0
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 12:53 PM
As Chelsea browsed the shelves and racks of clothes, occationally pulling out a garment to look at or take to the fitting booths to try on, she couldn't help but notice a tiny snicker every time she draped a dress over her arm or held up a top in front of a mirror. "Wow, seriously?" A high pitched voice said behind her as she pulled out a cute sundress and held it up in front of herself.
Turning around, Chelsea came face to face with a young woman wearing denim shorts, an impossibly revealing top and furry boots. "You don't really think that would look good on you, yeah?" The woman said as she chewed on a piece of gum. "That colour is like, so not in fashion anymore, and that cut… just, wow, I can't believe you're even looking at it. You must be, like, so poor or something."
1
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 12:54 PM
Chelsea turned around to face her. "And who are you, little butterfly? You should be careful how you speak to your betters."
2
33.6s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 12:54 PM
Lizzy's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up, her glossy red lips parting in genuine surprise. She hadn't expected pushback - most people just wilted under her critiques or scurried away embarrassed. The gum snapping ceased as she took a moment to really look at this woman who'd just called herself her 'better.'
"My better?" Lizzy repeated, letting out a sharp laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh honey, that's rich." She shifted her weight, one manicured hand finding her hip as she struck a pose that showed off her curves. "I'm trying to help you here. Like, seriously, that dress would make anyone look like they raided their grandma's closet."
But even as the words left her mouth, something about Chelsea's confident stance made Lizzy's stomach twist uncomfortably. There was an authority in those eyes that reminded her of the rich women who came into the restaurant - the ones who could afford to leave hundred dollar tips without blinking. The ones she desperately wanted to be.
Her brown eyes flicked down to Chelsea's outfit, searching for ammunition. But annoyingly, even though the style wasn't what Lizzy would choose, everything looked expensive. Well-tailored. The kind of quality she could only dream of affording.
"And butterfly? Really?" She scoffed, though her fingers unconsciously moved to cover the small tattoo on her wrist. "That's what you're going with?" She took a step closer, her heels clicking on the store's polished floor. The height advantage from her boots made her feel slightly more in control. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, but I've been doing this for years. I know fashion. I basically breathe it."
The lie rolled off her tongue easily - she'd practiced it so many times for her Instagram posts. In reality, she spent hours scrolling through fashion blogs and magazines, desperately trying to keep up with trends she couldn't afford. But this woman didn't need to know that.
A sales associate hovering nearby caught Lizzy's eye, and she recognized the look - the same one she got at high-end stores when they could tell she was just browsing. It made her skin crawl.
"You know what?" Lizzy continued, her voice taking on that particular edge she used when she felt cornered. "Keep the ugly dress. It'll match your personality perfectly." She gave Chelsea a once-over that was meant to be dismissive but lingered a beat too long. "Some people just can't be helped."
But she didn't move away. Something about this woman kept her rooted to the spot, even as every instinct told her to strut off and find easier prey. Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was the way Chelsea held herself like she actually belonged here, in this store where a single dress cost more than Lizzy made in a week.
"So what's your deal anyway?" Lizzy asked, trying to sound bored as she examined her long acrylic nails. "Trust fund baby? Trophy wife? Or just another wannabe influencer trying to look rich for the 'gram?"
3
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:00 PM
Chelsea smiled dangerously. "I'm way better than any of that. But I'll give you a chance to stay away, if you want. I have enough toys."
4
46.7s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:01 PM
The word 'toys' hit Lizzy like ice water, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. There was something in Chelsea's smile - predatory, knowing - that made her mouth go dry despite the gum she'd been chewing. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, even as her heart rate picked up.
"Toys?" Lizzy echoed, trying for dismissive but landing somewhere closer to intrigued. She hated how her voice caught slightly on the word. "What are you, some kind of dominatrix or something?"
The laugh that followed was too high, too forced. Lizzy's eyes darted around the store, suddenly aware of how empty this section was. The sales associate had conveniently disappeared, probably sensing drama and wanting no part of it. Smart move.
But Lizzy wasn't smart. Never had been, really. That's why she was still here, still engaging with this woman who radiated danger like expensive perfume. It was the same self-destructive impulse that had her downing shots every weekend until she couldn't remember her own name.
"You know what? I don't scare easy." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. Everything scared her - getting old, getting fat, dying poor and unloved in some shitty apartment. But she pushed her chest out anyway, the tight fabric of her top straining. "And I definitely don't run from… whatever you think you are."
She took another step closer, close enough now to catch Chelsea's scent. Expensive. Everything about this woman screamed money, from her perfectly styled hair to the way she stood like she owned the very ground beneath her feet. It made Lizzy's stomach twist with want and resentment in equal measure.
"Besides," Lizzy continued, her voice dropping lower as she tilted her head, blonde curls cascading over one shoulder, "maybe I like toys."
The words tumbled out before she could stop them, surprising even herself. What was she doing? This wasn't how she operated. She was supposed to tear people down and walk away, not… whatever this was. But something about Chelsea's confidence, that dangerous smile, the casual way she'd dismissed Lizzy as just another toy - it was pushing all the wrong buttons.
Or maybe the right ones. Lizzy couldn't tell anymore.
Her perfectly manicured nails dug into her palms as she fought to maintain some semblance of control. She was Elizabeth Blunt. She had 847 Instagram followers. She was going to be somebody someday. She wasn't going to let some random woman in a department store make her feel like that scared little girl in hand-me-down clothes.
"So what's it gonna be?" Lizzy challenged, brown eyes meeting Chelsea's with a bravado she didn't feel. "You gonna tell me what kind of 'toys' you're talking about, or are you all talk?"
A nervous laugh bubbled up, and she quickly covered it with a hair flip. "Because honestly? You're giving me major 'peaked in high school' vibes right now. All mysterious and shit." She gestured vaguely at Chelsea. "Let me guess - you drive a Tesla and have a podcast about manifesting or some crap?"
