Additional content warnings for this chapter
PTSD; discussions of violence and suicide.
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As Summer scrolled through the page on her phone, she came to a terrifying conclusion: She had run out of reading material.
Like so many other things about Summer, it was a habit she started developing at Dorley Hall. A seat in the sponsor meetings came with sponsor-level access to Consensus; it was inevitable that she would discover #literary-review, and through it, the world of fictional forced feminization.
In that channel, some of the sponsors would link to stories they’d read, and comment threads would develop for each one. Sometimes—when a story was laughably unrealistic—the sponsors would roast it. Other times they’d discuss a clever technique some author had depicted and try to decide if it could actually be implemented. Occasionally, there would be no comment thread at all. Those were often the best stories, the ones that laid bare emotional truths about their line of work that really hit home.
Some of the best, most realistic stories in the literature came from Dorley’s own sponsors. Some, but not all. It was one of the few hints the sponsors had that they weren’t the only practitioners of their trade in the world. But the few times Peckinville had tried to investigate the authors—whether to evaluate their operations and potentially liberate their captives, or to poach some talent—they’d hit dead ends. If there were other operations out there, their security was at least as tight as Dorley’s.
But all that had been before George had washed out. In the wake of Summer’s failure, the genre had lost its appeal to her. And so she’d drifted into fluffier—and greener—pastures: trans fiction. Particularly the kind where she knew from word one that the idiot girl she was reading about would figure herself out by the end. Sometimes she just needed to imagine someone getting the happy ending she deserved.
The problem was, though, that normally she read for only a handful of minutes each day, on her way to work or while waiting for her hair dye or in a queue at a shop. Not more than half the day for nearly three weeks straight. The well had run dry.
Well…it had been years since she’d last visited the literature. Maybe it’d been long enough to regain some appeal?
After a moment’s hesitation, she tapped into the search box and typed secretagent004.
Yup, Maria was still active, although judging from the descriptions, she seemed to have branched out a little. The latest installment of her Tiffany’s Styles & Cuts series seemed to be a comedy about a clueless egg who worked for the operation’s beauty salon cover business. Muchfluffier than what she’d been writing the last time Summer looked. In fact, it might be just what she needed…
“Morning, Summer. Sleep well?”
Summer clicked off her phone hurriedly and turned to Persephone. “Fine, fine!” she said, stuffing it in her purse. “You?”
“Fine,” Persephone said, a little too quickly.
Summer took in her slouching shoulders and drooping eyelids. “You’re not fine,” Summer said gently, “you’re exhausted.” She took Persephone’s hand. “Nightmares?”
Persephone sighed and nodded.
“The usual?”
She nodded again, and Summer pulled her into a hug.
Persephone’s nightmares had started a few days after the two of them had arrived at Littleport House—disturbing dreams about transforming into an exact duplicate of her uncle, or being chased by soldiers, or being homeless and on the streets in the Edinburgh winter. The most frequent and vivid involved PMCs executing Summer in her bedroom and then dragging Persephone off to conversion therapy. All understandable, given that she had been through several unprecedented traumas in the last few weeks, but she’d been stubborn about not asking for help.
“I wish you’d come to me, sweetie,” she said, resting a hand in Persephone’s hair.
“I don’t want to bother you with my silly dreams,” Persephone said, relaxing a little in her arms.
“You wouldn’t be bothering me. And they aren’t silly. I mean…I’ve had a couple too, you know. A lot like yours.” With one important difference: in Summer’s version, the things Albert Chase did to her made her wish the PMCs had killed her.
“Really?”
“Really. Anyone would after a scare like that. It’s okay to need help, alright?”
Persephone nodded, hugging her tightly. After a moment, she said, “We should—we should start the lesson.”
“Sure,” Summer said, and she released her. “More footing?”
“To start,” Persephone said. “But maybe we’ll try something different later.”
After some stretches, that’s exactly what they did. By now, Persephone had her holding her arm up as she stepped forward, as if she were lunging forward with a sword stretched before her. After a few dozen repetitions, she said, “Okay, I think you’re ready to try this with a weapon. That means helmets on, and then we’ll check your gear before we start handling them.”
Finally! Summer had begun to wonder if she would ever use a sword in this swordfighting practice. Both girls pulled on their helmets and then Persephone checked that Summer’s equipment was all done correctly. Finally, she gave the okay and both of them picked up their swords.
It was an interesting sensation. Not that heavy, but some of the weight was half a meter or more in front of her hand. Especially with the pistol grip, it felt different from holding an electrolysis stylus or a pen, and definitely different from her a taser.
“Point down,” Persephone reminded her.
“Right,” Summer said, and she quickly lowered her weapon. Rule one: keep the tip pointed at the floor unless you’re actively using the weapon.
