The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hector did not spend all of his days sitting around his apartment. He did spend many of them doing that. Now that Tracey was dead, life seemed more or less meaningless. He didn’t see the point in looking forward to anything. He couldn’t seem to believe anything would ever improve. It was a little strange to feel that way, considering that things had improved, at least incrementally. He’d gotten beyond the days of just sitting around morose; gotten beyond the days of finding himself unable to move, unable to act. And Marvella had stopped coming to see him, stopped coming to see him and standing over him fretting about his state. He’d at least improved enough to stop those visits.

But he had only seen incremental improvement. And he didn’t know if that rate of improvement was going to keep up. It might just as easily drop off. And because of his general state of grief, he was disinclined to cultivate optimism, anyway. Given both this disinclination, and the effort cultivating optimism would require, he wasn’t going to bother doing it.

So, he did many of his days sitting around and not going out. But not all of them.

He’d taken to going walking on foot. When he took these walks, he walked past pleasant scenery, and interesting places. He walked past all manner of options for spending his time: but none of them ever engaged his interest. He made himself take these walks for the sake of doing it, but they never brought him any enjoyment. Nothing in his life ever brought him any enjoyment. He’d thoroughly lost his capacity for experiencing happiness.

Apart from going walking, he’d also taken to riding the train from transit-station to transit-station. He found that more soothing than walking— the feeling of disappearing into one crowd after another, and becoming nothing again and again. He also enjoyed the feeling of relying on something else to transport him. He could just sit there, and be moved, without having to put in the effort of movement. When he walked, he had to put in the effort of movement. Not when he rode the train.

His pervading feeling was that of defeat. If he could have mustered the ability to feel something else, he would have tried to summon a drive towards escape. But there was no point in trying to summon that kind of drive. There was nowhere to escape to. The thing he wished he could outrun was the misery he had inside. And no matter where he moved himself physically, that misery would still be inside him.

He did still like riding the train more than he liked walking, though. Even though riding the train had its own challenges.

Often— when he was sitting on the train, and looking at an empty seat in front of him— he found himself imagining that Tracey was sitting in it. He’d become as haunted as she used to be. She’d been haunted by the preparation Fredrick had done to her ahead of her destruction. But he was haunted by the memory of the damage he’d seen in her… haunted by the memory of failing her… haunted by her death.

He was seeing the same vision today as he’d seen many other times. He was sure the seat across from him was empty: but he was seeing the image of Tracey sitting there, in it.

He was sure the seat was empty, so it was with something of a startle that he watched the person sitting in the seat next to her empty one nudge into her by accident. They turned to her, actually saw her, and apologized.

Hector stared in confusion for a moment. How could this be? Was he hallucinating two people? That would be the easiest explanation, but there was no precedent for that. When he saw visions that weren’t there, they were only ever of her, and of her alone.

The person she was sitting next to had to be real, though. Hector had seen him speak to at least six or seven other engers, so unless he was hallucinating half the train-car, the man was real. Which meant that Tracey, somehow, also had to be real. He’d seen proof that implied this was the case: and yet now that he’d seen proof, he felt more skeptical and incredulous than ever. How could she be real? Maybe he’d fallen asleep looking at the man, and dreamed about him bumping into Tracey. He was more inclined to believe that than anything else.

The woman who looked like Tracey really might be real, though. He didn’t want to believe it could be true, in case it turned out later his understanding had been wrong. In some ways it would have felt better to miss an opportunity than to have planned on seizing one that was going to turn out to be a mirage. He might— really believe in the existence of that woman— go over to her, and try to speak to her, only to find out that she wasn’t really there. And that idea was almost too unbearable to hold in mind.

If that woman was real, though, how could that be? He’d been certain that Fredrick wanted to destroy Tracey’s body after destroying her mind. Tracey had told him about Fredrick: and he’d observed Fredrick in hearing about him second-hand, and seeing the outline of him through his actions. And everything he’d learned about the man through these means had told him Fredrick would want Tracey’s body destroyed. But if that really was Tracey’s body— then he’d misunderstood Fredrick. Because it seemed now like Fredrick had let her live on as a destroyed-good.

