I was allowed to fix.” She breathed out, once. “When I found out she was my sister, it just made everything make sense.”

Laura, not bothering with subtlety, got up and wrapped Riley in a hug. Both bodies, one to each side. It was quick, but not rushed. She held on, then let go at the first sign Riley was about to turn it into a wrestling match.

The group “aww”ed, and then Liesa, who was never one to let a moment slip away, said, “If I had a twin I would absolutely do that too. The double hug is a power move.”

Erin, deadpan, added, “You’d just end up double-teaming Sam, and you know it.”

The room snickered, and Sam—who had been prepping for her own round—just raised an eyebrow and said, “You say it like it would be a bad thing.”

Arabella, letting the laughter settle, said, “There’s another question, but JJ’s return has made it moot. So I’ll skip it with apologies to the author—your intent was noble, but the universe has already answered.”

Riley gave her a sharp nod of thanks, then relaxed into her chair, one hand unconsciously resting on Laura’s arm, as if she was keeping track of which one was real.

Arabella continued: “Sam, you’re next.”

{letter}

You’re the only person in that building who explains things at a normal human speed. Have you ever had to sit someone down and draw the whole situation out for them? Did it help?

{endletter}

Sam grinned. “I used to think that was my job, back when Andy was allergic to feelings. Now it’s more like being a tour guide for chaos.” She glanced at the crowd, then at Liesa, who smiled back. “There are a lot of times when I have to lay out the whole truth, no matter how weird or ugly. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it just makes people more confused. But I keep doing it because eventually it sticks.”

Liesa said, “I like it when you talk. It always makes sense, even if I don’t want it to.”

Sam, mock-serious, shot back, “That’s because you never want it to.”

The group laughed. Arabella moved to the next line. “Second question.”

{letter}

Standing up as Best Woman at the wedding of a man you’re not in love with, except platonically, for a family you built more or less by accident—how did that actually feel while it was happening?

{endletter}

Sam paused, and it was the first time she looked uncertain all morning. She rolled her tongue over her teeth, then said, “It was harder than I thought it would be. I’m not the sentimental type, but I wanted to do it right. I wanted it to be perfect, so they’d know how much it mattered.” She looked at Andy, then at Liesa. “I am proud. And a little terrified. But mostly, I am happy. It feels like getting to build the kind of family I never thought I could have.”

Andy didn’t wait; he and Liesa both reached out, and in the space of a second, all three were tangled in a tight, awkward, wonderful group hug that knocked over Sam’s water glass and left her hair even more mussed than usual.

Arabella, smiling as if she’d planned it, said, “Third question.” This is from Poppy, a contestant in a new season and one of the guests at the impending nuptials.”

{letter signed "Poppy Chen"}

What’s it like for you when Andy is with Liesa? Anything you worry about, or can’t help imagining?

{endletter}

Sam took it in stride. “It’s honestly fine. I mean, if you saw the shit I did in college, you’d know it’s not a big deal. Also, I’ve been there. Literally. Andy and I have a standing agreement—we don’t touch each other, and the next morning nobody brings it up.” She said it the way someone might describe a parking spot arrangement. “It’s a good system. I recommend it.”

Andy picked up his water glass and took a very long sip.

Sam tilted her head, considering. “Now, if it were Andi—” She let the syllable hang in the air with great deliberateness. “—I think I’d have to put the agreement up for renegotiation. For science.”

Andy set down his glass. “Sam.”

“Hypothetically,” she said, with the tone of someone who did not mean hypothetically.

Liesa, serene, said, “I wouldn’t want anyone else. Not for real. You’re my favorite.”

Sam pointed at her. “See? System.” Pleased, she looked down at her hands, but her cheeks were pink.

Arabella said, “Thank you, Sam. Next question.”

{letter}

Most embarrassing excess consumption story? Are you gonna use Thrustworthy the other way?

{endletter}

Sam laughed so hard she nearly choked. “That’s a two-parter, isn’t it?”

Chloe, always the teacher, said, “What’s the first half mean?”

Sam said, “I have absolutely no idea.”

Arabella said, “And the second part?”

Sam waggled her eyebrows. “You mean the sword? I plead the fifth.” She grinned. “But let’s just say it was made for more than one purpose.”

Norah, deadpan, commented, “That’s a lot of sword to handle.”

Riley, sly, grinned. “She’s got the grip strength for it.”

Liesa, cool as you please. shrugged, blushing. “We’ve practiced.”

The table lost it.

Arabella, barely holding it together, said, “Final Sam question: ‘You were a DM. So: if this story were a tabletop campaign and you were running it, which of the others is the player who derails it in session one, and what specifically do they do?’”

