1st of July, 2013rees-mogged: Good news gentlemenrees-mogged: I have officially survived my birthdaydisciple-of-bnchard: you survived???disciple-of-bnchard: i thought you were on deaths doorstepdisciple-of-bnchard: being 16 years old and alldisciple-of-bnchard: thats like half the tranny life expectancyrees-mogged: I may be 16 years oldrees-mogged: But that means I’m older and wiser than you, Rayrees-mogged: So I know not to listen to the high-pitched squeaks of a childdarjeeling: happy birthday RMdarjeeling: how terrible was it?rees-mogged: Awfulrees-mogged: Dad made me wear this horrible fucking suitrees-mogged: We went to some expensive restaurant in Bristolrees-mogged: Said I could choose a nice wine now that I’m almost a manrees-mogged: The wine was fine I supposerees-mogged: Rather enjoyed the venisondisciple-of-bnchard: did you have a gss like a sissy or a bottle like a manrees-mogged: Dar, I’m afraid my aged ears don’t quite catch these high pitchesrees-mogged: What did the little man saydarjeeling: I couldn’t quite hear eitherdisciple-of-bnchard: dars even older than you RMdisciple-of-bnchard: he might as well be dead alreadyrees-mogged: Can’t make out a word of itrees-mogged: Oh wellrees-mogged: Whateverdarjeeling: you didn’t have a birthday party?rees-mogged: Who could I even inviterees-mogged: Other than you tworees-mogged: And you’re on the other side of the countryrees-mogged: All of the boys at school think I’m a faggotrees-mogged: Whichrees-mogged: Likerees-mogged: Truerees-mogged: But not in the way they think I amrees-mogged: So if not yourees-mogged: And not themrees-mogged: Who else?rees-mogged: I don’t have cousins rememberrees-mogged: My family really sucked at the whole reproduction thingrees-mogged: And before you say anything Rayrees-mogged: Yes there was a cute girl at the restaurantrees-mogged: No we didn’t kissrees-mogged: By talking to a girl I’m already five steps ahead of youdisciple-of-bnchard: your mum doesn’t count RMdarjeeling: I'll believe RM ran into a cute girldarjeeling: those are around sometimesdarjeeling: there’s this cute girl in my english lit cssdarjeeling: we talk about anime and thingsdisciple-of-bnchard: how the hell are you two running into cute girls all of a suddendisciple-of-bnchard: i thought we were all united in our virginityrees-mogged: Some of us are able to look at women without immediately wishing we swapped bodies, Rayrees-mogged: Like shitty British transmigrationrees-mogged: Because it’s all discount cockneys from bloody Harlowdisciple-of-bnchard: transmigration???disciple-of-bnchard: is this some shit youve been reading ordarjeeling: do I want to knowdarjeeling: never mind thatdarjeeling: RMdarjeeling: you were coming up north for the holidays rightrees-mogged: Yes but the Harrogate pns fell throughrees-mogged: Parents settled on the ke districtrees-mogged: They wanted to go hiking and swimming I supposerees-mogged: Which means I’ll be wherever we’re staying and reading booksrees-mogged: That’s still somewhat near you thoughdarjeeling: it’s on the other side of the penninesdarjeeling: it’d take hoursdarjeeling: I can’t afford to travel that fardarjeeling: middlesbrough to york would have been less than 10 quiddarjeeling: getting to windermere is five times that plus accommodationsdarjeeling: my mum wouldn’t allow me to stay with strangersrees-mogged: Surely I’m not a strangerdarjeeling: no but your parents aredarjeeling: your parents are like posh and southerndarjeeling: and toriesdarjeeling: which is probably their worst sin in my parents eyesdarjeeling: I can hear my mum alreadydarjeeling: ‘you know who was a tory too?’darjeeling: ‘jimmy savile’disciple-of-bnchard: really?disciple-of-bnchard: would have guessed hes a bour ddisciple-of-bnchard: jims rather fond of miners after allrees-mogged: Very droll Rayrees-mogged: I did expect your mum to say something like thatrees-mogged: She’s always been a killjoyrees-mogged: So I asked my mum whether I can visit you in Middlesbrough a few days agorees-mogged: And she was fine with itrees-mogged: But dad intervened and said visiting such a dump is too dangerous for someone ‘like me’rees-mogged: Got worse when I said I knew a cute girl thererees-mogged: He said I can do much better than someone ‘like that’rees-mogged: I assume he means poorrees-mogged: Dar’s other qualities are unassaible after alldisciple-of-bnchard: girl???darjeeling: cute???rees-mogged: Lookrees-mogged: It’s called rhetoricrees-mogged: One of the most ancient profound and beautiful arts humanity has ever knownrees-mogged: A skill carried down from the greeks and romans through the agesrees-mogged: Turned into a science by marketing departments and slimy bastards like Peter Mandelsonrees-mogged: But the true art has been maintained by those who truly carerees-mogged: Teenagersrees-mogged: So we can use it to convince our parents to let us go hang out with our friends or buy us a GTX 680disciple-of-bnchard: should of waited for the 780 retardrees-mogged: Should’ve*rees-mogged: Who’s the retard nowdisciple-of-bnchard: i knew youd bitedisciple-of-bnchard: your very predictable RMrees-mogged: No I’m notrees-mogged: Where was Irees-mogged: Oh yesrees-mogged: I used my insight into my father’s deepest desiresrees-mogged: That being that I manage to find a girlfriend or somethingrees-mogged: Just to confirm I’m not one of those faggotsrees-mogged: And thus I called upon the concept of myself in the company of an eligible womanrees-mogged: But as it was not to berees-mogged: I think he’d rather have me marry a man than a poor womandisciple-of-bnchard: but what if he said yesdisciple-of-bnchard: youd have to have an actual cute girldisciple-of-bnchard: you know just to confirm youre not gaydisciple-of-bnchard: or doing drugs or somethingdisciple-of-bnchard: dars male so cant use him as proofdisciple-of-bnchard: so youd have to go clubbing and find some hot girls in your local areadisciple-of-bnchard: and i dont think either of you are pullingdisciple-of-bnchard: sorry to sayrees-mogged: I had a contingency pn for thatrees-mogged: Pretty simple actuallyrees-mogged: Worst comes to worst I’ll buy Dar a dressdisciple-of-bnchard: ???darjeeling: uhrees-mogged: I can do a bit of makeup to make him look all girlydisciple-of-bnchard: ???????rees-mogged: Maybe take him to a nice hairdresser to really sell itdisciple-of-bnchard: ?????????darjeeling: I don’t think that’s a good ideadarjeeling: my parents would notice the girly haircutdisciple-of-bnchard: that’s your compint???rees-mogged: You need to crack some eggs to make an omeletterees-mogged: Or, as I would paraphrase itrees-mogged: If you can’t get a girlfriendrees-mogged: Turn your friends into girlsdisciple-of-bnchard: that isnt even paraphrasingdisciple-of-bnchard: its a whole different phrasedisciple-of-bnchard: but also youd fry poor dars brain if you tried thatdisciple-of-bnchard: hell think he can actually be a girldarjeeling: don’t take RM so seriouslydarjeeling: he’s drunkrees-mogged: Ray’s just jealous I wouldn’t be doing it to himdisciple-of-bnchard: you know whatdisciple-of-bnchard: you trannies can have fun togetherdisciple-of-bnchard: but i have things to do tomorrowdisciple-of-bnchard: good fucking night