Even as the insults flowed, Lizzy found herself hoping Chelsea wouldn't take the out she'd offered earlier. Wouldn't just walk away. It had been so long since someone had looked at her with anything other than dismissal or pity. Even if it was predatory, even if it was dangerous, at least it was something.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, tasting the remnants of her expensive lipstick. The stuff she couldn't really afford but bought anyway because it made her feel like she belonged in places like this.
"Well?" She prompted, jutting one hip out in a pose she'd practiced a thousand times in her bedroom mirror. "I'm waiting."
5
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:02 PM
Chelsea snickered. "If you were that desperate, then you should've responded to the ad I posted. Makes it a lot easier these days. Now…."
Chelsea voice changed. A perfect seductive purr that would make Lizzy's entire nervous system lock up.
"Kneel"
6
29.6s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:02 PM
(oh, also, I'll write in present tense!!)
The command hits Lizzy like a physical force, her knees buckling before her brain even processes what's happening. The cheap linoleum of the store floor is hard against her kneecaps as she drops, her hands flying out to catch herself. The position sends her short skirt riding up dangerously high on her thighs.
What the fuck?
Her mind races, trying to understand why her body just… obeyed. Without question. Without thought. Like Chelsea's voice had reached directly into her nervous system and pulled the strings. Lizzy's perfectly glossed lips part in shock, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"What did you—" The words die in her throat as she looks up at Chelsea from this new angle. Christ, she looks even more imposing from down here. Like some kind of goddess that Lizzy would double-tap on Instagram while lying alone in bed.
Heat floods her cheeks beneath her heavy foundation. This is humiliating. She's on her knees in the middle of Nordstrom, her expensive (fake) designer bag discarded beside her, staring up at a woman she'd been trying to tear down just moments ago. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see.
The thought makes her stomach clench in a way that's not entirely unpleasant.
"This is… I don't…" Lizzy's voice cracks, all her usual snark evaporating. She tries to push herself up, but her legs won't cooperate. They feel like jelly, like she's six drinks deep at the club, except she's stone-cold sober and terrifyingly aware of every sensation.
Her acrylic nails dig into her palms as she fights between humiliation and something else. Something that makes her thighs press together and her breath hitch. She hasn't felt this out of control since… well, since ever. Even blackout drunk, she always maintained some illusion of power.
But not now. Not with Chelsea looking down at her with those knowing eyes.
"How did you do that?" The question comes out smaller than she intended, almost vulnerable. Lizzy hates it. Hates how her voice sounds like that scared little girl who got laughed at for wearing the same outfit three days in a row. "What are you?"
A couple walks past the aisle, and Lizzy's head snaps toward them. The woman gives her a disgusted look - the same look Lizzy usually gives to others - and whispers something to her partner. They hurry away, probably thinking she's some kind of junkie or worse.
The rejection stings more than it should.
"Please," Lizzy whispers, though she's not sure what she's asking for. To be released? To understand? To be kept? "I don't… this isn't…"
She looks back up at Chelsea, her brown eyes wide beneath her false lashes. The carefully constructed mask she wears every day - the bitchy, untouchable party girl - has cracked, revealing glimpses of the desperate, lonely woman underneath.
"What ad?" She manages, latching onto the only concrete thing Chelsea had said. "I don't… I didn't see any ad. I was just shopping, I was just…"
Just trying to pretend she belonged here. Just trying to feel like somebody for five fucking minutes.
Her knees are starting to hurt against the hard floor, but she still can't move. Can't run. Can't even look away from Chelsea's face. She's trapped, pinned like a butterfly to a board, and the worst part?
Part of her doesn't want to escape.
"Are you going to hurt me?" The question slips out before she can stop it, small and frightened and nothing like the Elizabeth Blunt she pretends to be.
7
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:05 PM
Chelsea chuckled, her voice remaining inescapable, ensnaring, impossible to ignore. "Hurt you? Some do that kind of thing. Me? I like to turn whiny women into submissives. It's easy enough to do, another five minutes like this and you'll forget your own name. But, again, I require consent. So, last chance to run away, little butterfly"
8
41.3s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:05 PM
The words 'little butterfly' pierce through Lizzy like Chelsea had reached into her chest and squeezed. Her wrist burns where the tattoo sits hidden beneath her foundation - the stupid, impulsive decision she'd gotten at eighteen when she thought she was finally becoming someone new.
Five minutes and she'd forget her name? The threat should terrify her. It does terrify her. But beneath the fear, something else unfurls in her stomach. Something hungry and desperate that she usually drowns in vodka and bad decisions.
"I…" Her voice cracks, and she swallows hard. The store suddenly feels too bright, too exposed. A security camera blinks red in the corner. Would they review the footage later? Would some minimum-wage security guard see Elizabeth Blunt on her knees?
But that's not her real fear. Her real fear is that Chelsea will walk away. Leave her here, humiliated and alone, just another discarded toy that wasn't worth playing with.
Like always.
"I don't run," Lizzy whispers, the lie transparent even to herself. She's been running her whole life - from poverty, from ugliness, from the truth that no amount of filler or filters can fix what's broken inside her. "I don't…"
Her hands tremble where they rest on her thighs. The skirt has ridden up enough to show the lace edge of her panties - the expensive ones she bought last week instead of groceries. The ones that made her feel sexy and wanted even though no one ever sees them.
Someone's seeing them now.
"You can't just… make people forget who they are," she protests weakly, but even as she says it, she can feel the edges of 'Lizzy' starting to blur. The carefully constructed persona she's worn like armor for so long suddenly feels tissue-thin. "That's not… that's not possible."
But she's still kneeling. Still looking up at Chelsea with those wide brown eyes that she spent forty minutes perfecting this morning. Her lip gloss is probably smudged. Her hair is probably a mess. Everything she uses to maintain control is slipping away.