Sam didn’t hesitate. “It’s Erin. She’d seduce the first monster and then try to unionize the rest of the dungeon.”

The table roared.

Erin, perfectly stone-faced, said, “That’s actually the best strategy. If you just fight, you lose people.”

Sam nodded. “See?”

Arabella, tears in her eyes, said, “Thank you, Sam.” She turned, resetting her posture. “Next, we have a surprise. Katherine, there are questions for you as well.”

Katherine, who hadn’t expected to be included, blinked. Her first gesture was to look at Andy, eyebrows aloft as if to say: Really? Me?

Arabella answered for him. “Yes, really. The audience wanted to know, and so do I. First question, then.”

{letter}

Katherine, your favorite thing to do when free of the painting?

{endletter}

Katherine blinked, then made a series of gestures so fast that Andy almost didn’t catch all of them—then again, he had spent more time with her than anyone else on the island, so he was ready. “She likes showers,” Andy said, watching her for confirmation. “Or anything with running water. She couldn’t feel rain or wind or water in the painting, so when she’s out, it’s all she wants to do.” He paused, watched Katherine’s hands frame out something even more specific. “But also—eating? She says the taste of food is so intense that it’s almost too much.”

Katherine nodded, then mimed a huge sandwich and gave two enthusiastic thumbs up.

The harem let out a collective “Awww,” which only made her blush harder.

Arabella, delighted, went on: “Second question.”

{letter}

You suspected what Arabella was building before nearly anyone in the house. What tipped you off?

{endletter}

Katherine tapped her chin, then mimed a very slow circle with her finger, a kind of clock-motion. She wiggled her hand, then made a “two” sign and pointed at Arabella, then at Andy.

Andy translated, “She says she didn’t really know, but over time, she thought she understood. She says she had a lot of time to think.”

Sam, who could appreciate a good pattern, whistled. “You noticed before any of us.”

Erin, grinning, said, “Smartest person in the room, and not even allowed to talk.”

Katherine grinned back, then stuck her tongue out at Erin, and the table cracked up.

Claire, who had been scribbling the whole time, held up a card: KNEW IT.

Arabella gave a half-bow. “Well done, Katherine.” She checked her notes. “Last question.”

{letter}

Best day. The single best day you’ve had since Andy found you.

{endletter}

There was no hesitation at all. Katherine pointed both hands at Andy, then made a gesture like pulling something to her heart. Then she gestured a whole circle at the harem and finished by hugging her own shoulders.

Andy, interpreting, said, “She says it was the first time she got to sit at the dinner table with everyone. Not just in the painting, but with food, and people, and the noise, and the mess. It made her feel real again.”

Katherine nodded, then did a quick, triumphant little fist-pump.

The group cheered for her, more loudly than Andy could have imagined a month ago.

Arabella’s gaze went tender, just for a second. “Thank you, Katherine. You’ve answered beautifully.”

Then she turned to the end of the table. “Next, a few questions for Mildred.”

Mildred, who had been standing behind the group with her usual impassivity, looked up, her eyes locking on the Host. “Proceed,” she said, in a voice that sounded like the clink of crystal glasses.

Arabella didn’t even pretend to smile. “First.”

{letter}

You are in every room. Are you in every room AT THE SAME TIME, or is time doing something categorically different for you than it’s doing for us? These have wildly different implications and I would like to know which nightmare I’m currently living in.

{endletter}

Mildred didn’t blink. “Yes.”

Erin, horrified, protested, “That’s not an answer!”

Mildred replied, “I am in every room at every moment I am expected to be. Sometimes I am also where I am not expected to be. Most flesh-beings experience this as a discontinuity. I do not.” She paused, then added, “I am always present in your story. I always watch the soft things. Your perception of it is irrelevant.”

Sam said, “That is the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Riley, a connoisseur of horror, nodded. “Top ten, easily.”

Arabella scribbled a note, then asked, “Second question.”

{letter}

Do you keep Emi’s paper cranes?

{endletter}

Mildred’s affect softened—just a fraction, but enough that Emi felt it across the room. “Yes,” she said. “I have every one. I place them on the windowsill in the kitchen. Sometimes I admire them.”

Emi, who had gone pink, said, “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Mildred nodded. “They are pleasing. I hope you make more.”

Arabella’s voice sharpened, just a little. “Third question.”

{letter}

Twice now you have appeared with damp hair. Everyone present seems to have silently agreed not to ask. I am asking.

{endletter}

Riley groaned, “We had made a pact not to ask.”

Mildred said, perfectly straight-faced, “I was washing the walls. Sometimes the walls require washing.”

Chloe made a face. “You wash the walls with your hair?”