“Now, you need to be careful to wear the safety equipment correctly—but as long as you are, these weapons should not do real damage.” Persephone lifted her sword, holding it horizontally in front of her, and pressed the tip to her other palm; the heavy white fabric of her glove held up, the pressure instead bending her blade into an increasingly alarming arc until she released the pressure and it snapped back into its original shape. “That’s not to say it won’t hurt when the weapon hits, or even that it won’t leave a bruise, but the blade won’t penetrate the fabric, so it won’t penetrate you. That can be hard to internalize from just hearing or seeing it, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to give you a few pokes?”
“Usually I do the poking,” Summer drawled, “but I’ll allow it.”
Persephone’s mask hid her blush, but not her squeak. “R-right!” she said quickly. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Summer said.
The first poke was on Summer’s upper arm—not too hard, but she definitely felt it. The next was directed at her shoulder, and hard enough to sting. A third thrust between her breasts glanced off the plastic chest guard under her jacket, which distributed the blow across the whole area. Then Persephone actually lunged into the fourth hit, which connected with Summer’s stomach.
“Oof!” Summer said, reaching for the spot. But although it still stung, her jacket held up against the blow, and the pain quickly faded.
“The mesh of the mask is much finer than the tip of the blade, so a thrust at the face will probably be disorienting, but it won’t hurt.” Persephone poked the sword directly at her mask, and although the sound and the force of it hitting made Summer flinch hard, the blade didn’t do any damage.
“And the helmet’s collar is very effective at protecting your neck.” Persephone poked at Summer’s throat; she felt the tip connect with the padding—
And Summer felt a sharpened steel point on each side of her carotid. “Don’t speak above a whisper.”
Summer froze, except for her eyes, which darted down to glance at the weapon. They were meat shears—scissors sharp and strong enough to cut through bone. They could do a lot of damage to her blood supply.
Vanessa pressed against her back, then pulled Summer’s taser out of its holster and slid it down the counter. It clattered into the sink several meters away.
“Good girl,” Vanessa hissed.
—and she crumpled to the floor as though her strings had been cut.
Summer couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t move, couldn’t fight, couldn’t cry out for help, couldn’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t see, what’s this thing on my face, get it off get it off can’t breathe can’t—
Fresh air blasted her face as the mask was ripped away. She scrambled backwards, crying out in fear as she saw Vanessa looming over her—
No, not Vanessa—Persephone. Persephone, who was crying and calling her name—
She wasn’t in the kitchen with Vanessa. She was in the practice room with Persephone. She was having a panic attack. She closed her eyes, tried to focus—
The points dug into her neck a little. “Say you understand and agree, bitch.”
—she needed help.
* * *
Persephone felt frantic as she saw the wild fear in Summer’s eyes. What had caused this? How could she help?
Tears stung her eyes. Mum would’ve known what to do…
“Phone—Tabby—” Summer gasped out at last.
Persephone shot across the room to Summer’s purse, fumbled inside it, looking around. Not the compact…not the taser…not the cloth mass at the bottom…not the—there! She pulled out the phone and tried to unlock it, but there was a passcode. She felt around, finding the buttons, before she hit the one that brought up the voice assistant.
“Call Tabby,” she told the phone, and before she got back to Summer’s side, the line clicked. “Summer?” a voice said in her ear.
“This is Summer’s friend Persephone,” she said. “Summer said to call you. She’s—she’s—I dunno—“
“Panic attack?” the woman on the other side asked.
“I think so,” Persephone said.
“Put me on video and show me to her,” she said.
Persephone pressed the appropriate button and knelt down next to Summer, holding the phone where she could see. ”Summer?” the voice on the phone said.
“Tabs,” Summer sobbed.
“I’m here, babe,” Tabby said. “We’re both here. Persephone, can you hold her for me?”
Persephone wrapped an arm around Summer, holding her tight.
“See?” Tabby said. “We’re both here with you. Now, remember: You did the best that anyone could.”
“I-I d-d-did the best that a-a-anyone could.”
“When push came to shove, you made the right choice.”
“When-when push came to sh-sh-shove, I-I made the ri-right choice.”
”You protected your sisters.”
“I-I protected m-my sisters.”
”You were so brave for your sisters.”
“I w-was so brave for my sisters.” Tears started flowing down Summer’s face.
“Your sisters are proud of you.”
“M-my sisters are proud of me.”
Persephone watched as the two of them repeated the phrases several more times, holding Summer as she gradually calmed down. Finally, she seemed more or less together, if a little emotional.
“Are you back with us, babe?” Tabby asked.
“I think so,” Summer said, though she was clinging needily to Persephone. It was such a strange role reversal for a woman who had always given her comfort when she needed it…
“What happened?” Tabby asked.
