“Your mind is likely still having a bit of difficulty differentiating reality from fiction, my dear. Please don’t hesitate to ask me anything at all, even if it seems obvious or silly.” Dr Fields—Violet—sat upon a massive, but cozy looking chair, with one leg folded over the other and a serene smile on her face. 

Of course, Edgar had far more questions than he probably even hoped to think of, so any question at all was hardly a helpful jumping off point. Grasping at more straws than he could possibly hope to fit in both hands, his mind settled for breadth. “What just… what happened?” 

“For the past oooh—” Violet’s gaze flicked upward for a moment, toward something above and behind Edgar, “four hours or so, your consciousness has been subjected to a fully immersive virtual reality simulation. I suppose your mind may be too busy disentangling itself to remember exactly when you started, but feel free to use our first therapy session together, and the ‘dreams’ you spoke of there, as where it all began.” 

“That sounds familiar,” Edgar mused. He rubbed his temple, then stirred, and sat up. Conveniently, his seat adjusted with him. “But why? I just don’t understand what that was supposed to be for.”

A twinkle of amusement glimmered in Violet’s eye. “Well, little terran, you are sitting in a psychologist’s office, speaking to a xenoveteranary psychologist. Perhaps it might be helpful for you to try and disentangle some of the answers for yourself.”

An encouraging raise of a leafy eyebrow prompted Edgar. He paused in thought for a moment, and decided the most obvious answer was likely the best one. “I have some mental health issue you’re trying to help me with?”

Her peaceful smile widened into one of affirmation and pride; Edgar tried to pretend he wasn’t thrilled to see that display of uncurtailed approval, he failed. “That’s exactly correct. I have been trying my best to help you heal from some… difficult emotions and experiences in your life, but you have been a very stubborn case, my dear patient.” Laughter bubbled under the surface of her voice, but it was warm, affectionate, not mockery. “Do you remember what you told me?”

He did. “I need closure. I need to face what happened, what I’ve done.”

“I will admit these methods are a tad unorthodox, I am not in the habit of subjecting sophonts to scary or hurtful experiences. But since you were hesitant to try a more… involved xenodrug regimen, and, of course, since you are—at least currently—independent, we came to an agreement. Sometimes reliving traumatic and hurtful memories can help, even when that in and of itself is a rather unpleasant experience. That is, unfortunately, a reality of human psychology. And, since I would be here to keep the metaphorical guard rails up so to speak, I deemed it acceptable for us to probe your past, your hurt in this manner.”

“But it wasn’t all real. It couldn’t have been.” He knew that much, at least; the tangle of Edgar’s thoughts was beginning to clear, though he still had a long way to go.

Thinking back to all Edgar had just felt and seen, Edgar couldn’t shake the feeling of peering down at the scattered pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. At first glance, it seemed an impossible task, but when he really looked, he found corner pieces, and clear landmarks corresponding to the bigger picture he was assembling. “The stuff from the war was wrong, at least, most of it was. That part is easy, Terra lost.”

Giggling, Violet ruffled his hair. “Well at least that part was obvious enough.” 

“I was in the navy though.” His voice grew sober. “A scared kid who didn’t want to hurt anyone. And they wanted us to—” the words caught in his throat.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, remember?” Violet reminded him.

“They wanted us to hurt people, civilians. I didn’t want to do it. Then the affini came and stopped us, and I surrendered and came to live here, but what if you hadn’t? I could have—what if I did? What if I’d hurt them instead? All that propaganda, that indoctrination, if you hadn’t saved me when you did, I could have become—” Edgar didn’t want to say it.

“You didn’t, though,” Violet insisted, “You’re not like them. You hid in your bunk back then, and you did it again just now. When the simulation literally forced you into a position where you were that glorious hero, reigning over the affini in victory, when it spoon fed you frightful imagery of us indoctrinating imaginary comrades one by one to make you fear and hate us, what did your mind do? It despaired. It reminded you of the horror you almost participated in, of your loved ones, and, in your ‘finest hour,’ it manufactured… well, let’s call it surrender from the jaws of triumph.” A look in her eyes and lilt in her voice suggested Violet had more to say on that matter. Edgar suspected he knew what it was about to. He tried not to think about all that, about how it made him feel, about that name, that body. There were more pressing concerns at hand. 

“The stuff with Donovan was real too, though—or at least some of it was. I could have stopped them at any time. I didn’t turn them in at all when it happened in real life, and the only difference here is I waited until the very last minute to do so here. That’s not much better.” As the words tumbled from his mouth, Edgar couldn’t help but berate himself. He’d nearly let them get away with murder. Even if the affini stopped Donovan in the end, it was no thanks to him. He should have said something, maybe Oliver wouldn’t have fallen so far if he had. 