  23rd of January, 2019“Are you sure there’s nothing I could do?” Amy asks, the tone of her voice nearing more of a whine than she’d previously have been capable of. Practice makes perfect, after all.

  It’s been thirteen days since Amy made the fateful decision that got her sent to the cells. Each of those thirteen days have been amongst the least comfortable of her life. Part of that is because she had a particurly high standard, but another part of it is that the conditions down there are genuinely miserable. It’s not torture — not unless one thinks that anything less than the best money can buy is illegal under various ws and global treaties — but the cold and the ck of proper sleep add up, night after night, and wear someone down to a point where they will be more compliant than they otherwise would have been even if it’s just because they’re too tired to fight back.

  But whilst the temperature down there sucks, it’s the isotion that has really been eating away at her over the past two weeks. Two weeks of talking to no one but Kelynen — to a point she came up with the nickname ‘Loonie’, derived from the fact that the ‘ly’ in her name is pronounced ‘loo’ — Rose and Vivienne, but only when she happened to run into those. Two weeks of worrying about Faith and Jenny but not being given any straight answers.

  Amy just wants her friends back, and there’s just one way for her to do so. She has to convince Eira that she deserves to go back upstairs. And she’s been toiling to that extent for thirteen days, following all the rules that had been id out for her, working as hard as she can at the tasks she’s given and even volunteering to do more in her free time. It beats spending the majority of her day in her cell, anyhow.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Kelynen says. “Ye need to rest more ye know. Ye fell asleep during all of yer breaks today, and ye can’t convince me that part of that isn’t ye spending more than twelve hours a day working.”