Hector had been to Designed-Oblivion enough times to know this was still a bleak outcome. Tracey had lived on as a destroyed-good, maybe— but that would really mean that her body had lived on, and a new personality had been placed inside. Would really mean a new person had been placed inside it. One who— might not ever having been Tracey. One who might not ever having met him; let alone kissed him.

He didn’t know for a fact that she was going to be completely new inside— but he feared it would be so. Would there be any trace of her mind left inside, or would he find she’d been completely obliterated? What would he do if he found that she had? It would be like losing her all over again. At least he’d come to accept the idea that she was gone. To get her back now, but only back in part— would be too cruel. He felt it would start his grief over from the beginning.

Marvella observed this response in him; she hadn’t expected double-damage. She hadn’t expected him to take on any more suffering after Tracey’s death, but this was an added benefit.

Hector looked at partial-Tracey. He saw her. He understood she was before him, and not a vision. He saw her, and wanted her, and fell. Whatever was going to happen next— would turn out to have been inevitable, and if traced back, the moment which would prove to have sealed its inevitability would be this one. Seeing her was enough— as it had been so many times when he’d fallen to her, and become entranced. Seeing her was enough. He would not now be able to change course. He didn’t know which course he would turn out to be following, but he knew now he’d have no choice but to watch it unfold helplessly.

He felt entranced by his desire. He could see the thing he wanted, and he was being caught by it.

Marvella rejoiced within herself. He was going in for a first round of conditioning-reinforcement, just as she’d hoped he would. Just as she’d planned. Just as she’d laid down for Tracey in guidelines.

The woman who looked like Tracey got up and got off the train. This wasn’t the stop Hector had been planning to get off at. Honestly, he never really had an exit-stop in mind. He generally just tried to ride the train end-to-end, until he was sick of it. Then he’d get off at the stop near his home, the one he’d boarded from.

But he was going to get off at this stop now, so he could follow maybe-Tracey. He was going to get off at this stop because she had.

Marvella watched Tracey walking ahead of Hector from inside Hector’s view. Watched her walk off the train, through the transit-station, and out onto the street. Tracey didn’t know Hector was following her, but she had him along with her, anyway.

Tracey’s first death— Tracey’s supposed death had been to break Hector. But it had also set in motion the chain of events that would lead to Tracey’s real death. It had served a double-purpose. And it was in the aftermath of Tracey’s supposed death that her true death would be advanced towards. Tracey still knew guidelines Marvella had taught to her— but Marvella had intentionally left a bit of a mystery to hang around what was going to happen next.

It had seemed suitable to Marvella that, for the period of time Tracey had been in control— she should know everything clearly. They were into the period of time now where Hector was going to control, though— so now it was better for Tracey to be caught unaware, better for Tracey to face an unknown. So Tracey did know— that Hector was going to find her eventually— but she didn’t know when, and she certainly hadn’t known it was going to be today. Still didn’t know that it was happening today, because she hadn’t realized Hector was following her yet.

But Marvella hadn’t been in a hurry, either. She’d been happy to wait for Hector to run into Tracey accidentally— since she’d been aware of both their recent routines, she’d been sure it would happen sooner instead of later. And now everything was resolving so nicely— and now, in this period of time Hector would control, he could ultimately show the level of creativity in destroying Tracey— that Tracey had shown in destroying him.

Marvella sighed in satisfaction. She was contented with the way things were unfolding between the two of them, as she had been all along.

Hector had made it up to the street after her. Maybe-Tracey was the thing Hector wanted to follow.

They were not walking quickly towards their next encounter, wherever that was going to happen, and whatever it was going to be. Maybe it would be an experience of confronting each other, and being face-to-face again.

Tracey was walking, and Hector was walking behind her. She was not trying to lead him, now, but he was still following anyway.

She turned at the next street-corner, and happened to glance back over her shoulder. He was struck by her loveliness again; she still had the same face, the same hair, the same body. And as she stood there, looking at him, his eyes drank in the image of her greedily. They were poring over her, searching out any sign that the woman she’d been before she was closed into the subsumption-machine— still existed. So far, nothing obvious. So far, he had nothing to go off of but his own hope. And he’d been thinking just earlier that he was disinclined to be optimistic. But that had been before he’d found out Tracey had lived on— as a destroyed-good, at least. He wasn’t exactly inclined to be optimistic now, either. He was feeling hopeful despite himself, however.

