Rebekah tapped her foot impatiently, chiding herself mentally as she did. You’re the one who decided you had to be here thirty minutes early so you wouldn’t risk being late, she reminded herself tersely. You do not have a right to be impatient.

Unfortunately, her brain was not so easily convinced. If logical argument worked on her anxiety, Bekah’s life would have been so much easier. Despite the fact that it was completely irrational, she was irritated at having to wait. Stupid.

She shifted in the hardwood stool, moving her weight from one buttcheek to the other. It didn’t help. Her eyes were glued to the door of the coffee shop, waiting for her S– waiting for Melody to walk through.

Bekah ran the plan over in her head. Chet had said it was a stupid plan, but she reminded him that she’d supported him through three idiotic ex-boyfriends and his nonbinary phase so even if it was stupid he’d better shut up and have her back, but no it wasn’t stupid thank you very much. 

It was simple. All she had to do was reassure the poor girl who was probably terrified out of her mind of being abused and brainwashed that she wouldn’t be doing anything of the kind, and that she could be trusted to leave her alone. Right. Easy.

Chet had raised all these stupid objections like “she’ll live forever in fear of knowing you could kidnap her at any point” and “maybe this is a good thing, you are soulmates after all you can just ignore the parts both of you don’t like” and “you’re doing that thing again where you plot out how people will react to things without remembering that other people’s brains don’t work the same way yours does.” Dumb shit like that. As if being branded by the universe as a fucking hypnotist wasn’t bad enough. 

The particularities of her mark had been the focus of her latest session of manic research, keeping her up well into the night. She hadn’t even realized hypnosis was a real thing and not just some made up scam perpetuated by stage entertainers and those cartoons she’d watched as a kid. It didn’t exactly blow her mind though. Bekah knew all too well how easily led people were, under the right conditions. It was one of her favorite rant topics, when the mood struck and her friends were drunk enough to let her go off.

Despite knowing that she really was never going to do any hypnosis, she had scrolled with a sort of disgusted fascination for hours, learning about all the depraved things people do when given access to a vulnerable mind. She shuddered just remembering it. Humanity was twisted, and the normalization of ownership marks only made it worse.

I don’t have to do any of that, she reminded herself. Even if for whatever reason her– Melody was inclined to invoke any of the Soulmark laws on her, the restrictions placed on “owners” were much less strenuous than for those on the other side of the mark. She could be forced into sharing living space, and providing for her Subject, but that was about as far as it went. Not that Melody would do that. Nobody sane would, which is why even in this batshit world she lived in, Soulmark laws were rarely invoked at all, and even less frequently on the ownership marked.

Stop catastrophizing, idiot, then immediately admonished herself. No negative self-talk. Damnit. Bekah was making progress in therapy, but she certainly had a long way to go.

She knew the conversation would be fine. Melody would walk in, probably awkward and uncomfortable at first. She’d be scared, vulnerable. Bekah would coax her into a chair, offer her a coffee or a tea, establish as soon as possible that she wasn’t sticking to this stupid ownership situation they’d ended up in.

They’d need to talk through logistics of course. Get the legalities taken care of as minimally as possible, ensure that Melody’s rights were preserved as much as they could be. She’d have to be able to reach Bekah for co-signing things whenever a major life event came up, that couldn’t be avoided. They’d have to set up a line of communication, some way that Bekah could be reached to help out whenever Melody was hampered by her new “not a full person” status.

Maybe they could even be friends. That would be nice. Bekah didn’t have so many friends that she could afford to turn away a new opportunity like this. Maybe it could be a good thing. And Melody would be so grateful, to have someone she could trust like Bekah. Maybe they could even be more than friends. And then–

She cut off that line of thought with a stomp on the floor, interrupting her incessant tapping and drawing a glance from the man at the booth across the way. She glared back at him, and he returned to sipping his coffee and staring at his phone.

Whatever. It wasn’t worth thinking about. She was getting ahead of herself again, like she always did. 

Her impending spiral of self-recrimination and then scolding for said recrimination was interrupted when a woman walked into the room. It was her.

