I'd been accepted for a summer job at an estate. One that was on an island only reachable by boat. It wasn't until I was on the island, with no way to leave that I found out I'd been hired to be a maid. I was taken to my room and found a closet full of maid's uniforms. When I objected, I was shown the contract that I had signed. The one I hadn't bothered reading the fine print of. Stuck, I undressed and reached for one of the maid outfits. As I put it on, I suddenly felt a strange sense of dizziness pass over me. When I looked up again, the mirror showed a woman in a maid's outfit. She had the body of a bimbo, long blonde hair cascading across her shoulders down to her waist, long red fingernails, and exotic makeup, punctuated by glossy red lipstick. Her long shapely legs were encased in black seamed stockings that ended with impossibly high heeled shoes. As the reality before my eyes began to sink into my consciousness, my mind felt suddenly empty. From behind me, a male voice spoke, "So Christina, do you still object to wearing the maid's outfit?" With a giggle, I replied, "Oh no Master, not at all."

Chapter 3: The Point of No Return

The veranda stone was warm through the thin soles of my Mary Janes. Sunlight poured over the white tables, the overflowing geraniums, the sparkling sea beyond. It was a postcard. A beautiful, terrible cage.

Mrs. Bloom had dressed me this morning. A different uniform. Whiter, stiffer, with a shorter skirt that swished against my thighs. The lace collar itched, a constant, low-grade reminder. The earrings hummed, a soft electronic whisper just at the edge of hearing, smoothing every jagged thought into something round and harmless.

“Posture, Christina,” Mrs. Bloom had chided, her fingers sharp between my shoulder blades. “He prefers a straight back.”

He.

Mr. Hawthorne sat at the wrought-iron table, reading a newspaper. He wore linen, looking like a colonial gentleman at leisure. He didn’t look up as I approached, the tray of coffee trembling in my hands. The china clattered softly.

“Set it down, girl. Gently.” His voice was calm, absorbed in the financial section.

I did. My movements were precise, practiced. Pour the coffee. The cream. One sugar cube, with the silver tongs. I’d never used silver tongs in my life. But my hands knew. The muscle memory wasn’t mine. It was a phantom in my limbs, placed there by the hum.

“Thank you, Christina,” he said, finally folding the paper. His eyes appraised me, from the glossy top of my head to the white ankle socks. “The new uniform suits you. It highlights your… compliance.”

A breeze came off the water, carrying the wild, free scent of the ocean. For a second, it cut through the fog. Chris. My name is Chris. The thought was a flare, bright and painful. My hand jerked, knocking the sugar tongs to the stone with a sharp clink.

He didn’t flinch. He just watched me, a faint smile playing on his lips.

I dropped to my knees, the rough stone biting. “I’m so sorry, sir,” I gushed, the high, automatic voice leaving my lips. I fumbled for the tongs. “So clumsy of me.”

“Leave it.”

The command was soft. I froze, kneeling on the ground before him. He reached out and took my chin, just as he had in the dressing room. His thumb stroked my cheek. “A little spark left,” he mused, almost to himself. “The system is integrating, but the underlying material is still… resistant. We’ll continue the treatments.”

Treatments. The word was ice in my stomach. The daily injections Mrs. Bloom administered. The clear liquid that made the world go soft and warm, that made his instructions sound like the most reasonable things in the world.

He released me. “Stand. Look at the horizon.”

I stood, obeying. The sea stretched, vast and blue, to the edge of the world. On that edge, a smudge of dark gray.

“The supply boat,” he said. “It comes next week. Brings the groceries. The mail. Takes away any trash.” He sipped his coffee. “It is the only physical connection to the mainland for the next eleven weeks. The only way off this island.”

"It's arrival marks the end of your contract Christina. You'll be free to return to the mainland and to your old life. To your chronic unemployment, ever mounting debts. Or... you can choose to stay here."