Hector perceived that Tracey was seeing him. And the experience of perceiving that was not all that unfamiliar. Of the time he’d spent following her, a good chunk of it had been dedicated to closely watching what she was perceiving, when, and what effect seeing it was having on her. Then once she’d become aware of him, this had shifted to watching when she was seeing him, and what effect seeing him was having on her. So now, just like those other times: he was perceiving what she was seeing and when. And like more recent times, he was perceiving that she was seeing him.

Maybe he was out of practice— or maybe she really was a different person now. He could see that she was seeing him. He still wasn’t able to say exactly what she was thinking about what she’d seen, though.

He’d watched all kinds of perceptions through her before her destruction. He’d understood each one, and had understood what they’d meant, too. So in this situation, he should be able to make a guess, at least. But he found her expression inscrutable just now. Out of fear, he’d considered laying the blame for this on her. Because he really was dreading that outcome of her complete transformation the most. His inability to read her might really be his own fault, though. It might be that his emotions were so overcoming him that they were scrambling his ability to draw conclusions. He didn’t have to assume his worst fears were mouthpieces of truth. It was possible the more hopeful explanation was the true one. Maybe she was the same, and he was the one that was different. Maybe he was the reason for his inability to interpret her now.

He was really trying to be hopeful. Really trying to think of times he’d seen her wearing a look like that one. But the harder he tried, the more he found there was just nothing to find. He had never seen her wear an expression like this one. And he wasn’t doing a very good job of maintaining equilibrium: of telling himself this didn’t mean anything. The fact that something was different— something was out of place— had his brain convinced that the worst-case scenario must be true.

He tried to remind himself again. Until he had more information— until he’d seen how things had turned out, he didn’t need to assume his fears were the mouthpieces of truth. It was so hard to make his mind hold onto reason, though. The most horrible thing had already happened: Tracey had died. It made it seem impossible that any other horrible outcomes in the future could be avoided.

That inscrutable quality was ing now; her expression was shifting a little. Now Hector thought he could interpret something from it. Tracey looked completely stunned.

How changeable he was. A few small indicators had been pointing in one direction, and he’d convinced himself they’d been pointing their way to the truth. But now there were small indicators pointing in another direction, and he’d allowed himself to be equally convinced by then. Before, all indicators had pointed to Tracey not ing him. But that stunned expression made it seem like she might him after all. His hope wanted to feed on that— he deeply wanted to believe that.

He wondered if she did recognize him. Wished for more information. Wished for confirmation.

He wondered if there was enough left of her mind to recognize him. Dreaded the possibility that there wasn’t, dreaded it more than any other hypothetical potential he could imagine.

Tracey had not been expecting to see Hector. Or more specifically, she hadn’t been expecting to see Hector this day, this week, or this month. She’d gotten used to this new chapter of her life. This new, Hector-less chapter. The Hector-filled chapter had been a short one, if only the days he’d spent following her were counted. But the Hector-filled chapter had been longer than those days alone, for her— because in all the time Marvella had been preparing Tracey for her mission, Tracey had had Hector in her mind. Had been aware of the fact she was advancing towards him. So for her, she felt like she’d spent a very long time focused on Hector— arranging herself in relation to Hector. That had started quite a while before he’d ever become aware of her.

However, though adjusting to a Hector-less existence had been an adjustment, she’d done it. And after living through day after day on which he’d never appeared, she’d started to get used to it. Then she’d lived through week after week of him not turning up, and it had started to feel normal.

So after settling into the new routine, and its matching set of expectations, she’d just assumed things would go on the way they’d been. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Hector might turn up suddenly and disrupt everything. She’d gotten so used to the state of things it hadn’t even occurred to her. She felt ashamed of that now.

It definitely hadn’t occurred to her when she’d left home this morning that he might turn up suddenly today. But he had.