  “But Loonie…” Amy pushes her voice into an actual whine, hoping that her sounding sad enough saves her from the punishment she knows she called down upon herself two weeks ago. “There’s a cold snap. It’s even colder down there than usual. You know how cold that is. You’ve compined about it being so chilly before, and you spend a few minutes per day in the basement. I’m there for 14 hours per day. Can’t you imagine how miserable that is?”

  “But it would be really irresponsible of me if I allowed ye to push yerself further and further into exhaustion like this.” Kelynen sighs, looking down at Amy and obviously feeling sorry for what she’s been made to do. “It’s not as if I’ve been too strict about things either. I’ve been letting ye do some easier chores, been giving ye the chance to volunteer for more work, ye’ve been allowed to do yer reading in the library—”

  “Please?” Amy tries to show her sponsor puppy eyes, having long realised that her sponsor wanted something akin to a little sister to dote over and hoping that pying into it is enough to get what she wants.

  “I’m not going to give you any additional tasks, Amy.” She says, trying to sound as strict as she can manage — that is, like a rather desperate and inexperienced babysitter — before she finally cracks and types out a text message to the other sponsors. “I’m not sending ye downstairs, okay? But ye’re not going to be doing any more work. Instead, ye’ll join the sponsors for dinner and show them just how well-behaved ye’ve been. Hopefully, Eira can’t help but let ye out of the cells tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

  Getting to have dinner at an actual table rather than on the floor in her cell? And all she has to do is sit pretty and mostly keep her mouth shut whilst shoveling food into her at a pace appropriate for a woman? Yeah, Amy can do that. She’ll gdly do that, in fact.

  It almost seems too easy.

  ***

  If most of the manor could be described as rather practical and scarce in its furniture, then Kelynen’s room stood in strong contrast to everything else. Amy’s sponsor had poured love and attention into every detail that she sunk into the one space that she had full control over, filling the small room to the brim with items before ying on that thick yer of chaos that seemed to follow the woman everywhere she went.

  The first thing that stood out to Amy is how much greenery was scattered throughout the room. It seemed that every empty nook of the room had been filled with one pnt or another, most of which Amy couldn’t name even if she wanted to — they’d always had a gardener for that kind of thing when she’d been a child still. But the ones on the ground tended to be taller and existed more to hide the otherwise empty spaces in the room, whilst the pnts scattered on the two desks and the bookshelf tended to be rather colourful flowers.

  Kelynen’s bed is pushed into the corner, as far away from the window as possible, giving her a rather excellent view of the mountains outside. A rge bookshelf with what seems to be hundreds of books covers the wall across from the bed. There’s books about almost anything one could imagine: art history, a Cornish dictionary, introductions to ecology, geography and geology, works on worldbuilding and even a book ‘all about penguins’. Seems like someone has a favourite animal.

  There’s a desk perpendicur to the foot of the bed, rather messily covered with a number of books in active use — a half-read romance, a cookbook and a Welsh textbook with a notebook fit inside — as well as a ptop, a Tesco shopping bag and a small pile of fresh clothes, yet to be sorted into the adjacent wardrobe. The chair, meanwhile, is covered with a pile consisting of an indeterminate amount of dirty and unwashed uniforms.

  Across from the desk sits a vanity with various bottles, boxes and sticks semi-randomly strewn about in a manner that seems like it wouldn’t even be particurly convenient for the user: the brushes are pushed into a corner, precariously close to the edge, and she can see from a distance that the primer and foundation have been thrown on the bottom of the Jenga tower of other items right next to it.

  The main desk sits at the very end of the room, edging as closely as it can against the tall windows and making full use of the natural light that the room gets flooded with during the day. Whilst the edges of the desk are as messy as one would expect, the centre is actually rather empty. There’s just a single sketch of what looks to be a ndscape, all the pencils and older draft pushed to the side to enable the careful movements required to draw.

  It seems absurd that Kelynen would have to teach Amy how to keep things neat and tidy, given the state of her bedroom.

  “Feel free to take a seat.” Loonie suggests, entirely oblivious to the fact that all the chairs except the one near the vanity have been covered with random items. As such, it’s the one seat Amy takes, just to watch Kelynen pick up the big pile of dirty undry from her chair and unceremoniously throw it onto the bed, a sock falling out of the bundle in the process.