“My dear, when this happened in real life, we found you unconscious in your hab unit after Donovan knocked you over. You never had the chance to tell us—” 

“Except every other moment of every other day,” Edgar shouted. His face grew hot, guilt tore at him. How could this affini just sit there and act like he was innocent?

“They guilted you. They pressured you. They lied to you, manipulated you, told you we would hurt you if we found out you were involved despite the fact that you were being coerced. Even then, in the end, when you had the chance, you were still brave enough to call us. You chose the wellbeing of others believing it could mean bad things for you. You did the right thing. It doesn’t matter how long it took.” The affini rose, towering over Edgar, fixing him with an intense, but warm and protective gaze. “When lives were on the line, you stopped them. You would have done the same in real life if you had the chance, dear. That’s the point. You’re not a monster, Edgar. You’re a kind, considerate person, and I will not permit you to continue thinking so poorly of yourself.” 

Suddenly it became difficult to meet Violet’s gaze. Try as he might, Edgar couldn’t find the will to raise his voice in disagreement. He grew quiet, contemplative, some might even say pouty. After a long silence, Edgar managed a quiet murmur. “Then why do I still feel this way? Am I just broken?” 

When Violet spoke again, the intensity had vanished from her voice, replaced with familiar warmth, patience, affection. Edgar had heard affini take on tones like this in the past, but typically not with an independent like him. He tried not to consider the implications of that. “My dear, would you fault a pneumatic drill for making a poor plasma cutter? Or a hammer for failing to assemble a table without anyone there to use it?” 

A world-weary sigh escaped Edgar’s lips. “Just get to the part where you explain your metaphor.”

Another giggle, and one of Violet’s vines affectionately patted his leg. “The roundabout way is much more fun. Tell me, did you not think it strange how just before you woke up here, you were thanked for ‘playing’ something called Hero of Terra?”

“That did happen, didn’t it? Kinda forgot what with everything else,” Edgar mused. “I’m guessing now you’d like me to ask you what that was about?”

She beamed. “Such a quick study. Hero of Terra is a delightful little program. It was designed by former feralist floret and her owner. Initially it was meant to simulate a few select fantasies the floret had of, shall I say, more coercive—and at times rather high concept—domestication. With time, it expanded into a sort of sprawling choose your own adventure game governed by an adaptive AI that reacted to just about any possible response from the player in the hopes of guiding them through an ever growing expansive list of fantasies about some hot plant snapping one’s will in two. Really it’s quite fun, there’s even a multiplayer option where real affini can fill in for the AI game master. I believe it was even used to break a few actual feralists at some point—” 

“You’re starting to ramble, Violet.” Edgar couldn’t help but smile, this side of his therapist was actually quite familiar, now that he thought of it. It was nice. But wait, why was she talking about domestication?

“Right, well, point is, I wound up borrowing bits and pieces of it, using some of it as a foundation, just guidelines to take some of the load off your mind while we guided you through this process. Particularly, well, you know the part. The narrative of winning the war and getting a medal and the president turning into an affini as the player’s body warped before their very eyes? All of that was ripped straight from the game.” Things were starting to crystalize in Edgar’s mind, and he wasn’t sure he liked where it was heading. Violet only seemed to grow more confident, practically gloating at the nervous look on his face. “And I want to be clear here, I did not intend for that to happen. The simulation was just meant to borrow assets and concepts from the game, then turn your mind loose to create its own stories, but for some reason, your mind walked right down into one of the scenes from the game, beat for beat.” She grinned, and leaned in closer. “So I have to wonder, my dear, why, oh why, did your mind subconsciously select its way into a scene involving an affini domesticating you and making you into a pretty girl? I’m especially interested in some of the ways your mind chose to fill in the blanks. I’m sure Neya Matilija and her dear floret would also be quite interested in this development, as well.” 

Sitting frozen under the affini’s intense gaze, Edgar found his mouth too dry to manage much more than a weak croak. “I’m not…”

Relentless, Violet pressed on before he could muster any more. “Not what? Not torturing yourself by denying your desires, the things that would make you happy, the things you likely need to address before you can really truly heal from any of your trauma?”