“Flashback,” Summer said. “We were…um…” She looked up at Persephone, silently asking her to explain.
“We’ve been practicing fencing together,” Persephone explained. “I was trying to demonstrate that the gear would protect her, so I poked her in a few spots with the tip of my sword, through the padding. The last one was her neck.”
”That could do it,” Tabby said. ”A trigger we didn’t find?”
“I think so,” Summer said. “We didn’t check for sensations like that.” She leaned more heavily against Persephone. “I…I think I need to lay down.”
”Persephone, can you help her to her room?” Tabby said. “Keep me on the line for now.”
“Of course,” Persephone said. She helped Summer up and picked up her purse for her on the way out. As they walked, Summer peeled off the more constricting pieces of upper-body equipment—the jacket, the plastron, the chest protector. A few minutes later, Persephone shouldered open Summer’s door, revealing a room much like Persephone’s, except mirrored and in pale yellow. Summer dropped her gear on the floor, and Persephone helped her to the bed.
“Thanks,” Summer said, lying down. Persephone was surprised when Summer pulled her down with her, holding her tightly. “Tabs?”
“Yes, babe?”
“Later, can you…can you fill Persephone in? She…she needs to know, but I…I can’t…”
“Of course, Summer. Anything you need. I love you.”
”Love you too, Tabs,” Summer said. She pressed her face to Persephone’s chest, then frowned. “Sweetie, could you, um, take the hard bits off?”
“Sure,” Persephone said. It was the work of a moment to get down to her tank top. “Sorry, it’s a bit sweaty…”
“That’s okay.” Summer put her head back down; it actually hurt her breast a bit, but Persephone could endure that to see Summer’s smile. “You two talk, okay? I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a while and listen…”
“Okay,” Persephone said. Her hand slipped down to rest on Summer’s waist, and the older girl mumbled happily, her grip tightening on Persephone’s top. If only this had happened under better circumstances…
Best not to dwell on that, though. Instead, she lifted the phone to take her first good look at Tabby.
Summer’s big sister was older than her—mid-thirties, maybe—and had the air of a tired, but loving and dedicated, mother of far too many children. She seemed to have set her phone on a table or shelf or something and then sat on a desk chair in front of it. Persephone couldn’t see her entire outfit, just the shoulders of a lavender cardigan that was complimented by subtle matching eyeshadow. Behind Tabby was a desk covered in paperwork, and above it, a window; the dull, joy-smothering gray of an English winter sky was broken up by green vines.
Tabby seemed to be taking her in too. “Persephone, right? It’s good to finally put a face to the name.”
“Summer’s shown me photos of you,” Persephone said, “but it’s good to put a voice to the face.” She had a nice voice, too—feather-soft when she’d been speaking gently to Summer, but a little harder-edged now that she was talking to someone less fragile. “You’re her sister Tabby, right?”
“Right,” Tabby said. “Not by blood, obviously—bitch wouldn’t be so pasty if we were—but we adopted each other, which is even better.”
“Yeah,” Persephone said. “I suppose she got her…unfiltered vocabulary from you.”
Tabby laughed—a big, warm, infectious sound that had Persephone chuckling along with her. “You’d be surprised how much of Summer comes from me,” Tabby said.
“How did you two meet?” Persephone asked. “She hasn’t said much, just that you took her in.”
“We met before her egg cracked. At a club, actually. Shitty little place in town called Legends. She saw me from across the room, bought me a drink, chatted me up a bit, got me dancing—“
“Wait, was she coming on to you?”
“Yup,” Tabby said with a smirk. “And it worked! We dated for a month or two. She was actually a really good boyfriend—cute, sweet, considerate, good in bed. If she’d actually been a boy, we might’ve stayed together.”
“But she wasn’t a boy?”
“Yeah. As usual.”
“What do you mean?” Persephone asked.
“I’m some sort of fucking egg magnet,” Tabby sighed. “Summer was the first, but you wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve broken up with a boyfriend because she became a girl. Finally went t4t a few years back just to date men who would stay that way.”
Persephone giggled despite herself. “I’m sorry, I’m sure that was no fun, but—“
“But it’s funny to anyone who doesn’t have to live it,” Tabby said, waving a hand. “It’s fine. Literally everyone else feels the same way; at least you have the grace to apologize.”
Persephone felt Summer’s leg twitch and glanced down at her. Her breathing was soft and even; her eyes were moving behind their lids. “I think she’s asleep,” she told Tabby.
“Good,” Tabby said. “That means we can talk about the heavy stuff.” She rolled her chair closer to the camera. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” Persephone said.