Mildred said, “It is more efficient.”

Even Norah shuddered.

Arabella set her pen down, as if to brace herself for the last question. “From Matt Hawkins, who will also be visiting for the wedding.”

{letter signed "Matt Hawkins"}

To the Warm Mildred. When you passed on that message to me, you looked outside your story. Is that something you can do because of your nature, or is it something that can be (safely) learned? Where would I begin?

{endletter}

Mildred was about to answer, but Arabella held up a hand. “You are not the Mildred Matt is referring to, are you?”

Mildred answered, “No.”

Arabella said, “But you can answer the question anyway.”

Mildred said, “It is not always a matter of nature. Sometimes, it is a matter of choice. But if you attempt it, be prepared for consequences.” She licked her lips.

Arabella addressed Matt directly, “Talk with your Host, or speak with Andy when you arrive. There are ways to achieve what you want, but most are not safe. I strongly advise against it unless you are willing to live with the outcome.”

Mildred nodded, once.

The harem looked unsettled, but also weirdly comforted by the idea that even entities as weird as Mildred had rules.

Arabella told her, “Thank you, Mildred. That was very illuminating.”

Mildred bowed, then faded back to her post behind the group.

With a practiced turn, Arabella set her eyes on Herman, who was already smiling as if he’d read his own cue in the script.

---

Herman sat back, laced his hands over his linen suit, and gave Arabella a grin that could have started or ended a war.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll try not to break the rules.”

Arabella, deadpan, read the first question. “From Genet.”

{letter signed "Genet"}

Hey, Herman: Would you mind making sure Vaughn’s remembered to eat the past few days?

{endletter}

For a split second, Herman’s expression went from impish to something much older—an ageless exhaustion that read as much like guilt as it did pride. Then he grinned again, rolling the words on his tongue. “Tell Genet it’s handled. I dropped in on the workshop two days ago. The old man was working on something that made even me nervous, but I brought a container of lamb and potatoes and left it on the anvil. I’ll check again after the party.”

Anna, who had been quietly observing, said, “You left an offering? You softie.”

Herman shot her a look. “I am many things. Stupid is not one of them.” He lowered his voice, conspiratorial. “I suspect he eats the whole thing now. Less waste.”

Arabella shook her head, trying not to smile. “Next.”

{letter}

Herman: The Flash sneakers. Which Flash? This matters.

{endletter}

Herman looked momentarily stumped. Then, with a slow delight, he said, “Wally West. Always Wally. The others are fine, but Wally’s the only one who really understands running for fun.”

Sam, suddenly animated, exclaimed, “That’s the correct answer! I knew I liked you.”

Herman pointed at her. “Good taste.”

Arabella nodded. “Thank you. Next, for Marie, who I believe was not expecting this.”

{letter}

Marie, when you saw your daughter again—before either of you spoke—what was the first thought you had?

{endletter}

Marie sat up so straight it was almost martial. “I did not expect to be in this,” she said, flatly, as if someone had handed her a mop and pointed at a room she’d never seen before. She looked across the faces, unflinching, until she found Myra. The question hung there—“what was the first thought you had”—like a trap meant for a more sentimental person.

“My first thought was that I did not want to make her afraid.” She kept her hands on the table, knuckles even and pale. “I remember thinking, if I reached for her, she might flinch. I was so afraid she might.” She took in Myra—her grown woman, her fox-tails, her blind eyes aimed steady as a gun at Marie’s mouth. “I let her come to me. She did not, not immediately. She stood on the be grass and looked at the floor, and her hands were behind her back. It was the same way she stood the last time I saw her.”

Myra’s tails gave a single, slow flick under the table. Andy, watching her, realized that the only place Myra’s body betrayed emotion was in those tails, those ears, and the way she pressed her lips together.

Marie said, “Second thought: I was proud. I knew she had made a life, because she held her head up even when she was lost. She looked like she was scared, but she was also ready for a fight.” She waited for a response, but when none came, she nodded once, as if that completed her brief.

There was a hush around the table, broken only by Chloe’s soft, “That’s beautiful.”

Myra’s chin dipped a fraction, but the pink on her cheeks said more than any words would have.

Arabella, voice gentler than before, asked, “Thank you, Marie. There’s another for you.”

{letter}

You kept Myra for a few years before you had to give her up. What did she do at three that you’d completely forgotten until you saw her again?

{endletter}

Marie blinked, unprepared for nostalgia, then closed her eyes for the beat it took to conjure the memory. “She liked to line things up.” The words came out with the crispness of an inventory. “Socks, spoons, stones, hairpins. She could make a straight line across a whole room, never breaking it. I forgot that. When I saw her do it here—with the sugar packets, at breakfast—I remembered all of it.”