She’d known that at some point their paths would cross again. Marvella’s guidelines had made that clear. The whole point of being able to take throatpours of Hector’s toxin— was to put herself in a situation where she would be taking it in by the gulp. Which meant that sooner or later Hector would be exerting brutal control over her; meaning that he was going to have to show up eventually.

But Marvella hadn’t given her any timelines, any indicators. And now Hector had turned up today. She wasn’t ready for him. She hadn’t even been able to get her mask of performance in place.

Tracey wished, now, that Marvella had explained this part of her mission more closely. Wished she had not left so many of these specific details obscured. Wished she could have had some forewarning before this. Wished Marvella could have told her she’d be seeing Hector today. She felt completely caught off-guard. Felt completely thrown off-balance.

But Hector was there. She saw him. She wanted him.

She fell. She’d prepared herself to take throatpours of his toxin… but how well would she be able to advocate for herself now, push back against him now? Just in seeing him she was ready to— give him anything he wanted. Give him everything he wanted. Swallow the toxin, and suffer poisoning-convulsions from it if he wanted her to. Suffer poisoning-convulsions even if they weren’t happening and she was just having to portray them in performance… she felt her immediate response to seeing him boded badly for the future that lay ahead of her.

She felt entranced by her desire— only lightly entranced, but Hector had started introducing this kind of response to her in the kiss they’d shared— the fleeting intimacy they’d shared. He’d started a pattern in her, and it was still continuing on now.

She was wondering about him, though. Wondering about him as she’d wondered about him earlier on, wondered about him as she’d wondered about him throughout their acquaintance. In looking at her, in looking at her while her mask of performance was lowered, could he see her history of sublimating herself on her? And if he could, was he seeing that and imagining that she was destined to submit to him in the way he wanted? Was he imagining that submitting in that way would be a natural fit for her, given her history of sublimating herself?

Did he think that submitting herself to another’s power was what she was meant for?

When he’d been perceiving the performance on her, it had not bothered Tracey to think, then, that he might see her as someone destined to submit to power.

But now, uncloaked by performance, she felt naked. Felt that he was seeing her, in this moment, as she actually was. So now it very much bothered her to imagine he was thinking of her as someone who was destined to submit to power. Bothered her to think he might want her to submit in such a way. Bothered her to think he might want her to accept this as her destiny for herself.

And that was a strange feeling of upset— after the first man, she’d wanted destruction. She’d inculcated bitter questions into herself… and when she’d met Marvella, had sought destruction from her. At each of those points, she’d certainly been acting as if she believed destruction was her destiny.

But now that she was imagining Hector having this response to her— she suddenly felt indignant at the prospect.

She’d longed for him— it was doing things to her mind— she’d longed for him to see her as she was, at least in the later part of what had happened between them. She’d longed for that, but now he was really seeing her.

And being seen by him felt so awful.

Tracey was still standing there and looking at him. She hadn’t said anything, or otherwise moved. Hector would take the initiative himself. He’d go over there, and find out what he could find out.

She only watched him as he moved closer. When he was only about five paces away from her, he spoke.

“Tracey?” He called to her. “Tracey, is that you? Do you me?”

“Tracey…” she echoed. “No, that’s close to my name, but it’s different. My name is Acey.”

Hector would have rolled his eyes, if his greatest fear hadn’t just been proven true. Fredrick had put a new person inside Tracey’s body. And he’d been so uncreative he hadn’t even bothered to give her a new name. He’d just taken two letters off the front of it, and then sent her out into the world.

“Surely you must me,” Hector said. If she really didn’t, he didn’t know what it was going to do to him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” Tracey said. He would not perceive her to be what Fredrick had made her. He would not call her by a name that was not hers.

“Then why did you stare at me in stunned silence?” Hector pressed.

Tracey squinted in confusion. “I don’t… know why… I just… space out sometimes. It’s completely normal, there’s no reason for me to question it.”

Some of what Fredrick had instructed into her still lingered in her mind, clearly. And still dictated her behavior.

Hector saw an alluring potential: and it was luring him on. He saw it, and it was also functioning as a new entrancing image. He could dominate her here and now— try to make her mind spit out some sign of recognition. Seeing that opportunity— had put him back in trance. Which meant all his worst inclinations were free in him— which meant he was just going to let them run loose.