“No you’re not,” Tabby said, squinting at the screen in front of her. She and Summer really were alike. “What’s eating at you?”
“I…I didn’t know what to do,” Persephone said. “Summer needed help, and I didn’t know how to help her.”
“You called me,” Tabby said. “That was helping her. But you want to do more?”
Persephone nodded.
“I’ll send you some materials,” Tabby said. “The list of mantras she uses when she’s in that state; they work better for me because I taught them to her, but they should still help coming from you. And some more general grounding exercises you’d be able to use with anyone.”
“Thank you,” Persephone said. “What was that, anyway?”
Tabby sighed. ”It’s never been formally diagnosed, but Summer has PTSD, or something like it, stemming from a violent incident here at the Hall. She was left with a bunch of triggers that made it very difficult to do her job or even live here. So we worked together for a while, applying therapeutic protocols to desensitize her. That helped a lot, but sometimes she still spirals on it when something reminds her of it in the wrong way. Today was worse than that, though; I think there was a trigger we never knew about.” Tabby hesitated for a moment. “I can tell you the story, but I have to warn you, it’s not easy to hear. Are you sure you want me to?”
Persephone remembered Stephanie’s warning: However bad you’re imagining, it’s probably worse.
“I think I have to know,” Persephone said.
“Okay. So, has Summer told you about the role I played during her transition?”
“You helped her learn, like, everything,” Persephone said. “She actually told me that she was helping me to pay you back for helping her, and that I should do the same for somebody else one day.”
Tabby’s smile was so much like a proud mother’s that it made Persephone’s heart ache for her own parents. “That’s my girl.” But then her smile faded, and she leaned back, visibly gathered herself before continuing. “But you aren’t the first girl she’s tried to help. Once her own transition was basically complete, she decided to do what I’d done for someone else. Vanessa had come to the Hall because her parents were violently transphobic; Summer took her on, and over time, the two of them became close. Like her and me; like sisters. But then things went wrong.”
“What happened?” Persephone said.
“In the summer of 2017, when the only girls still at the Hall were ones with nowhere else to go, Vanessa’s father came for her,” Tabby said. “He held Summer hostage. Threatened to slit her throat if she didn’t help him find her.”
“Oh my god.”
“But Summer refused to give her girl up. And so he decided he needed to demonstrate how serious he was. He…”
Persephone glanced down at Summer’s hand, the one with the missing finger. “He…he cut off…?”
“Yeah.”
Persephone bit her lip to hold back a cry of distress. “That’s horrible,” she whispered after a moment.
“Even after that, she still refused to help him.” Tabby swiped at her eye; a few tears had blurred her liner. ”It breaks my heart to think about. She was so brave…”
You protected your sisters, Tabby had told Summer a little while ago when she was in the grips of the panic attack. You were so brave for your sisters. Persephone hadn’t known how true that was.
“He was about to give up and just kill her, but then help arrived. He tried to escape, but he was captured. And Vanessa…” Tabby hesitated.
“What happened to Vanessa?” Persephone said.
“She…couldn’t continue,” Tabby said simply. “Couldn’t live with it.”
Persephone could read between the lines as well as the next girl. Vanessa had killed herself. Leaving Summer with a dead little sister, a lifelong injury, and a horrible memory she still hadn’t fully healed from half a decade later.
Stephanie was right. Persephone had imagined a horrible accident, not a narrowly averted murder.
“I…I had no idea,” Persephone said, looking down at Summer. She looked so peaceful in her sleep. How had horrors like that happened to a girl who looked like this?
“Summer’s worked hard to recover,” Tabby said. “But there are still things in her that haven’t really healed. She blames herself for what happened to Vanessa—thinks if she’d been better, she could have saved her. She says she doesn’t, but I fucking made her, y’know? I know her better than she knows herself.”
“How can I help her?” Persephone asked.
“Honestly? You already are.” Tabby leaned forward in her chair again; Persephone could faintly hear the rollers shifting. “Summer needs to help people grow. It’s how she’s built. It’s why she spends her electro sessions moonlighting as a therapist; it’s why she introduces her friends to each other; it’s why she knows so many people and looks out for them all. But she was never happier than when she had one girl to pour her efforts into—and now she does again, and even now, when she’s literally on the run, she believes in herself in a way that she hasn’t in years. So just let her keep helping you, Persephone, and trust that you’re helping her in the process.”
* * *
Tab A has marked these messages as sensitive; biometric authentication is required to read them. [Unlock]
Tab A:
Persephone asked me about how we met and about the incident with George
I told her the usual cover stories, no embellishments or deviations
She’s a sweet girl, by the way—I can see why you like her so much
And I can tell that you’re taking good care of her
I hope you feel better when you wake up
Love you, babe
Forever and ever
* * *