Myra’s laugh was a single sound, then she cut it off. “I still do that,” she said. “It makes things feel more… orderly.”

Marie gave the tiniest smile. “It’s a good habit. Some days, you need a line to follow.”

The harem let out a collective “awwww,” led by Emi, who said, “That’s the best answer,” and was echoed by a dozen tiny nods from across the tables.

Arabella flipped her clipboard. “Dinah, there’s a question for you as well. It’s short.”

{letter}

Dinah, have you had any nightmares lately?

{endletter}

Dinah, who had been bracing for a medical question, looked almost comically thrown. “Define lately,” she said.

There was laughter. “Within the last week,” Arabella clarified.

Dinah considered. “Yes and no. But they aren’t the old ones anymore.” She looked at the women, not at Arabella. “Before, it was always the same: the circus tent, the clown, the parade of horrors. Now, on the rare occasions I do have nightmares, I dream about being in a room with no doors, but it’s not a horror dream. It’s just… a day. I don’t try to escape anymore. I wait. And eventually, someone opens the door for me. It’s always the same person.”

She shrugged, a little apologetic. “It’s not much of a nightmare if you know there’s a way out. Even if you have to wait for it.”

Andy, who had lived through a lot of Dinah’s worst days, said, “That’s progress.”

Dinah looked at him, her eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not my therapist. But yes, it is.”

Arabella, pleased, turned to the end of the guest row. “Eden. There is a question for you, but I’ll read it verbatim.”

{letter}

eden. Four breasts, no arms, permanently turned on, communicates entirely in vibes. Genuine question: are you having a better time than everyone else or a worse one?

{endletter}

Eden, who was the picture of composure despite her circumstances, considered this with a kind of solemnity that made Andy suspect she had actually prepared an answer. She tilted her head, smiled—small but conspiratorial—and then nodded at Dinah.

Dinah translated: “She says: ‘She is having a better time. She likes being beautiful and feeling wanted. It is good to be seen.’” Dinah paused, then added, “She says, ‘But sometimes, she would like to be able to hold someone else’s hand. Even just once. That is the only thing she would change, if she could.’”

The room digested that, a little stunned.

Emi, soft, said, “That’s so sweet.”

Even Norah, who usually cracked wise, looked a little moved. “I never thought about it like that. Sorry, Eden.”

Eden flashed her a sunny smile and a four-breasted shrug, then made a gesture with her chin that read as It’s fine.

Andy, catching her gaze, said, “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

Eden beamed at him, and the arousal that usually rolled off her was replaced by a wave of actual affection so strong Myra had to blink twice.

Arabella let that settle, then looked at Marie again. “There’s a last question for you,” she said. “It’s a little more difficult. And, for context, it’s also for Sandra, who couldn’t join us today.”

Marie set her jaw, bracing. “Go ahead.”

Arabella read it off the card.

{letter}

If you were given five minutes with Greg, with no consequences, and with him having no power over you—what would you do?

{endletter}

The table froze.

Marie’s answer didn’t come quickly, and it wasn’t because she was trying to impress anyone with the silence. She just thought about it for a very, very long time.

Myra, who could feel the wave of panic building at her mother’s side of the table, stood up, walked around the chairs, and set her hand on Marie’s. Marie didn’t flinch. She just let it sit there, like an anchor.

Marie said, “I would not want to see him again, if I could avoid it. I do not have anything left to say to him. If I had to do it, I would use the five minutes to look at his face and try to remember that he was only a man. Nothing more.”

She paused. “If he spoke, I would not answer. If he tried to touch me, I would bite him.” This got a small, unexpected laugh from the group. “I would remind him that he didn’t break me. That’s all.”

Myra squeezed her hand, and Marie allowed herself to squeeze back.

Arabella nodded, voice softer than usual. “Thank you.”

Marie, unblinking, said, “I think that’s what Sandra would do, too. Maybe with more biting. But that’s her way.”

The moment felt like it could have spun out into forever, but Arabella let it settle and then brought the group back to the surface. “Thank you, all of you. These were… not easy, and I appreciate your honesty.”

Andy looked around the table, and for the first time in months, saw every woman there—sisters, rivals, friends, family—holding the moment as if it was precious and fragile and not to be let go too easily.

He knew the feeling.

“Andy,” Arabella suddenly said, “would you do me a favor?” She handed over the cards. “There are a few questions for me in there, and I think it would be best if you asked them.”

Andy’s mind went blank for just long enough to make it awkward. He stared at the cards Arabella slid across the gap. “Some for you?” he said.

Arabella smiled, equal parts delight and the promise of mild public humiliation. “I didn’t want to put myself on the panel, but I’ve been told it would be unfair to skip the Host’s turn.”