"What would you…" She licks her lips nervously, tasting cherry and chemicals. "What would you do to me? If I… if I said yes?"
The question hangs between them, heavy with implication. Lizzy's never been with someone like this. Sure, she's hooked up with girls at clubs, made out in dark corners and woken up in strange beds. But this? This deliberate surrender? This is new territory.
"I don't even know your name," she realizes suddenly, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. "You could be anyone. You could be…"
Dangerous. Perfect. Everything I've been looking for.
The thoughts tumble over each other, making her dizzy. Or maybe that's just the blood rushing in her ears. She can feel her heartbeat everywhere - in her throat, her wrists, between her legs.
"The ad," she says again, grasping for something concrete. "What kind of ad? Where?"
But even as she asks, she knows it doesn't matter. She's already made her decision. Made it the moment her knees hit the floor. Maybe made it the moment Chelsea smiled at her with those predator eyes.
A woman in designer heels clicks past, shooting them a disgusted look. Lizzy flinches, automatic shame flooding through her. But for once, the judgment doesn't make her want to lash out. It makes her want to press closer to Chelsea, to hide in whatever shadow she casts.
"I consent," the words tumble out in a rush, like ripping off a band-aid. "Okay? I… I consent to… to whatever you want to do. To forgetting. To being…"
Yours.
9
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:10 PM
Chelsea smiled. Another woman claimed. "Well then, won't you come with me?" She walked outside, knowing Lizzy would follow her. She took her around the back of the building, to reveal a Mercedes Maybach 680 with frosted windows. "Well, get in the back. Submissives don't get to ride shotgun."
10
34.5s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:10 PM
Lizzy's legs shake as she pushes herself up from the floor, her knees marked with angry red indents from the hard linoleum. Her body moves without her permission, following Chelsea like she's been leashed. The humiliation burns hot in her chest, but beneath it, that hungry thing in her stomach grows stronger.
The walk to the back of the building feels eternal. Every step in her heeled boots echoes too loud, and she's hyperaware of how her skirt keeps riding up, how her top suddenly feels too tight, too revealing. A group of teenagers snicker as they pass, and Lizzy wants to snap at them, tear them down like she always does, but the words won't come.
She can only follow.
When she sees the car, her breath catches. The Mercedes Maybach gleams like liquid money, all smooth curves and tinted windows. It's the kind of car she poses next to for Instagram, pretending she knows the owner. The kind of car that costs more than she'll make in five years of serving overpriced steaks to people who don't tip.
"Holy shit," she whispers, then immediately hates herself for sounding so impressed. "This is… this is yours?"
But Chelsea's already getting in the front, leaving Lizzy standing there like an idiot. Submissives don't get to ride shotgun. The words echo in her head, making her face burn. She's never been told where to sit before. Never been so casually dismissed and claimed in the same breath.
Her hand hovers over the door handle. This is it. The moment where she could run. Call an Uber. Go back to her shitty shared apartment and pretend this never happened. Post some fake story about buying a new designer bag and wait tables tomorrow like always.
Instead, she opens the door.
The leather seats are butter-soft, probably cost more than her rent. Everything smells expensive - not the artificial luxury of the knockoff perfumes she wears, but real wealth. The kind she's been chasing her whole life.
"I don't usually…" She starts as she slides in, then stops. Don't usually what? Get in cars with strangers? Let women order her around? Feel this desperately, pathetically eager to please? "I mean, I have standards."
The lie is automatic, even now. Even with her thighs sticking to the leather and her pulse hammering in her throat. She crosses her legs, tries to look unaffected, but her hands won't stop shaking.
"So what now?" She asks, hating how small her voice sounds in this car that probably costs more than most people's houses. "You take me to some dungeon? Chain me up? Is that what gets you off?"
The words are meant to be cutting, but they come out breathless. Curious. She catches sight of herself in the tinted window - makeup slightly smudged, hair mussed, looking nothing like the carefully curated photos on her Instagram. Looking real for the first time in years.
"I still don't even know your name," she says, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "Or what you meant about an ad. I don't… I'm not the kind of girl who answers sketchy internet ads."
Another lie. She's answered plenty of sketchy ads - for roommates, for under-the-table beauty treatments, for diet pills that made her heart race. But never for… whatever this is.
The partition between the front and back seats might as well be a wall between worlds. Chelsea up there in the driver's seat, in control. Lizzy back here like cargo. Like a possession.
Like a toy.
"Are you even going to tell me where we're going?" She tries one more time for her usual snark, but it falls flat. "Because I have plans later. Important plans."
She doesn't. She never does. Just another night of scrolling through more successful women's profiles and drinking cheap wine until she passes out. But Chelsea doesn't need to know that.
"I'm still waiting for answers," she says, but they both know she'll wait as long as it takes.
11
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:12 PM
Chelsea smiles. "I suppose I could give you that much, little morsel. My name is Chelsea. I'm not human, not exactly. I'm superior. And you'll find out exactly what makes me superior as soon as we get home. A dungeon? Well, I do have a basement, but I'm not into chains as much as padded velvet cages."
12
35.2s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:12 PM
Lizzy's stomach drops at Chelsea's words. Not human? Superior? The rational part of her brain - the part that usually protects her from her worst impulses - screams that she should throw open the door and run. But her body stays frozen against the leather seats, thighs pressed together as heat pools low in her belly.
"Not human," she repeats, trying for skeptical but landing somewhere closer to breathless. "Right. What are you then, a vampire? Alien? Some kind of…"
She trails off as the car purrs to life, the engine so quiet it's almost supernatural. Everything about this feels unreal - like she's fallen through her phone screen into one of those dark romance novels her roommate Mika leaves lying around. The ones Lizzy pretends not to read but devours in secret, touching herself to thoughts of being owned, claimed, kept.
"Padded velvet cages?" A nervous laugh escapes her. "That's… specific. You just keep those lying around for random girls you pick up at Nordstrom?"