“Listen to me, Tracey,” Hector said, in a low and dangerous tone. “You’re going to who I am. You’re going to tell me you who I am. You know what it feels like to be subsumed— even if you can’t where you learned that, you know. So now that you’re listening to my voice, you find you want to be subsumed by it. You find you are being subsumed by it.”

“I…’m… n..ot… Tra…cey…” Tracey struggled. But clearly part of her mind ed subsumption; she couldn’t go on struggling any longer.

Tracey perceived that Hector was seeing the thing he wanted, and that caught her— that, and his forceful manner of speaking, both worked together and got her. And now that she felt more open, the meaning of everything around her seemed to intensify.

She was looking deeper, because of the strange clarity which had come into her mind. So she could really see his suffering now. He wasn’t the same man he had been. To Tracey, it seemed that a door had been closed.

She thought of how he’d been, in that one shining moment when she’d so badly been wanting him. And not only wanting him, but wanting him to be good to her— to be kind to her. Wanting him, as the best possible version of himself, to know her, and engage with her out of that sensibility. He had been so beautiful in that moment. And at the time, she’d thought moments like that one were going to be in infinite supply. She’d thought that if she let that one go by, there’d be another just like it. She’d thought that ing on him them had only meant delaying, not deciding against forever.

But clearly, that moment had been the only one of its kind. And the chance was gone, now. The desire which had belonged to that moment, that one moment in which she had so wanted him, could now never be attained.

She’d treated his destruction too flippantly. Had not weighted the reality of what its cost would be heavily enough in her consideration.

She felt guilty now, in seeing the evidence of that destruction. It was everywhere in his face, and in the way he was holding his body. He looked like a broken man— looked like someone who had been beaten down and defeated by life. She could see that, just in looking at him. Could see that, in looking at the expression on his face. And his face itself had changed too. It looked almost sallow, now… looked leaner, too. Even lean enough to be gaunt, maybe. She wondered if he’d felt motivated enough to keep feeding himself. He looked so much sadder, now. So much closer to being lifeless.

Her guilt made her want to give him everything. She wanted to give him everything, but she also wanted to tell him to run far away from her. She so wanted to tell him to run. He’d break even worse if he didn’t. If she could spare him that fate, spare him a second destruction… she really ought to.

But she wouldn’t. At least, she wouldn’t yet. He was pushing her— and she’d let him. She’d give him everything he wanted. She thought she owed him that.

It seemed to Hector that Tracey’s desire to hold out had very obviously collapsed. All her muscles had flopped looser; she was hunching in on herself.

“I can’t… tell you I you… I don’t.”

That put a jolt through Hector. So she had been completely erased— there wasn’t enough inside for her to him.

“Tell me… what else you want…”

She’d acquiesced; she would give him everything he wanted, if he wanted it. If he told her to.

He had to find something else to want— something else besides the thing that had now become impossible.

“I want you to lie to me, and say that you who I am.”

Tracey saw the entrancing thing: the potential of comforting him.

“I who you are,” Tracey said flatly. The fact that she’d complied with a directive which had injuncted her to lie proved that her mind understood what she’d said as a lie. That was a crushing bit of confirmation. Definitely not the kind of confirmation he’d been hoping to get.

Tracey was… not performing as much as she wished she was. That shallow trance was still hanging over her— and though she was lying to him— her mind was interpreting that as obedience. Because it knew she was giving him the answers that he expected.

But she was feeling… dazed, and not entirely in control of herself. So she was looking at him now, and viewing him as if he were just a stranger to her. That was what her mind expected of her— what he expected of her— so she was doing it, even if she didn’t believe that entirely.

He might be… someone untried in the skill of dominance. Might be… someone who’d never had any taste of it, and had only sampled it for the first time in that one high-stakes life-and-death situation which had been her own apparent death. She was understanding him as the man he’d portrayed himself as to her. In the brief time they’d actually been involved he’d refused to confess his history to her; so the kind of character she was imagining him to be now was basically the character he’d pretended to be. Someone without that history of dominance… who’d acted the way he’d acted… and was now doing what he was doing… who’d acted controllingly towards her when she’d been ‘Tracey,’ as he’d understood her… and had clearly developed a taste for that, was craving it now.