  “So. Ye may be wondering why I took ye to my room.” Kelynen sits down across from her and smiles. “Well, the first reason is because dinner is in half an hour and we’re not really supposed to linger downstairs, due to the risk of running into Faith or Jenny. Yes, I know ye wouldn’t mind if ye did.”

  “I really miss them.” Amy nods. She needs to maximise her sad girl energy if she wants her sponsor to put in the best possible word for her.

  “Well, if everything goes to pn, ye’ll be free to move back in with them tomorrow. Which brings me to the second reason: we might have to impress Eira a bit. She knows by now that ye’ll be perfectly well-behaved to avoid further punishment, but she told me she wants to see a little more than that. A… ‘more banced profile of improvements’, to be exact.”

  “I’ve been doing more than you’ve been asking me to already.” Amy frowns.

  “Doing extra chores is one thing.” Loonie expins. “Actively making progress towards rehabilitation and yer gender identity is another. What she wants to see is a few more steps on the gender front.

  Two weeks of leaning into the little sister role for Kelynen and Eira still isn’t satisfied? Sure, it’s only around Kelynen that she really pys the role, and she only does it for personal benefit, but it’s really quite debasing. And now they want her to take another step? Take even more action in preparing her for being a perfect little pleasure sve?

  “Sorry, dear. I’m just the messenger.” Her sponsor tries to soothe her. “All she wants to see is a bit of makeup, okay? Just to get ye all prettied up for yer meal. I’ll also brush yer hair some—”

  “Do we really have to do this?” Amy asks, horrified.

  Makeup? Like, proper girly makeup, not even stage makeup? Whilst wearing a dress with a short-ish skirt and a padded bra and with her hair growing increasingly long? With her voice high-pitched, her demeanor naturally feminine, her skin soft and freshly shaven earlier in the day?

  She’d look too much like a girl. Well, not to anyone with eyes, as her shoulders would still be too wide, her forehead would be too tall, her eyes too deep and too wide, her jaw too prominent, her nose too big, her philtrum too long, too male—

  “We don’t. But it’d really please Eira if we did.” Kelynen says, making sure Amy pays attention by putting a hand on her shoulder. “She thinks ye’re ready for it. It’s not like ye’ve hated any of the steps ye’ve set previously after ye got over yer initial objections. Ye wouldn’t even be the first either, Viv had Faith over a few days ago to give her a little makeover. She wasn’t super excited, but she didn’t hate the results and even liked it after getting used to the idea…”

  Of course Loonie had to mention Dar in trying to convince Amy. It’s the single biggest weapon they have against her. When she shows even a little bit of doubt, they’ll bring up the fact that her crush had done it before. Because Faith has been equally compliant as Amy, at least once she overcame her fears and many doubts. And if Faith can do it, why can’t Amy? Amy’s supposed to be tougher than her, more daring and willing to do anything she can to protect her friend. How is she supposed to do that if she’s scared or repulsed by the same things her friend dares to accept into her life?

  All Amy has to do is degrade herself a little more and she gets to spend her mornings and evenings with Faith again. Hell, she gets to spend time with Jenny again. Even that feels like a welcome change despite the fact that she’s been rather more rude than usual in the day and a half the two got to spend together. He had just been brought upstairs for the first time ever and had to adjust to whatever the sponsors had decided his life would be like. Of course he’d be on a bit of a short fuse after that. And it’s not like Amy was particurly pleasant to him either.

  Maybe they could make up their differences and actually have fun again. Like they used to. Friendly jabs and such. But that requires being allowed to see Jenny again, and that means appeasing Eira.

  Ugh. She can’t believe she’s going to do this. That she has to do this. But it’s just the objectively most rational decision she can make given the circumstances, the one most likely to grant her some of the comfort she really needs.

  “Fine.” Amy grumbles. “I’ll put on some stupid makeup.”

  24th of January, 2019“Good morning.”

  Eira’s voice suddenly pierced through the silence, snapping Amy out of her dreams and causing her to jump up as if she’d been awakened by some horrible, life-threatening predator. It takes her a moment to stand up like Eira wanted her to: back straight, hands together and looking the sponsor in the eyes.

  “Am I that scary? Oh dear.” Eira comments, then ughs softly to remove some of the tension. “I think you’ll remember that we have two things to do today. The first is that we need to have our fortnightly discussion about the progress you’ve been making over that period. We will do this first: I want to know how you feel about everything that’s happened. I will make a decision as to whether you’ve been well-behaved enough to be let out of this cell afterwards. Of course, I doubt that will truly change the conclusions I’ll draw— there are still two weeks of passable conduct I have to keep in mind.”