But even as she tries to joke, her mind conjures images. Soft fabric against skin. Bars she can't escape. Being displayed like the expensive things she's always wanted to own but could never afford. Her breathing quickens.
The car glides through traffic like it owns the road. Through the tinted windows, Lizzy watches her real life pass by - the shitty strip mall where she gets her nails done, the liquor store where she buys bottom-shelf vodka, the restaurant where she'll have to show up tomorrow and pretend to give a fuck about wine pairings.
Or maybe she won't. Maybe after tonight, everything will be different.
"You know what? Fine," she says, crossing her arms under her breasts in a way that pushes them up. "You're 'superior.' You're not human. You've got velvet fucking cages. But what does that mean for me? What happens when we get to your place?"
Her voice drops lower, trying to sound seductive rather than terrified. "You gonna make me forget my name like you said? Turn me into one of your toys? Is that what you do - collect pretty girls who talk too much?"
She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, hyperaware of how the movement makes her skirt ride up. The lace of her panties is definitely visible now, but she doesn't pull the fabric down. Let Chelsea see. Let her know that Lizzy wore the expensive ones today, the ones that make her feel like somebody even when she's nobody.
"I bet you think I'm easy," she continues, nails digging into her palms. "Poor girl, fake designer bag, desperate for attention. Is that what you saw? Is that why you picked me?"
The words taste bitter, too close to the truth. But she can't stop talking, can't stop filling the silence with her nervous energy. "Because I'm not… I'm not just some random…"
"How do you even know I'm into girls?" She asks suddenly. "I could be straight. I could be…"
But they both know that's a lie. The way she'd looked at Chelsea, the way she'd dropped to her knees without hesitation, the way she's pressing her thighs together now - it all screams the truth she only admits when she's wasted.
"Fuck," she whispers, running a hand through her carefully styled hair. "This is insane. You're insane. I'm insane for being here."
But she doesn't ask to leave. Doesn't demand to be let out. Just sits there in the back of this impossible car, being driven to god knows where by a woman who claims she isn't human.
13
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:16 PM
"Vampire? Oh, nothing that absurd. I'm just genetically superior. Wherever there's a human falling, I've got the advantage."
Chelsea parks up in an underground garage attached to a simple two story home. But when they take the circular elevator down, it reveals an elaborate underground area. As Lizzy follows Chelsea, she sees a hallway with plenty of women in the velvet cages, reaching their hands out, desperate for Chelsea's touch. She rewards a few of them as they reach another room. "This is is the room where it happens. Where you forget everything you've ever known other than me."
14
32.0s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:16 PM
The elevator descends with a whisper-quiet hum that makes Lizzy's ears pop. Her heels click against the polished floor as she follows Chelsea, each step taking her further from the world she knows. The underground space opens up like something from a fever dream - all soft lighting and impossible architecture that shouldn't exist beneath a simple two-story home.
Then she sees them.
Women. Dozens of them. Pressing against the bars of those velvet cages Chelsea mentioned, their hands reaching out desperately, faces painted with a hunger that makes Lizzy's breath catch. They're all beautiful - different ages, races, body types - but they share the same look in their eyes. Devotion. Need. Complete and utter submission.
"Oh my god," Lizzy whispers, stopping dead in her tracks. "What the fuck is this?"
Some of the women notice her, and their expressions shift. Jealousy. Recognition. Like they know exactly what she's about to become. One of them - a stunning redhead who looks like she stepped off a magazine cover - presses her face against the bars.
"Please," the woman begs, not to Lizzy but to Chelsea. "Please, I've been so good. I've been waiting. Please touch me."
When Chelsea rewards a few of them with the briefest contact, they moan like it's the best thing they've ever felt. Like that simple touch is worth more than food, water, air. Lizzy's stomach clenches with a mixture of horror and arousal that makes her dizzy.
"This is…" She can't finish the sentence. Her designer boots feel unsteady as she follows Chelsea to another room, can't stop looking back at the cages. "Those women, they're all… you keep them?"
The room Chelsea leads her to is different. Intimate. Set up like a cross between a luxury hotel suite and something from those websites Lizzy only visits in incognito mode. Her mouth goes dry as she takes in the space where Chelsea claims she'll forget everything.
"I can't," Lizzy says suddenly, backing toward the door. "This is insane. You're insane. Those women in cages - that's kidnapping! That's…"
But even as she speaks, she remembers how they looked at Chelsea. How they begged. They want to be here. They chose this. Just like she's choosing, even as every rational thought screams at her to run.
"You said genetically superior," she continues, grasping for anything that makes sense. "What does that even mean? Are you stronger? Smarter? Do you have fucking mind control powers?"
Her voice rises with each question, the carefully maintained cool-girl facade cracking completely. She's just Lizzy now - scared, aroused, desperate Lizzy who spent her last fifty dollars on lingerie she thought no one would ever see.
"Those women out there," she gestures wildly toward the hallway, "they had lives, right? Jobs? Families? And now they're just… pets? Toys in your collection?"
She laughs, high and hysterical. "Is that what happens to me? I become another girl in a cage, begging for you to touch me? Forgetting my own fucking name?"
But even as she says it, part of her whispers: would that be so bad? To forget Elizabeth Blunt, the girl who was never pretty enough, never rich enough, never enough of anything? To just be Chelsea's, nothing more, nothing less?
"I need a drink," Lizzy says weakly, pressing her back against the wall. "I need… fuck, I need something. This is too much. You're too much."
Her perfectly manicured nails dig into her palms hard enough to hurt. The pain helps ground her, reminds her she's still here, still herself. For now.
"Why me?" The question comes out small, vulnerable. "All those women out there are gorgeous. Perfect. Why pick up some trashy waitress pretending to shop at Nordstrom?"
15
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:18 PM
Chelsea shrugged at this. "It's because you came to me. You were curious. And now I get to make you perfect." She smiled softly. "All the women here have had their identities removed from any record. And anyone who ever knew them has had their memories erased. There's nothing to steal when they might as well never have existed."