She knew that didn’t accurately represent his identity in full— knew it didn’t accurately represent his history either, but that was what her trance wanted her to believe. And even though it was false, that made it seem appealing to her. Made her wish she could believe it, even though she couldn’t.

Hector felt a new potential was calling to him. He thought of when he’d used to watch Tracey, thought of how he’d seen her respond as though she’d been called by various abstract things. He was being called forth by this opportunity now: the opportunity of getting more, of being allowed to spend further time in her company.

“Tracey,” he said, with a hard edge to his voice. “You want to go on allowing me to subsume you. You want to go on doing what I say, as I do. So tell me how far you are from where you live, now.”

“Only about five minutes away,” Tracey recited obediently. That only stoked his worser impulses further.

“Now tell me you’ll lead me back there, and let me take a look through your things.”

He watched Tracey struggle again, for a moment.

“Tracey,” he said, even more forcefully. “I’m just going to keep pushing until you promise this to me.”

The struggle lasted for an even shorter duration this time than it had the time previous.

“I prom…ise… follow me… n…ow…”

She turned, and went on walking. It did only seem to take about five minutes. Then they were arriving at a residential house— they went around the side, and then it was clear this was a house that had been split into having a basement apartment below. Tracey went down the steps to it first, and Hector followed. She opened the door, then stood back from him to go in first.

He ignored the somewhat claustrophobic-feeling living-room to go into the bedroom which was directly across from the front-door. He ignored the bed, and turned to the closet on the left-hand side of the room, and pulled it open. He rifled through the clothes that were hanging there, sure he would find it— she’d had two different versions of that outfit. At least one of them must still be left.

There— about three-quarters of the way along the hanging bar. It was there.

He took down the hanger, and walked back out to the apartment’s entryway, where Tracey was still standing.

Tracey saw the entrancing thing: her shallow trance had deepened by a few degrees just in seeing it. Hector was holding up the magenta suit-skirt combo with the black flecking; in its partly singed state, since it had traveled through the subsumption-machine.

It was the outfit her performance had demanded she wear: but it seemed like more than that, now. It seemed like a symbol: the identity Hector had believed to be hers was basically the thing which was hanging off the hanger.

The costume of who she’d pretended to be, for him and for the sake of his downfall, was being held up to her. Maybe that costume she’d pretended to be had— been a little bit for her own sake, too. But it had mostly been for him.

He shook the hanger at her. “If you say you’re not Tracey, then what is this, and why do you have it? And is this the first version of this outfit, or the second?”

Now, as Hector was pushing her again, she saw a new entrancing thing. It was the potential of having him dominate her more.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you I just… space out… and that’s normal… it’s always been normal, there’s nothing to question or wonder about.”

Her trance had demanded this answer of her… because it was truly the answer he expected, even if it wasn’t the answer he wanted. If she’d set him up with a different set of expectations more quickly… then her trance might be compelling different answers from her now. But she hadn’t. So now this was the situation.

And she felt her trance intensify a little further. It entranced her further, to think of who she’d been for him, who she’d pretended to be.

But at last she resisted, and turned her face away. She wanted to be the costume she’d pretended to be for him, again. Being the costume meant she could have what she wanted from him, without risking showing her true self. And that true self had now been supposedly killed, according to what Hector believed.

Now she really had to reckon with the fact that he’d never seen her true self; probably wouldn’t want that.

And she’d been primed before this experience to incline toward him. She and Marvella had been his inducers, but now, he was hers. The romantic gentleness he’d shown her had softened her up.

If only she could have his protection again— like she’d had it briefly. If only she could have his love back. And what if— she were wrong? What if— he could see her as her true self, and want that self? If only it could be possible.

Tracey was still standing with her face turned away. Hector didn’t think he’d get much more out of her on this occasion.

“Tell me you’ll let me in to see you the next time I come over,” Hector said.

Her voice was a little muffled from her face facing away, but it was still audible. “I’ll… l…et… you… in… the n…ex…t… time… you come over.”