He picked up the first card. The handwriting was so distinctive he didn’t even need to check the signature: blocky, angular, and almost scorched into the paper. He read: “‘This is from Vizkoroth, a Host from another season.”

{letter signed "Vizkoroth"}

I don’t know the full context, but I hear rumored that soon, you won’t exist anymore potentially. At minimum, I know this is your last season as a host. While I’m sad to see you go, the main question I must ask is… are you ready? As someone who punished those killed, quite a few of them had regrets they brought with them into the afterlife, and I’d hate for that to include you. It’s much worse if you pass from existence entirely, something I heard rumored but that I hope doesn’t come to pass for you.

{endletter}

He glanced up at Arabella. He had never seen her hesitate, not once, but there was a half-second where she just looked at her hands, and the air in the Banquet Hall changed. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

“Thank you for the question, Vizkoroth,” she said, and this time her voice had a gravity it usually reserved for ceremonies or funerals. “Am I ready? I have been preparing for this since the moment I was created, but the truth is, nobody is ever ready for nonexistence. It’s not the same as dying. There’s no afterlife for me, no next Host gig, no audience waiting to see how I do on the other side. There’s just—” She stopped, as if the word was too heavy to say, then finished, “the end.”

She folded her hands, then smiled at Andy, softer than he’d ever seen. “My regrets are my own, but I've mentioned the main ones when I spoke with Andy. That’s enough.”

There was a ripple of quiet through the harem. Anna, at the edge of the guest row, made a tiny motion with her hand, like a sign of respect, and even Herman didn’t joke.

Andy shuffled the cards, unsure whether to read another. “Okay. Here’s one that’s—” He read ahead, then shook his head, bemused.

{letter}

You’ve been Geshtinanna, Seshat, Hecate, Nimwen, Amaterasu. Which of those would you answer to if someone shouted it across a crowded room, and which would you pretend not to hear?

{endletter}

Arabella actually laughed—a real, unforced sound, light and ringing. “What a question. I’d answer to Amaterasu, first. That was my favorite. She was allowed to be warm without hiding it, and she got to wear the best kimonos.” She winked. “I might ignore Hecate, just to see what happens.”

Anna, voice warm, said, “That’s a very Hecate answer.”

Arabella nodded. “She’d probably appreciate the snub.”

Andy smiled. “You don’t seem like someone who’d blend in anywhere.”

Arabella, eyebrows arched, said, “I take that as a compliment.”

He looked at the next card, then blinked. The handwriting was careful, almost decorative. He read it aloud, aware the harem was about to feast on the embarrassment.

{letter}

If given the chance to join Andy’s harem would you?

{endletter}

The room did not explode in laughter, but only because everyone held it back out of a collective, awestruck curiosity.

Arabella looked at him, then at the ceiling, and said, “It would be tempting. But I have to decline, for two reasons: one, I would ruin the dynamic, and two, I think it’s much more fun to watch from here.”

Andy, feeling the heat on his ears, said, “That’s—uh, that’s fair. I don’t know if I could keep up with you.”

Laura, from two rows behind, said, deadpan, “He’s not wrong.”

Arabella, perfectly gracious, said, “Thank you. It’s rare to see a man humble enough to know his own limits.”

He tried to move on, but the next card was even worse. “This one says...”

{letter}

There has always been a great deal of flirtation in how you speak to Andy. At what point did it stop being technique? And would you join Andy’s harem, if it meant not dying?

{endletter}

He lowered the card, half-tempted to set it on fire with his eyes.

Arabella didn’t miss a beat. “I answered the second half already,” she said. “As for the first: there’s no trick to it. Andy and I are friends. I enjoy teasing him, and I do mean all of it.” She paused, then added, “But I never wanted you to think I was offering something I wasn’t. That would be unfair. In another world, maybe. But not in this one.” Her gaze went level, and Andy felt himself go very still.

He managed, “Thank you, Arabella.”

There was a low rumble of approval from the harem, as if they’d all been rooting for her and she’d stuck the landing.

Arabella collected the cards with a flourish, tucking them away. “Thank you, Andy. That was more than enough vulnerability for today. There’s only one more group of questions left, and then we’ll call it done.”

He exhaled, the back of his neck tingling, and nodded.

---

Arabella stood, as if to formalize the final round, but she let her clipboard drop to her side. “All right,” she said. “There are some questions that have been asked of the entire harem, or nearly all of you. For these, I will pose them to the room, and whoever wishes to answer, may.” Her voice was clear, inviting, almost ceremonial.