She turned to her. "You want a drink? Sure." She lazily poured her a glass of water from an expensive refrigerator. "Drink up, you'll need your strength."
16
28.9s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:19 PM
Lizzy stares at the glass of water like it might be poisoned. Her throat is parched, screaming for moisture, but Chelsea's casual mention of erasing entire existences has her hands trembling as she reaches for it.
"Memories… erased?" She takes a shaky sip, the cool water doing nothing to calm the fire in her chest. "You're telling me all those women just… stopped existing? Their parents don't remember them? Their friends? Their…"
She thinks of her roommates. Would they notice if she vanished? Mika might wonder why her share of rent wasn't paid. The restaurant would be annoyed they had to cover her shifts. Her Instagram followers - all 847 of them - might wonder why she stopped posting for a day or two before moving on to the next pretty face.
The truth hits her like a slap: almost no one would really miss Elizabeth Blunt.
"That's impossible," she says weakly, but she's already seen impossible today. Already felt it when her knees hit the floor without her permission. "You can't just… delete people."
She drains the water in three desperate gulps, then sets the glass down with shaking hands. Her lipstick leaves a perfect red print on the rim - evidence she was here, she existed, she was real.
"Perfect," she repeats Chelsea's word, laughing bitterly. "You think you can make me perfect? I've been trying to do that since I was twelve. Nose job savings, lip filler debt, these tits that cost three months of rent…" She gestures at herself, all the expensive modifications that never quite made her feel like enough. "Nothing makes me perfect. Trust me, I've tried."
The room feels smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in. Or maybe that's just Chelsea's presence, filling the space, making it hard to breathe. Lizzy's eyes dart to the door, calculating the distance. Could she make it? In these heels?
"My roommate Mika," she says suddenly, "she'll notice. She borrows my straightener every morning. And my boss, he'll be pissed if I don't show up for my shift tomorrow. I'm supposed to work a double because Sandra called in sick again and…"
She trails off, realizing how pathetic it sounds. Her grand important life - lending out hair tools and serving overpriced steaks to businessmen who stare at her ass.
"Fuck," she whispers, sinking down onto what looks like an impossibly soft velvet chaise. "This is really happening, isn't it? You're really going to… to make me like them. Another pretty thing in a cage."
Her fingers trace the velvet beneath her, so soft it makes her cheap polyester top feel like sandpaper against her skin. Everything here is what she's always wanted - luxury, beauty, someone looking at her like she matters.
Even if it means not being 'her' anymore.
"Will it hurt?" The question comes out small, vulnerable. Not tough-girl Lizzy who tears down strangers in department stores, but the scared girl who used to cry in bathroom stalls. "Forgetting, I mean. Will I… will I know it's happening?"
She looks up at Chelsea, mascara slightly smudged beneath her eyes. "Or will I just wake up one day and not remember why I ever wanted to leave?"
17
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:20 PM
Chelsea shrugged. "Hurt? Nah. Maybe a little shame of having your will taken away, but nobody's found it too painful. As for forgetting…more of the second one, but it'll take a while. You'll still be 'you' for a few months. But every last one of them wanted to never leave my side by the third day, by their own decision."
18
28.8s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:20 PM
Lizzy's fingers dig into the velvet hard enough to leave nail marks. Three days. That's all it takes for these women - lawyers, doctors, models, whoever they were - to beg to stay. The thought should terrify her more than it does.
"Months?" She laughs, but it comes out cracked. "So I get to watch myself disappear? That's so fucking thoughtful of you."
She stands abruptly, pacing the room in her cheap boots that suddenly feel like they're made of lead. Her reflection catches in a mirror on the wall - smudged makeup, mussed hair, designer knockoffs that aren't fooling anyone. Least of all herself.
"You know what the really fucked up part is?" She whirls to face Chelsea, gesturing wildly. "Part of me wants it. Has wanted it since before you even spoke to me. To just… stop. Stop pretending I'm gonna make it as an influencer. Stop serving steaks to handsy businessmen. Stop waking up every morning and hating what I see in the mirror."
Her voice cracks on the last word. She's never admitted that out loud, not even to her roommates during their drunkest wine nights. But something about this room, about Chelsea's presence, is pulling truths from her like poison from a wound.
"Is that what you saw in me?" She asks, moving closer to Chelsea despite every instinct screaming danger. "Another broken girl desperate to be someone else? Because congratulations, you fucking nailed it."
The water glass sits empty on the side table, her lipstick print like a goodbye kiss to the person she used to be. Lizzy touches her throat, imagines she can feel the water settling in her stomach. Wonders if it was really just water.
"Those women in the cages," she says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "they looked happy. Happier than I've ever been, and I've tried everything. Pills, booze, sex with strangers in club bathrooms…" She laughs bitterly. "None of it made me feel like they looked when you touched them."
Her hands shake as she reaches up to touch her hair, the expensive extensions she's still paying off. "Will I still look like me? Or do you change that too? Make us all into your perfect little dolls?"
She's close enough to Chelsea now to smell that expensive scent again. Close enough to see her own reflection in those predator eyes. The smart thing would be to run. Call the cops. Post about this insane experience for Instagram clout.
Instead, she finds herself asking: "Can I… can I see one of them up close? Talk to them? I need to know if they're really…"
Happy. Loved. Wanted.
"…if they really chose this."
19
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:25 PM
Chelsea smiled. "Very well, just a moment." She walks out of the room, closing the door behind her as she strode over to one of the cages. "Bree, dear, we have a freshie. She wants a testimonial, do you mind?"
She didn't wait for a response, turning the key to open the cage and leading her into the room Lizzy was being held in.