That was good enough for Hector. He threw the hanging outfit across the living-room onto Tracey’s stiff-looking couch. He left without hesitation, full of the intention to return again at some point soon, after the end of the current day.

As he made his way back to the nearest transit-station, he was thinking of Fredrick. He’d been entranced just because he’d been in her company, but that had meant the amplification of all his worst impulses. That was what it had always meant— and they were still amplified in him now, as he walked.

And because of that, as he was thinking of Fredrick, he was thinking of Fredrick not with hatred, and not with rage. He was thinking of Fredrick almost positively. He was thinking that Fredrick had controlled. He was thinking that Fredrick had killed. And he was envying him for having done both things.

When Hector left, Tracey breathed a sigh relief and shut the door. She felt bereft without him there: but she also felt safer without him there. She wanted him to run more than ever, now. Before the first break had been done to him, she hadn’t wanted that at all.

Having seen just how— heartless he could be— made her even more afraid for the future. She could imagine that the things he might do to her, now he was in this state, would be terrible on a level that hadn’t been seen from him since his hospice-frequenting days, if then. That was certainly how Marvella intended for things to play out. This was all happening as she’d designed it to…

Tracey wanted them both spared that future, suddenly. She’d told herself she could take throatpours of his toxin so many times, but she’d never seen him like this. So harrowingly spectral. She’d never seen him like that, and to see him so like that— while his same personal history was standing behind him— made her more afraid of him than she had been earlier.

Tracey shook her head. It didn’t matter how she felt, or what she might be hoping for. She had to make sure she and Hector were spared the awful future Marvella had planned for them. She’d leave the city if she had to— but she’d start by getting out of this apartment. She’d co-ordinate from afar— leave the people who owned the house to throw out all her things, and deal with any other logistics over the phone. She was just going to get out—

She opened the door, and found Marvella there, with her fist raised. She’d timed her arrival a little too perfectly— Tracey cursed herself for ever getting caught up with a telepath.

Seeing Marvella there, though, only caused her determination to intensify. She bodily shoved against her, trying to get past her on one side. If she could, she’d just walk out and away.

But Marvella shifted into her path to stop her moving forward— and then folded her arms, stepped back, and looked her body up and down once.

Tracey felt her body be seized control of. Marvella was using her power of mental direction against her— she’d never done that before— this wasn’t how she wanted to break her! Unless she’d changed her mind, and was going to break Tracey that way right now.

Marvella folded her arms over each other, and leaned onto her back-leg in a very elongated manner. “You were really going to run, Tracey,” Marvella tsked. “That’s not very fair of you. You agreed to go through this process of destruction— and so now you have to follow through, and go through it. And I don’t like to use my mental ability— but in this case, it’s quite necessary. I want Hector to break you for me, so I won’t interfere with him there, or make his work easier for him. I’m just going to put an automatic reflex in you that will stop you if you ever try to run like this again.“

Marvella glanced her over again— and then— Tracey felt like there was— a small square wooden block sitting inside her mind. She could sense the nature of that block. Any time she tried to run, she’d simply be made to deny that desire instead. Even the desire itself would be left intact— Marvella really hadn’t wanted to interfere. Tracey’s desire would still be there— it would simply be denied, deny itself in her from the inside.

Marvella leaned forward, and gave Tracey a kiss on the cheek. “That’s better. You’ll thank me for this later. I’m just helping you to live up to your commitments.”

Then Marvella was gone too.

Tracey closed the door for the second time, and locked it this time. She sat down on her couch— found it uncomfortable as ever.

She’d imagined one day deciding she really did want Hector. She’d imagined deciding she wanted him to give her that romantic sweetness all the time… but she’d promised herself she’d be able to handle him— in case that romantic sweetness came along with further danger and harm. Having seen him respond to other situations, she’d imagined that she could predict what his response would be in this situation. And she’d imagined that, having taken his forceful behavior in smaller increments, she’d be able to withstand a more generous helping of it. She’d told herself taking his toxin in an undiluted form wouldn’t do anything bad to her. That it wouldn’t be anything more than she could handle.

But now, she felt out of her depth.