She looked to the front row, where Norah had already shifted to the edge of her seat, one leg crossed neatly over the other, four-inch stiletto bobbing as she tapped the floor. “This one is from Hardric.”

{letter signed "Hardric"}

What is the thing you look forward to the most once the show does end?

{endletter}

There was a hush, and then Norah, as if she’d been rehearsing, said, “Running a meeting in a real boardroom again, with nobody staring at my chest unless I make them. As long as Andy doesn’t imagine me with even bigger boobs, that is.” Her eyes flicked to Andy, who gave a sheepish shrug. “Also: gelato in Florence, with absolutely no one trying to turn it into a sex metaphor.”

Marissa, who sat beside her, didn’t wait. “Going to a real bar with Sarah,” she said. “Getting to know my sister better. Also, I can’t wait to walk down a street without worrying about being followed. Just once.”

Emi, blushing but resolute, said, “I want to draw on the walls of my apartment and not get yelled at by the landlord. Or… have an apartment. With actual walls.” She smiled, just for herself. “And I want to show my parents I’m happy.”

Erin, green skin practically glowing under the lights, said, “A hike. A real one, in the mountains.”

Sam, who was holding Liesa’s hand, said, “Getting to build something that isn’t going to disappear after a week. I want to make a table, or a fence, or something that lasts.” She squeezed Liesa’s fingers. “Also, I can’t wait to introduce Liesa to Mikey and Rust Bucket.”

Claire, sitting with her notepad balanced on her lap, wrote quickly, then passed the page to Emily. Emily read, “She wants to visit every library in whatever city we end up in, starting with the one with the oldest books.” She smiled, then added, “And she wants to get ice cream with Andy and walk through the park at night.”

Dawn, next, said, “I want to introduce Chloe to my brothers. I think they’ll love her, but mostly, I want to see what happens when Sebastian tries to impress her.” She laughed, then said, “I want to take care of a baby and know it’s mine.”

Liesa, who had been leaning against Sam, arched her back just enough to draw every eye in the row, then purred, “To travel the world. With Sam, and Andy, and everyone else, if they can keep up. I want to see every city I’ve never been to, and every painting that’s ever made someone cry.” Her accent thickened: “I also want to have a day where I do not have to wear anything, anywhere. No shame.”

Chloe, who sat beside her, grinned, her L-cup cleavage at full display even in her sundress. “I want to have my own classroom again, and decorate it with everything I love. And I want to bake a cake for every single birthday, even if nobody shows up for the party.” She looked at Andy, then at Riley. “I look forward to being part of a family that loves each other.”

Riley, whose arms were folded, but not in defense, said, “I want to take JJ to a protest. Not the dangerous kind—just one with a really good drum circle. I want him to grow up knowing that you can make noise and be heard.” She nodded at Andy, at Laura, then at Chloe. “And I want to never lose another friend, ever again.”

Emily, who seemed smaller and more open in the circle than anywhere else, said, “I want to paint a mural. Not for money, or for anyone else, but just because I want to.”

Myra, who had been quiet so far, said, “I want to go back to the hospital. Not as a patient.” She stopped, then continued more quietly, “I want to know I can still be useful to someone who needs me. Blind or not. And I want to hold my own baby someday, at least once, and not let go.”

Laura, who had been silent, spoke: “I want to live. That’s it. I want to wake up every morning and not have to wonder if it’s my last.” She glanced at Andy apologetically, at the whole group. “And I want to meet my baby for real.”

Arabella nodded, eyes bright. “Thank you, all of you.” She didn’t reach for her clipboard, just waited for the energy to ripple through. “Next question is from Felix, the Master in Vizkoroth’s season.”

{letter signed "Felix"}

Are you ready for what comes next? The show will end soon, and you will join a reality that is far more banal than who you are as beings. Many of you, including but not limited to Andy, have a massive amount of power. I’m sure you’re aware of how power corrupts, but power that isn’t used is wasted, and that can be just as terrible.

{endletter}

The silence was heavier, but not stifling.

Andy spoke first. “I think about it a lot. What happens when we go home. If we go home. I don’t want to become… something monstrous, just because I can. But I also don’t want to go back to who I was before.” He paused, feeling every eye on him. “I want to use the power I have to help the people I love. Even if it means I can’t have a normal life.”

Marissa, who had seen this coming, said, “Power isn’t the danger. Loneliness is. If we look out for each other, we’ll be okay.”

Dawn, voice gentle, added, “I think we’re more ready than we think. We’ve been tested, more than once.”

Erin, pragmatic, said, “I’m not worried about going back to normal. I don’t think there is a normal, not for us.”

Chloe, ever hopeful, said, “I want to make the world better, even if it’s just a tiny bit.”