  Amy had completely forgotten about their fortnightly meetings. But of course the next one would be due today: it's been exactly fourteen days since she st sat down with Eira like that. That was on the day she’d tried to escape. And of course Eira would hold such discussions before making any kind of decision on her freedom: she wants to see how well Amy sts under pressure. The track record hasn’t been all too good, after all. The first time she rebelled and got herself tased, and the second time she almost ended up crying in Eira’s arms.

  She really can’t afford fuckups like those today.

  “I will start with a rather simple question: how are you?” Eira asks.

  How would she even respond to a question like that? What kind of answer would Eira be looking for? That she’s gd to have been put in her pce, that she’s suffering greatly under her punishment, that losing her autonomy to decide her own gender identity was just and that she’s very happy to be turned into a girl? That she’s ready for her new life as Elle Lambert’s pything? Clearly she’s looking for an answer — Eira’s always looking for an answer, a very specific answer at that — but Amy just doesn’t know what.

  “I’m fine.” She posits, looking down at the floor and hoping that the vagueness of the answer stops Eira from digging deeper.

  “You’re not fine. That much is obvious.” Eira cuts off any hope she might have had of trying to avoid the conversation. “You’re thinking about it too much. There’s nothing deeper you need to look for in this case. It’s a simple, genuine question: I want to know how you are feeling.”

  “I—” Amy looks at her, distrustful. “I’m tired. Exhausted, even.”

  The head sponsor smiles. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? There was nothing to be worried about. There are no wrong answers to my questions, Amy. There will just be ones that I might want you to expand upon a bit more every now and then. If you want to have as few of those as possible, then you would need to be completely and utterly honest with me. Even if you don’t think it’s the answer I would want to hear. And yes, I can notice when you attempt to deceive me like that. You’re not the first girl to try to trick me like that, and you’ll certainly not be the st either.”

  “I didn’t try to deceive you.” Amy really needs to defend herself here. “I, just…”

  “You didn’t try to deceive me with ill-intention, that is true. You just sought to tell me what you thought would please me, irrespective of its basis in reality. But the effect is the same: you tried to convince me of an untruth. I cannot accept such a thing. Your effective rehabilitation depends on you being as honest as possible. You are forgiven for now, as I know you’ve been more anxious than you otherwise would have been, but I expect you to be better going forward.”

  “I understand and agree.” Amy says, really trying to resist rolling her eyes. She mustn’t be rude, after all, not whilst Eira is still trying to judge her. But it does really suck: now every single one of her responses will be judged based on whether Eira thinks she’s trying to deceive her or not as well. What a great bloody minefield she’ll have to navigate in the future.

  “That’s good. Now, tell me, what do you think has left you so exhausted that it is not only something you mentioned, but the most dominant feeling you have?”

  “I’ve not been sleeping well.” Amy says, then realises Eira wants to hear much more. “I’ve been too cold, the mattress hurts my back, I can’t get my brain to slow down much anymore. Kelynen said I’ve been working too much.”

  “Now, the cold and the sleeping facilities should be an issue that resolve themselves in due time, so I don’t think we need to linger on that too much. Instead I’d want to focus on the idea that you don’t seem to be getting much rest. What kind of thoughts are keeping you up at night?”

  “Nothing in particur,” She says at first, then looks up to see Eira be rather annoyed with the fact that she’s trying to avoid the answer yet again. “It’s Faith. And Jenny too, sometimes. But mostly Faith. I’m fretting a lot about whether they could survive all… this. The programme. Everything you’ve pnned for them.”

  “They’re girls, Amy.” Eira says rather gently. “Just like you. You may not have been born as such, but all of you will be happier at the end of this whole process because you finally get to feel good about the way you look and how you interact with the world. The real question is not whether they survive this process, because they will, it’s how you girls thought you could survive without taking these steps.”

  “That’s not the point.” Amy counters. Of course they’ll survive the transition. They’ll probably be happier for it. A paraphilia, when indulged in, does lead to pleasure. But it’s about as healthy for the mind and the body as indulging in an addiction and equally socially destructive. No, the issue is sexual svery! But that’s not something Amy can admit to without endangering herself. She’d been threatened into silence, after all.

  “What, then, is the point?” Eira asks. “Are you worried about whether they might be hurt during the programme?”