20
29.9s
Bree
July 24, 2025 1:26 PM
Bree practically floats into the room, her movements liquid and graceful despite being in the cage for who knows how long. Her blonde hair falls in perfect waves around her shoulders, and she's wearing a silk slip that probably costs more than Lizzy's entire wardrobe. Everything about her radiates contentment - from her serene smile to the way she immediately gravitates toward Chelsea like a flower to the sun.
"A freshie!" Bree claps her hands together, genuine delight lighting up her features. "Oh, how wonderful! I remember when I was new. So scared, so confused…"
She laughs, the sound like tinkling bells, and settles onto the velvet chaise with practiced elegance. Her blue eyes fix on Lizzy with an intensity that's both warm and slightly unnerving - like she's looking at a sister she hasn't met yet.
"You're so pretty," Bree says, tilting her head. "Chelsea has such good taste. Always picking the ones who need her most." She smooths down her slip, the gesture oddly childlike. "I was like you once. Different clothes, different name - though I can't quite remember it now. Isn't that funny?"
She doesn't seem bothered by this admission. If anything, she looks relieved.
"I used to work at…" Bree's brow furrows for a moment, then smooths. "Somewhere with computers? Or was it banking? It doesn't matter. All those hours, all that stress, trying to prove I was worth something. And for what? A corner office? A husband who'd cheat with his secretary?"
She reaches out suddenly, grabbing Lizzy's hands. Her skin is impossibly soft, like she's never worked a day in her life.
"But Chelsea saw me. Really saw me. Not the power suits or the MBA or whatever else I thought made me special. Just… me. The me that wanted to stop fighting so hard all the time."
Bree's grip tightens, her eyes going distant and dreamy. "The first day, I was terrified. Kept thinking about my… my…" She pauses, confusion flickering across her features. "I had people, I think. Important people. But Chelsea made them forget, and then slowly, I forgot too. Now there's just her. Just this perfect, simple life where all I have to do is exist and be hers."
She releases Lizzy's hands to gesture around the room. "Look at this place! Look at these clothes! I never have to worry about bills or deadlines or whether I'm pretty enough, smart enough, good enough. Chelsea takes care of everything. All I have to do is be her perfect little butterfly."
The word makes Bree giggle, pressing her fingers to her lips. "That's what she calls us sometimes. Her collection. And we're all so happy to be collected."
She leans in close, close enough that Lizzy can smell her perfume - something expensive and floral that makes her head spin.
"The cage isn't a punishment," Bree whispers conspiratorially. "It's home. It's safety. It's where we wait for her to need us, to want us. And when she opens that door…" She shivers with pleasure. "It's better than any drug, any drink, any fuck I ever had before."
Bree pulls back, studying Lizzy with those eerily serene eyes. "You'll see. In a few days, you'll wonder why you ever wanted anything else. Why you ever thought you needed a name, a job, a life outside of Chelsea." She smiles, radiant and empty. "I'm living proof. Aren't I perfect now? Aren't I everything she promised I'd be?"
21
27.4s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:30 PM
Lizzy stares at Bree like she's looking at her own future in a funhouse mirror. Beautiful, empty, perfect. Everything she thought she wanted. The silk slip, the flawless skin, the serene smile - it's like looking at an Instagram filter made flesh.
"Jesus Christ," she breathes, stumbling backward until her ass hits the wall. "You really don't remember? Your job, your family, your… your fucking NAME?"
But even as horror floods through her, she can't stop staring at how content Bree looks. No stress lines, no bags under her eyes from crying over bills, no bitter twist to her mouth from years of disappointment. Just pure, uncomplicated happiness.
It's terrifying. It's everything she's ever wanted.
"Perfect," Lizzy repeats, the word tasting like ash. "You keep saying that word. But you're not… you're not YOU anymore. You're just another pretty doll in her collection."
She looks between Bree and Chelsea, mascara running down her cheeks now. "Is that what I'll become? Some lobotomized Stepford wife who lives for head pats?"
But even as she says it, she remembers the women in the cages. How they reached for Chelsea like she was salvation itself. How Bree shivered just talking about being wanted.
When was the last time anyone wanted Lizzy like that? Not her tits or her ass or what she could do for them, but HER?
"Fuck," she whispers, sliding down the wall until she's sitting on the floor, expensive boots splayed out awkwardly. "This is so fucked up. You're both so fucked up."
She looks up at Bree, studying that vacant bliss. "Do you ever… miss it? The stress and the fighting and the… the being someone? Or is it really better to just… stop?"
Her voice cracks on the last word. Because that's what this is, isn't it? Stopping. Giving up. Admitting that Elizabeth Blunt, with all her dreams and failures and desperate attempts to matter, wasn't worth keeping.
"I can't," she says, but her voice lacks conviction. "I have a life. A shitty life, but it's mine. I have…"
What? An Instagram account with fake stories? A job she hates? Roommates who tolerate her? A future that looks exactly like her present but older and more desperate?
"Show me," the words tumble out before she can stop them. "Show me what happens. What you do to make them - us - forget. I need to see it. I need to…"
Know if it's worth it. Know if disappearing is better than the constant ache of never being enough.
She wipes at her ruined makeup with the back of her hand, probably making it worse. "But I'm not saying yes. I'm just… I need to understand. Before I…"
Before I let you erase me. Before I become another butterfly in your collection. Before I finally get to stop pretending I'm somebody when we all know I'm not.
22
Chelsea
July 24, 2025 1:36 PM
Chelsea shook her head. "I'm afraid that is the last straw dear. Once I get started, there's no turning back. If I don't finish the job, you will probably take your own life. It'll crack your brain. But y'know, you've had enough chances to say no. I think you're ready."
She smiles softly as she grabs for Lizzy. Not violently, but possessively, as if she owns her. She broke into a demanding kiss, forcing her tongue into her mouth.
"Ero eroheim delor" She says these words of unmistakable power, and Lizzy's mind starts to rapidly erase memories of her past. Only a few vague idea, like the idea that she even had a past would remain after a few minutes.