She didn’t understand, the affini never did. “Don’t deserve—”

A vine pressed against his lips, silencing him. “My dear little terran. It has been eight whole years since the fall of terra, nine since you were permitted independence under our care. How have you not realized after all this time that you do not get to decide what you deserve?” A shiver traveled through his spine as he trembled under the fixture of her gaze. Violet flashed a hungry grin, then composed herself. She sat back, crossed her legs once more, and found that serene therapist expression again. “In truth, my dear, it would be quite easy to simply choose for you, given the rather unique circumstances.”

Edgar cocked his head. “Circumstances?”

A realization bloomed on Violet’s face, as though she only just now remembered that she had forgotten to set her alarm, or recalled something to add to her grocery list. “I suppose I forgot to mention, didn’t I?” She snapped her fingers, and around him, the walls of Edgar’s VR pod evaporated. Next thing he knew he was seated on a comfortable couch. “I never actually let you out.” A playful giggle sounded from all around him. “I find the more brute force methods of compulsory domestication, and—to be honest—compulsory domestication itself to be a tool which is broadly unnecessary this many years after a species has been brought into the fold. Of course, there are exceptions, like our Donovan, who I’m told is going to make an affini on one of the ships passing by next week very happy.”

Despite himself, Edgar couldn’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction from hearing that. Violet caught the grin on his lips, and returned his conspiratorial smile, before continuing. “You have been nothing but a cooperative and open sophont with me, with everyone. It would be wrong to abuse that good will and trust, even if it is for your own good, in the end. But know this, my dear, if I wanted to, it would be quite easy for me to simply dunk you back into a new scenario, to wrap your mind in a beautifully constructed cage of delights. I could take you so far and so deep that you would forget all about those traumas, make you submit so completely in so many different ways. I could hold you under the waves of your deepest fantasies. And when it came time for you to emerge, you would do so as a sweet, soft, silly, adoring pet, who couldn't so much as conceive of all the hardship that the self she gleefully abandoned once had to endure.”

A shudder ripped across Edgar’s otherwise motionless body. He—it was he, right? It had to be—tried with everything in him to get the image out of his head; he couldn’t. Again and again, that moment played in his mind, Miss Matilija fastening the collar around his neck, her ceasing to be Miss Matilija, and simply becoming Mistress. Edgar ceasing to be Edgar, scared and traumatized free terran, and becoming Celia, the needy, precious pet. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, and, judging from the look on Violet’s face, he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it, either.

“Perhaps it would even be the right thing to do,” Violet mused. “But in the end, you aren’t really mine to claim. I wouldn’t want to rob from Neya the pleasure of breaking in a new pet.” She took a moment to simply enjoy the effect of her words on her poor patient, then continued. “Here’s how this is going to work, my dear. I can let you out. From there, you and I can go through the long, arduous process of working out everything that’s keeping you from embracing who you are, and what you're meant to be. It will be work, as true therapy always is, but in the end, I am sure that we will find a future for you that makes you happy, even if that future does not involve you wearing a collar.” For some reason that last bit was kind of disappointing? Why was it disappointing? He’d spent so long, done so well at keeping all these feelings at bay, why now? Why here?

“Or,” Violet continued. She gestured to the far wall with one of her vines. “You can go through that door.”

Edgar gulped, “what’s on the other side?”

A mischievous smile crossed Violet’s face. “You know what’s on the other side, dear. Though I’d ask that you decide quickly. And, in case you’re wondering: yes, it’s really her, not a simulation. It’s both of them, if I’m not mistaken.”

Before Edgar could answer, the couch he was lying on disintegrated, and he was standing upright. His eyes lingered on the door. He couldn’t look anywhere else, but his legs wouldn’t move. Frightened, he tried to form the words, the ones which would bring him back to reality. Therapy might be hard, but it couldn’t be harder than this, right? His eyes still hadn’t moved, nor had his feet. Edgar blinked, and when his eyes opened, he was in front of the door. Before he could fully process any of it, his body acted; Edgar’s hand found the handle, twisted, and pushed the door open. He took a single step, and the world behind him disappeared. 

Celia found herself in a cozy, dimly lit room; a bedroom. Seated on the bed were two familiar faces. Her eyes met Kelly’s, and the two pets shared a smile. Of their own accord, her fingers traveled up to brush against her collar, soft and tight; it matched Kelly’s perfectly. Next to her connivent, the most important person in the universe stirred. Celia locked eyes with her owner, and all the tension in her body evaporated. “Hello, sweetness,” Neya purred.

Overcome with relief, Celia could only manage a whimper: a single word. But that was fine, it was suffused with every last drop of the overwhelming sea of emotions she found herself caught in. “Mistress.”