Norah, blunt, added, “If Andy or any of us goes nuts with power, I’ll be the first to take him down.”

The group laughed, a dark, honest kind of laughter, and it felt more like a promise than a joke.

Arabella gave it a moment, then went on. “Next question.”

{letter}

What do you think Arabella’s impending fate means for the harem?

{endletter}

A beat. Nobody answered at first.

Finally, Claire wrote, and Emily read, “‘It means we’re going to have to grow up. There won’t be anyone watching over us anymore. But maybe that’s okay.’”

Liesa, eyes soft, said, “It means we have to make our own story, now. No more scripts, no more rehearsals. I think we can.”

Sam, voice even, nodded and added, “It means we get to choose. Every day.”

Marissa, clinical as ever, looked at Arabella and said, “It means loss. It will hurt. But we’ll remember her, and it will make us better.”

Laura, both bodies in sync, added, “She brought me back. I’ll never forget her.”

There was no joke, no glossing it over. Just the honest ache of gratitude.

Arabella, eyes shining, said, “Thank you. That means more to me than you can know.” She took a steadying breath, then grinned, brightening. “The next question is a fun one. It’s from Scarlet, the Host of Matt Hawkins’s season.”

{letter signed "Scarlet"}

What’s your favorite myth, legend or fairy tale?

{endletter}

Erin, who had been waiting for something like this, said, “Green Knight. The story is always different, but it’s always about survival, about regrowth. I like that even after you’re cut down, you come back.”

Dawn, blushing, said, “Sleeping Beauty. Because no matter how bad things got, someone still came for her in the end.”

Liesa, eyes dreamy, said, “Selkies. I love the idea of being two things at once, of belonging to both the sea and the shore.”

Marissa, instantly, commented, “Persephone. She got taken, but she ended up co-running the whole Underworld.”

Claire scribbled, and Emily read: “‘Scheherazade, because she saved herself and everyone else by telling the right stories.’”

Chloe, said, “Beauty and the Beast. Not that Andy is the Beast. It's just romantic.”

Riley, voice rough, said, “The story where Orpheus almost gets Eurydice back. Not because it’s happy, but because it’s the only one that feels true.”

Emily piped up, “Cinderella. Not the princess part, just the idea that even if you get nothing your whole life, one perfect night can change it forever.”

Myra, a little surprised by her own answer, said, “Baba Yaga. Because she’s scary, but sometimes she’s kind. I like the ones where the monster is also the helper.”

Norah, voice low, said, “Ali Baba. Because the guy wins by being clever and because he shares it all in the end.”

Sam, with a wry smile, said, “Robin Hood. Steal from the rich, give to the poor, have sex in the forest. Sounds like a good time.”

Laura, quiet, said, “Tam Lin. I read that story in a book, in the school library. Never thought it could apply to me. But I'm not sure if I'm Tam Lin or if I'm Janet.”

There was a ripple of surprise, and a nod from several of the women.

Andy, asked to answer, said, “Prometheus. He took something dangerous, because he thought the world needed it. He got punished forever, but his gift helps people to this day.”

The group let it hang, then Riley said, “That is the most Andy answer ever.”

He grinned, then ducked his head, embarrassed.

Arabella, delighted, said, “That was beautiful. Thank you. The last group question is one a lot of people have been waiting for. How many babies do you want with Andy?” She held up a hand. “He’s exempt from answering, for obvious reasons.”

The room exploded.

Norah said, “Two. One boy, one girl, and then I’m out.”

Erin, never subtle, said, “As many as possible. Why would you stop at one?”

Chloe, dreamy, murmured, “At least three. I want to be surrounded by them.”

Liesa, who had opinions, said, “At least one, but also with Sam.”

Sam said, “I’ll help. I got first dibs, too.”

Claire, blushing, wrote a number on her pad and passed it down. It was a “4.” She also drew a cat.

Emily, hands in her lap, said, “One, maybe two. I’m scared of being a mom, but I want to try.”

Myra, voice breaking a little, said, “I never thought I’d get to. But now… as many as the world lets me.”

Riley said, “I can’t even think about it. JJ is all I’m focused on right now.”

Marissa, after a long pause, said, “Zero. For now. But I want to be the best aunt in the world. That’s enough for me, for the moment.”

Dawn, earnest, said, “Three. I want to watch them grow up, from the first day to the last.”

Emi, voice trembling with delight, said, “Two. I want to see if they look like him, or like me.”

Katherine, unable to answer, just gave Andy a look that said everything. He blushed.

Laura, both mouths moving in perfect sync, said, “I never wanted any. But now I do. I want to see what our family looks like, in the morning, every day.”

Andy, overcome, just stared at the ceiling, willing himself not to break down in front of the room.