  “Yes.” She says quickly, realising the out that she’s been offered by a head sponsor likely unwilling to throw away what has to be a rather expensive and promising investment. Elle thought she had ‘potential’, after all.

  It’s not like it’s untrue, either. She is worried that the sponsors will hurt her friends. Faith isn’t exactly strong enough to handle the punishment that might come her way whilst Jenny is likely to do things that earn her the ire of the sponsors. And these thoughts come up almost as much as the future services that will be expected of them. “I worry about it all the time.”

  “Now, I must ask you to forgive me for thinking out loud as to what is going on here.” Eira looks at Amy rather inquisitively. “But I think we’re rather more simir on this point than you think. We’re both people who are rather fond of information. We want as much of it as possible. Because whilst information doesn’t always align with control, it often does, and it can at least soothe the mind in the cases that it doesn’t. What unsettles you is that you’re kept in the dark.

  “That is rather natural, because it really isn’t something you’re used to. You’ve always had the right to make informed choices about basically everything in your life. Your mother was rather permissive and your father rarely disagreed with your choices. I suspect that you intentionally made choices that you thought your father would approve of. You’d never been a particurly rebellious child, after all, and the few things that didn’t necessarily please him were things that your mother adored: your acting and singing in particur.

  “As such, your father intervened just twice throughout your life. The first time was telling you that you weren’t allowed to meet up with Faith in Middlesbrough, and the second was him deciding that you’re not allowed to attend Durham University, where Faith was studying, preferring that you stay closer to home. Those were temporary setbacks you always wanted to overcome afterwards. We know you did— we have the logs. You always thought you had control, you never lost contact with your friends, and that’s what soothed your anxiety. You cared, deeply, but you never felt the need to panic.”

  “Now, I will not overanalyse what it says about you that you were willing to move over 200 miles, to the complete other side of the country, just to be with one of your friends. Nor will I make much hay of the fact that it’s the one you said you worry about the most.” She shows her a knowing grin. “Because I don’t think it changes the fundamental processes going on in your brain right now. The issue is that this is the first time in your life that you are denied both knowledge of and control over your friend’s fates. That is what terrifies you more than anything else. It’s left you in a more or less permanent state of panic. One that leaves you desperate to do anything to alleviate your suffering, even if it’s something you would not otherwise have done.”

  “You’re doing it intentionally, aren’t you?” Amy tries to hold back her anger. Eira gloating about exactly how she’s torturing her and breaking her down is not something she really wanted to deal with today.

  “I am merely doing what I must do.” Eira says. “I am responding to your actions. My job is to make sure that my sponsors are kept safe, that my rules are followed and that all three of you make it through the programme. Nothing more, nothing less. Yes, that does sometimes mean that I dole out punishment for foolish acts like those you’ve tried to commit— but only after you’ve made sure you deserve them. I know how torturous it must be to be in your situation right now, I understand it more viscerally than most, and that’s why I would prefer to never do it again.

  “That’s why I venture to be as clear as possible. Because if you know the rules, if you know the expectations, if you know the punishments, then you can manoeuvre around them. And Amy, I know you are the kind of person who appreciates such crity, or at least ought to. It means you don’t have to guess. You don’t have to read between the lines. It gives you that control and that knowledge that you so desire, at least within the system that we’ve built around you.”

  “You’re talking about me like I’m some animal trapped in a maze.” Amy gres at Eira. If she wanted to seem like she was being kind to her, then she’s clearly failing at that.

  “It’s more of a spectrum, I think you’ll find.” Eira gives her some kind of look Amy doesn’t quite get, then ughs. “Though you’re equally trapped and lost at sea in that scenario.”

  “Now, to get back on topic. We can alleviate the worst of your issues by ending your isotion and restoring your unbridled access to your friends, in which case you can monitor how they are feeling about the programme as a whole. That is not to say that this is not something you will have to work on in the future. It would certainly be better for you if you didn’t feel that need to constantly be on top of things. But it’s something I’m willing to tolerate and accommodate for now, considering the fact that we are still early into the programme and that it’s clearly a lot more fundamental to who you are than, for example, your supposed masculinity.”

  “I—” Amy is entirely unsure how to respond to all that. Nor does she know whether Eira is right or not. Not that it really matters whether it is or not. It’s clearly her working theory for how she can torment her as much as possible, and it’s also been working well enough that Amy wouldn’t want to see how much worse it can get. It’s hard to deny that she’s been panicking. It’s how she got into this situation, after all.