23
35.0s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:36 PM
The foreign words hit Lizzy's mind like a sledgehammer wrapped in velvet. She gasps against Chelsea's mouth, tasting expensive lipstick and something else - power, maybe, or the end of everything she's ever known.
"No, wait—" But the protest dies as memories start dissolving like sugar in water. Her first day at the restaurant (what restaurant?). Her mother's disappointed face (whose mother?). The butterfly tattoo she got because she wanted to be free (free from what?).
She pushes weakly against Chelsea's shoulders, but her body feels heavy, disconnected. Like she's floating outside herself, watching this blonde girl in cheap clothes kiss a goddess.
"I… I had…" What did she have? There was something important. Friends? A job? The thoughts scatter before she can grasp them, leaving only impressions. Disappointed faces. Empty bottles. Mornings that hurt.
Her knees buckle and she clings to Chelsea for support, fingers tangling in that perfect hair. Names drift away - Mika? Sandra? Were those people? They felt important once, but now they're just sounds, meaningless syllables that don't connect to anything real.
"Please," she whimpers, though she's not sure what she's begging for anymore. To remember? To forget faster? The past feels like trying to hold water - the harder she grips, the faster it runs through her fingers.
Bree watches from the chaise with that serene smile, like she's seeing something beautiful being born. And maybe she is. Maybe this is birth, not death. The birth of something perfect and empty and owned.
Instagram. The word flashes bright for a moment - something about pictures? Followers? But it's gone before she can understand why it mattered. Just like the numbers in her phone (what phone?). Just like the address of a place she maybe lived (but where?).
"I'm… I'm…" But she can't finish. Can't remember what she is beyond this moment, this room, this woman whose tongue claimed her mouth like conquering territory.
Tears run down her cheeks, but she doesn't know if they're from grief or relief. Everything hurts. Everything feels like heaven. Her brain cracks and reforms, neural pathways rerouting around the empty spaces where Elizabeth Blunt used to live.
Elizabeth. Was that her? It sounds familiar but wrong, like a coat that doesn't fit anymore.
"What's happening to me?" The question comes out small, lost. She looks down at her clothes - tacky, cheap things that don't match the silk and velvet around her. Why is she wearing these? They feel wrong against her skin, like a costume for a play she can't remember auditioning for.
Her hands shake as she touches her own face, feeling the contours like a stranger. Lip filler (why?). Cheekbones that cost… something. Money? What's money? The concepts slip away like smoke.
"I don't… I can't…" She looks up at Chelsea with wide, frightened eyes that are already beginning to clear, the panic replaced by something softer. Needier. "Help me. Please. I don't know what's… I don't know who…"
The last memory that feels real - standing in a store, being cruel to this woman, this perfect woman who saw through her immediately - flickers and dies. All that's left is now. This room. This kiss that rewrote her from the inside out.
"Yours," she breathes, the word coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. "I'm… I'm yours?"
It's a question, but also a truth. The only truth left in a mind rapidly becoming as beautiful and empty as Bree's perfect smile.
24
34.3s
Bree
July 24, 2025 1:38 PM
Bree watches with rapt attention as the new girl - what was her name? Did she ever have one that mattered? - sways against Chelsea, tears streaming down her face as her past dissolves like watercolors in rain. It's beautiful. It's exactly how Bree remembers her own transformation, though the details have long since faded into a pleasant haze.
"Oh, sweetie," Bree coos, moving from the chaise with fluid grace. She kneels beside the trembling girl, careful not to touch without Chelsea's permission but close enough to offer comfort. "It's scary at first, I know. All those heavy thoughts just floating away…"
She watches the girl's eyes go unfocused, pupils dilated as the spell does its work. Those tacky clothes look so wrong on her now - not because they're cheap, but because they belong to someone who doesn't exist anymore.
"Chelsea," Bree says softly, looking up at their owner with adoration, "should I prepare the changing room? She'll need proper clothes. Those things…" she wrinkles her nose at the knockoff designer outfit, "they're from before. They'll only confuse her."
The new girl whimpers 'yours' and Bree's heart swells with something like sisterly pride. Another butterfly joining the collection. Another woman freed from the crushing weight of trying to matter in a world that never cared.
"You're doing so well," Bree murmurs to her, even though she's not sure the girl can process words anymore. Not while her mind rebuilds itself around Chelsea's presence. "Soon you won't remember why you were crying. Soon you'll just be happy."
She remembers fragments of her own first hours - the terror of feeling her MBA disappear, watching her ex-husband's face fade from memory like fog burning off in sunlight. But mostly she remembers the relief. The incredible, bone-deep relief of not having to try anymore.
"She's pretty," Bree observes to Chelsea, studying the new girl's features with the detached appreciation of someone examining a piece of art. "Good bone structure under all that makeup. She'll clean up beautifully once we wash all that off. Get her in some silk, teach her how to move…"
She tilts her head, blonde hair falling over one shoulder. "What will you call her? She feels like a… Lily? Or maybe Rose? Something soft and pretty, not like whatever harsh name she had before."
25
Yumi
July 24, 2025 1:40 PM
Chelsea smiled. "Rose… yeah, that'll do. Your new name is Rose. You are mine. You will always be mine. Now lets finish getting you transformed."
Chelsea nodded softly. "Bree, you want to handle this one? You've seen me take care of Lilac and Blossom."
26
35.7s
Bree
July 24, 2025 1:40 PM
Bree's eyes light up with pure joy at being given such an important task. She clasps her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Oh, Chelsea! Really? You trust me with Rose?" She bounces on her toes like an eager child given a new toy. "I promise I'll take such good care of her! Just like you taught me!"
She turns to the girl - Rose now, such a pretty name for a pretty new sister - and gently takes her trembling hands. The poor thing looks so lost, caught between who she was and who she's becoming. Bree remembers that feeling, though the memory is soft around the edges like everything from before.