Arabella, smiling, said, “It will still take you a while before you catch up with Harper.”

The laughter was cleansing, full of hope and relief.

Arabella let it settle, then grew solemn. “There’s one last question, and then we’re done. You may answer in whatever way you wish.”

The group sat up, attentive.

The final question was coming, and Andy knew—without needing a Host to say it—that it would be the biggest one yet.

---

Arabella didn’t sit, but she rested her clipboard on the palm of her hand like a judge weighing a verdict. Her voice was lighter than the moment deserved. “Here it is. The question that brought in more mail than any other, the one that has half the audience making odds on the answer: What will you do with the wish?”

She paused. “For the rules lawyers, a reminder: the wish cannot eliminate transformations, cannot cut someone out of the harem, and cannot hurt the Master or another harem member. Other than that—” She shrugged. “—the universe is yours. And you don't have to answer if you don't want to.”

Andy felt the question settle over the group like a weighted blanket. For a second, nobody moved.

Norah, always the one to go first if it meant taking a risk, said, “My parents have cleaned other people’s offices since before I was born. I want them to stop, permanently, with enough money that stopping isn’t frightening.” She hesitated, then added, “And I want my sisters to have the shot I had, so I stop being the one who got out.”

Andy nodded, pride and a little awe clear on his face. He hadn’t expected that answer, but it was so exactly Norah that he wondered how he’d missed it.

Marissa was next. “I want Sarah to be happy. I want her to get everything she deserves, even if I’m not there to see it.” She pressed her hands together. “If it’s only one wish, I want to know she’ll be safe, and that she’ll never have to be alone.” She looked up, and for the first time in ages, she didn’t look like she was holding anything back.

Erin, mint and wild, said, “When our kids are old enough to understand what they'd be choosing, I want them to choose it. Human, transformed, something in between — their call. Not the Audience's, not a Host's. Not ours.” She grinned, just a little.

Sam, grinning, said, “Obviously the correct answer is a bigger boat.” She paused for a beat. “First thing, so nobody suggests it: I'm not wishing my father into loving me. I'd know it was fake, and then I'd have to live in the house with the fake.” Then, deadpan, she added, “So give me the staff keys. Not this hotel — the dead ones. The paused seasons, the sets somebody locked and walked away from, the ones that broke and got left. I want a door that opens for me and doesn't ask whose show it is.”

There was laughter—real, healing, affectionate.

Dawn, who looked like she was trying not to cry, said, “I want my mom back. I want her, in her own kitchen, old and irritated and alive, with enough years left that Luis and Sebastian get to know her as a person instead of as the thing they lost.”

Liesa, looking out the window, said, “The women I worked with — the ones who didn't get out when I got out.” Quietly, she continued, “I want them to have a door, and enough money that walking through it doesn't mean coming back.”

Riley, blunt, said, “I had it worked out. I was going to spend it on JJ and then he walked through the door and now I’ve got to think about it. Get back to me later.”

Emily, red to the ears, said, “My old season is still on hold. Hannah's still standing in a room somewhere because somebody hit pause and walked off. Jake is still in those dreams.” Carefully, Emily whispered, “End it. Let them finish or let them go home. But somebody has to ask them first.”

Myra, soft, said, “Laura, Riley, me—we're three of Greg's. But my Mom said there were others. He kept that house for twenty years and gave the babies away like furniture.” She closed her eyes, then murmured, “Find them. Tell them where they came from. Give them somewhere to come, if they want it.”

There was a silence.

Andy looked around the group—at Norah, at Marissa, at Emi, at Erin, at Sam, at Claire, at Dawn, at Liesa, at Chloe, at Riley, at Emily, at Myra. Every answer was different, but at the same time, every answer was about holding onto each other, or holding onto themselves.

Laura tried to say something, but all she managed was, “That’s beautiful,” before the lump in her throats made the rest of the words stick.

Arabella closed her clipboard. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick for the first time. “You are the most remarkable group I have ever had the privilege of seeing. I hope you remember this day, even when the world tries to make you forget.”

She looked at Andy, then at the group. “Tomorrow is the bachelor and bachelorette parties. There will be cake, and there will be drama, and this incoming night there will be an event that none of you see coming.” She grew somber, then let the Host-mask slide away. “Enjoy the day. You have earned it.”

And when the lights in the Banquet Hall dimmed, and the group dissolved into small knots of people who could not quite let go of each other, Andy stayed where he was. He watched every one of them—his family, his future, his impossible, beautiful harem—and he knew, without a doubt, that whatever wish came true, it would be the right one.

He closed his eyes, let the moment burn itself into memory, and waited to go back.