  It’s rather odd that Eira seems to be offering her a way out of this situation, though. Surely she wants to keep her in this state? It’d make her more malleable for the programme, more willing to appease the powers that be. Though that appeasement would likely depend on maintaining the idea that she would, in fact, be rewarded for her efforts. Perhaps just the fear of being sent back is enough. And if she follows that chain of logic, it becomes obvious that a clear system of rewards and punishments would probably be the most effective method of control over Amy.

  She hates that Eira has that much control over her actions already, though. She hates that she’s going to have to py the woman’s stupid game. And most of all, she hates that it makes part of her more fond of the woman than she’d already been. That instinct of Amy’s wants to believe that it truly hurts Eira when she has to punish her. It’s irrational and makes her susceptible to manipution, which she has rather unsuccessfully tried not to be, but it’s also the instinct that probably gets her the best treatment overall. Fighting the system clearly isn’t working.

  “So you’d rather have me back upstairs?” Amy asks, innocently.

  “Of course. I’d prefer to cause you as little pain as possible.” Eira rummages around in a handbag she’d left next to her on the floor. “I would never want to cause you this much anxiety again, darling. I’d even want to take it off the table entirely, if I could. But that does mean that I need to be able to trust that I have your full cooperation with the rest of the programme. It doesn’t have to be enthusiastic — that will come with due time, I’m sure — but it does have to be guaranteed. The fact is that I have entrusted you with many secrets about myself, the other sponsors and the programme as a whole. We’d be taking on a major risk if we allowed you back upstairs.”

  “I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Amy insists. Of course she wouldn’t. She’s not stupid. It’d be a one way trip to much worse than she could ever suffer in the manor.

  “And I would love to believe that, Amy.” Eira frowns. “But it’s been less than a month that you tried to convince me that you wouldn’t try to escape, and I could have been naive enough to believe you.”

  Did Amy say that? She isn’t quite sure she did. But she does know that Eira has a good memory — better than hers, certainly — so she probably did say something along those lines. “I panicked, okay?”

  “That you did.” Eira smiles. “All I need is some kind of confirmation that you are, indeed, committed to this programme. That we can trust you. Just a small little thing, don’t worry, but it’d really reassure me in particur.”

  Amy watches as Eira grabs the injection needle and starts to fill it with estrogen, then gently pces it into Amy’s right hand.

  “What I need to know is whether I can trust you to do something uncomfortable if it’s in the interests of the programme.” She says. “So I want you to do your own injection this week. It really shouldn’t take more than a few seconds. If you do so, I’ll be all too happy to take you upstairs to see your friends immediately afterwards.”

  “But— But Kelynen said doing makeup would be enough, yesterday. And I did all that, I even went out for dinner afterwards. Jenny saw me and got annoyed about it. Isn’t that enough? Haven’t I proven myself already?” Amy looks up at Eira, unsure whether she should feel more disgusted or more betrayed.

  “That was about making progress in embracing your own gender, Amy. And you did so, and I must say that I’m quite proud that you have. But this is different: this is about trust. I need to be able to trust that you will do the right thing even when you don’t feel like you need to appease me.”

  “You can trust me, though. I— I wouldn’t want to go back to all this…” She pleads.

  “I know you don’t. I also know you have a tendency to panic.” Eira puts a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “You’re panicking right now, in fact. I knew you would. That’s why I chose this test in particur. I want to know for certain that you would make the right decision even when you get into this state. Because I’m just as opposed to risking the safety and the secrets of my sponsors as you are to risking those of your friends.”

  Amy looks Eira in the eyes for what feels like minutes, blinking, unsure how to come up with the words she’s looking for. She doesn’t want to do it. Period. There’s a line in the sand. It’s not one she can expin, though, given she took to dressing femininely, voice training, acting like a little sister to Kelynen, doing makeup, even letting herself be referred to as a woman and no longer protesting it.

  But the estrogen feels like a much bigger step. Right now, a female body and existence is enforced upon her. Yes, she is accommodating it for her own comfort, but it’s still enforced. She never had a choice in the matter. And whilst the injection would be administered whether she does it or not, it would mean that every step of her feminisation is one she’s fully colborating with. She’d be fully onboard with what is happening to her, or at least no longer offering any meaningful resistance or protest.

  That is, of course, why Eira wants her to do it. It’d be a total capitution. Eira wants nothing less, and all that in return for Amy regaining some mild comforts.