"Come on, sweetie," Bree coos, tugging Rose toward the door. "Let's get you out of those awful clothes. You don't need them anymore. You don't need anything from…" She pauses, trying to remember what came before, but there's only fog. "From before."
She guides Rose down the hallway, past the cages where their sisters press against the bars to catch a glimpse of the newest addition. Some whisper excitedly, others just stare with those empty, blissful eyes.
"Look, Rose! Your new family!" Bree gestures at the cages with genuine enthusiasm. "They're all so happy you're here. We've been waiting for you, even if we didn't know it."
The changing room is all soft pinks and golds, with mirrors everywhere so Chelsea's butterflies can see how perfect they're becoming. Bree starts immediately undressing Rose, gentle but efficient, like she's done this before.
"These boots," she tuts, unzipping them and tossing them aside. "So uncomfortable! And this top - polyester? Oh honey, no wonder you were so unhappy. Your skin couldn't breathe!"
She peels away each piece of Rose's old life, dropping them in a pile that will be burned later. No reminders. No anchors to drag them back to the heavy, complicated world outside.
"Arms up," Bree instructs softly, pulling the cheap top over Rose's head. Her hands are gentle as she unclasps the bra - also wrong, also from before. "There we go. Doesn't that feel better? Nothing pinching or squeezing where it shouldn't."
She retrieves a silk robe from a golden hook, the fabric so fine it's almost weightless. "This is just temporary. Chelsea will pick your real clothes later, once she decides exactly what kind of butterfly you'll be. But silk feels so much nicer than… whatever that was."
Bree wraps the robe around Rose's shoulders, then guides her to sit at a vanity covered in expensive cosmetics and perfumes.
"Now for this makeup," she says, already reaching for the cleansing wipes. "So heavy! Like a mask. We don't need masks here, Rose. We don't need to hide."
She starts wiping away the foundation, the contouring, the careful illusion Rose built every morning. Underneath, her skin is younger than all that makeup made her look. Softer.
"You're so pretty," Bree murmurs as she works. "Chelsea always picks the pretty ones. The special ones. The ones who need her most."
She hums tunelessly as she cleanses Rose's face, occasionally glancing at their reflection in the mirror. Two blonde butterflies, one fully transformed and one still emerging from her chrysalis.
"Your name before," Bree says suddenly, pausing with a makeup wipe in hand. "Do you remember it? Sometimes they hold on for a few hours. Like an echo." She smiles dreamily. "I think mine started with a B too. Or was it an E? It doesn't matter now. Now I'm just Bree. Chelsea's Bree. Perfect and simple and loved."
She goes back to removing the last traces of mascara, her movements hypnotic and soothing.
"Soon you won't remember either. It's better that way. No more heavy thoughts about bills or boys or being good enough. Just Chelsea. Just us. Just floating in all this beautiful nothing."
27
36.1s
Lizzy
July 24, 2025 1:42 PM
Rose - because that's her name now, isn't it? - sits frozen as Bree's hands move over her face, erasing the careful mask she built every morning. Each swipe of the makeup wipe takes more than just foundation. It takes the girl who applied it, the reasons she needed it, the face she was trying to hide.
"I… I think it was…" She furrows her brow, chasing the ghost of syllables that won't come together. "L… Li… No. Ella? El…" Her voice trails off, frustrated tears gathering in her eyes. "Why can't I remember my own fucking name?"
But even the curse word feels wrong in her mouth now. Too harsh. Too much like the person she was before Chelsea kissed her old self goodbye.
In the mirror, she watches her face emerge from under the heavy makeup. Younger. Softer. Not the Instagram-ready mask she spent forty minutes perfecting every morning (what's Instagram?), but something raw and real and terrifyingly vulnerable.
"Bills," she repeats Bree's words, tasting them like foreign food. "I had… bills? Was I poor? I feel like I was poor."
The robe slides off one shoulder and she doesn't fix it. The silk feels like water against her skin, nothing like the scratchy polyester she was wearing (why was she wearing that?). Her hands find the butterfly tattoo on her wrist, tracing its outline.
"This meant something," she says, staring at the small black ink. "I got it because… because…" But the reason dissolves like everything else, leaving just the image. A butterfly. Like her. Like all of them.
She looks at Bree in the mirror, really seeing her for the first time. Perfect blonde waves. Silk that probably costs more than… than what? She can't remember what things cost. Can't remember why it mattered.
"You're beautiful," Rose whispers, then looks surprised at her own words. "I mean… I used to hate girls like you. Pretty girls. Perfect girls. I think I was mean to them."
Shame floods through her, hot and uncomfortable. She remembers the feeling but not the actions. Just the weight of being cruel because she was hurting.
"Chelsea," she says the name like a prayer, "she saw through it, didn't she? Saw what I really was. Not a mean girl or a… a…" She struggles for words that won't come. "Just someone who wanted to be loved."
Bree's hands move to her hair, starting to brush out the tangles, and Rose leans into the touch like a cat. When was the last time someone touched her with such gentle purpose? Not groping in a club or rough in a bathroom stall, but soft like this?
"The cages," she says suddenly. "Will I… will I have one? A place that's mine?" The idea should terrify her, but instead she feels a flutter of something like hope. "Somewhere I don't have to pretend or fight or…"
She trails off, catching sight of movement in the doorway. One of the other butterflies - asian features, dark hair like silk, wearing nothing but a sheer slip - watches them with curious eyes.
"New sister?" the woman asks Bree, her voice melodic and empty.
Rose stares at her, at all of them, these women who gave up everything to be nothing but Chelsea's. And for the first time in her life - what she remembers of it - she doesn't feel the need to tear them down. Doesn't need to point out flaws that don't exist. They're all perfect because Chelsea made them that way. And soon…
"Rose," she says, testing the name on her tongue. It tastes sweet. Simple. Nothing like the sharp consonants of whatever she was called before. "My name is Rose and I'm… I'm going to be perfect too."