  She’d be granted minor comforts whilst betraying Faith and Jenny, who are still forced to go along with the programme. She’d be betraying them for the privilege of what? Getting to see them a few days earlier than she otherwise would? A few extra nights of warmth and good sleep over however long their lives will be under this programme? They can’t keep her here forever, right? At some point Loonie would have to intervene. And it’s not like they kept Jenny in the cells, and Amy knows for a fact that Jenny is resisting the programme much harder than she is. Not to mention that Eira said she didn’t want to do this, that she knows just how painful it would be for Amy to go through all of this.

  She hates to take a gamble like this, but she knows she has no real option at this point. It has to be a bluff. At least, she hopes it is.

  Amy carefully hands the syringe back to Eira, still lost for words, unable to face the disappointment she’d have caused head on. Exposing her body for the procedure is easy enough, especially considering the head sponsor had seen her fully naked in the past. It’s over before she knows it.

  The excitement lingers, though. Her brain always goes to such horrible pces in these moments. Not that she would ever want to give up on that aspect either.

  “I suppose you’ve made your choice, then.” Eira says. “It really is a shame: I would have loved to see you and Faith together again. It’d have been adorable. Well, I hope you’re more reasonable next week.”

  With little left to be said, Eira heads upstairs and leaves Amy behind in the cold and discomfort of her cell. Perhaps it hadn’t been a bluff after all.

  31st of January, 2019“I’ll do it.” Amy says the very second that she first hears Eira walk down the hallway towards the cell.

  “You’ll do what, exactly?” Eira asks.

  “The injection.” She responds, sounding as desperate as she is. The past week was even worse than the weeks before it. Kelynen told her that Eira had decided that Amy wouldn’t be allowed to volunteer for more work again and that she would be expected to do her homework in her cell. The weather had turned even colder and the isotion had continued to eat away at her, especially as she had been spending upwards of fourteen hours per day in the basement. Her mind had started wandering in those hours, with too little to do and too much to worry about. Anxiety had been given free reign and she could slowly feel her sanity slip away from her.

  It had all left Amy feeling even more tired and defeated than she had st week.

  “Well, that’s good news.” Eira smiles. “I’d been hoping you’d come to your senses.”

  There’s one little hangup that she had, though. “But— I will only do it once. To prove that I can— that you can trust me. I don’t want to be a woman. I don’t want these injections. I want to be with my friends. And if that means I have to inject myself, then, well, I’ll do it. I guess.”

  Eira carefully looks at her, needing an extra second to fully interpret the machine gun speed capitution she’d wringed out of her. “Oh, that won’t be an issue. I never asked you to do it more than once. Should we just get it over with?”

  Amy nods. “Please. Before I get any more doubts.”

  The head sponsor quickly obliges, finding a clean syringe and filling it with the appropriate amount of estradiol on Amy’s behalf. It’s hard for her to withhold her eyes from the sight of the liquid entering the chamber, heart beating faster than it ever had before. She’s going to be doing something so degenerate, willingly. Under duress, yes, but still as a conscious choice. She’d been ready to beg for the privilege.

  Eira then took a moment to expin the delicate process, going so far as to quickly point out the exact spot that Amy should be aiming for. It was as if she’d done it thousands of times before. It makes sense. Given her profession, she probably had done it that many times.

  The needle lingered near her body, her hand tightly gripped around the syringe. It felt so wrong to be doing this. She knows that it’s not as big as it seems. It’s just one more week of her body being filled with female hormones. One week of her body changing, of her mind being altered, of hateful lumps growing on her chest and of certain organs being fully dysfunctional. One more week of an addiction developing, an emotional dependence on the liquid that will forever ruin her ability to live the life that her father had intended for her, an all-encompassing need to feed her paraphilic fantasies at the expense of her own well-being.

  That week will come whether she is the one administering the injection or not. But who knows what kind of week will follow if Amy refuses a second time. Will she be kept in the cell for 24 hours a day? Will she be denied food and drink like she had been before? Will she stare into that damnable mp, too bright to ignore, drawn to it like a mosquito until she starts to hallucinate again?

  Eira’s hand wraps around her own, somehow tight yet gentle, holding her jittery hand in pce so Amy can actually do what she set out to. The sponsor guides the hand forward and helps the needle pierce through her skin, the pinch of pain that follows sting what feels like an eternity. Amy then presses down on the syringe, slowly pushing the liquid into her body, until the sponsor softly pulls away again and pces a band-aid over the hole they had created.

  “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She continues to hold Amy’s hand even after taking the syringe away.

  “It was fine, I guess.” Amy responds glumly.

  It was the worst thing she’d ever done to herself.