They’d exchanged quick pictures over text, just to know who to meet, but the photo really hadn’t done Melody justice. Short and deliciously curved, she had the kind of figure that Chet would call rubenesque until Bekah slapped him. Her hair was long and silky black, with deep blue highlights brought out by the sky blue sundress she wore, patterned with flowers of gold. And her face… there were no features that Bekah could call out as being particularly beautiful, or striking. It wasn’t even that the whole was greater than the sum of its parts. If she’d seen Melody on a dating app, she probably wouldn’t have even bothered to swipe right. Her face was friendly and open, but… plain was the best word for it. She was plain. 

And yet. There was something about her face, about her very presence that drew in the gaze. It wasn’t just Bekah, either. She could see coffee dipshit out the corner of her eye, giving Melody a very appreciative onceover. Bekah wanted to hit him for that, but she couldn’t really blame him. The plump woman was magnetic, attractive in a way that went beyond the visual. Was it how she carried herself? Was it the genuine and joyous smile she gave, showing off her slightly crooked front teeth? Bekah couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. 

She watched, mouth slightly agape, as Melody spotted her from the door and made her way swiftly over. She made a motion to stand, to offer a friendly greeting, but before her butt left the seat Melody was there.

She curtsied, deep and low, her eyes swept demurely to the floor.

“Your Highness, I am at your service.”

***

Mel held her curtsey for what felt like an eternity. Dangit, she thought. I knew I should have stayed silent and waited for her to address me. She’d gotten so flustered by her new owner’s intense gaze, eyes seeming to bore into her soul, that she’d forgotten her whole plan and just gone on autopilot. 

The coffee shop Her Highness had selected for their meeting was nice. It was no Frog’s Bottom, it didn’t radiate coziness the way her former workplace did, but it was pleasant. A little more of a business-like atmosphere, more people on laptops than chatting about their days, but they sourced beans from the same place Andy did so it couldn’t be all that bad.

Inside, despite her stress she couldn’t keep the fuzzy feelings from filling her body and brain with cotton candy. She had her owner. And her owner was gorgeous. She couldn’t be more than five feet, but the lithe tone of well exercised muscles flexing under smooth and lightly freckled skin made Mel weak at the knees. Her face was more handsome than beautiful, the sharp angles of nose and cheekbones giving the impression of a bird of prey gazing down at a mouse. Curly hair haloed around that face, the same deep chocolate color of her eyes. 

“I– please don’t do that.” 

Melody winced. She’d already messed up. It’s okay, she told herself. I don’t have to be perfect. She will help me be perfect for her, and that’s all that matters. If she’d displeased Her Highness, she would be punished and she would be better. She straightened up, and raised her eyes to meet her owner’s. “I’m sorry, miss. Please instruct me on how to best serve you.”

To her surprise, the woman didn’t look imperiously displeased, sadistically ready to apply punishment, kind and caring and ready to correct, or any dominant emotion Melody could recognize. Mostly she looked nauseous.

“No, no please. I mean any of that. Any of the Princess stuff. I’m not–”

Oh no. She’d assumed her owner’s mark. “How should I best address you, miss?” she asked, lowering her gaze in shame at her own presumption.

A gentle hand grasped Mel’s chin and lifted her back up. “I– just Bekah. I’m just Bekah.” She’d closed the distance between them, her face barely inches away from Mel’s own. It felt like warm electricity flowed from the contact point where those solid fingers gripped her. She’d have melted if it wasn’t clear that her owner, that Bekah, wanted her to remain standing.

“Hello Bekah,” she whispered. “I’m Mel.”

“Let’s just have a seat, okay? There’s some things we should talk about.”

Grateful for the clear instruction and Bekah’s guiding hand, she slid gracefully into the booth and looked at her owner with eager anticipation. She pulled the skirt of her dress across the cracked vinyl of the booth, and tucked it properly beneath her legs. And she waited.

After a moment, Bekah started. “Right. Um. Well, okay first thing. I’m not a Princess. I got a Hypnotist mark, to match your Subject mark. See?” She gestured gracefully at her cheek where Mel could indeed just make out the words “Hypnotist of Melody Freeman” enclosed within sharp angles and geometric patterns of her Soulmark. 

A Hypnotist? Mel didn’t know at first how to feel. She’d spent the past few days fantasizing about her new life in service to royalty, about how best to serve and submit to a master who was simply better than her. But a Hypnotist… someone to reach into her thoughts and quiet that uncertainty that plagued her, to replace it with new thoughts, better thoughts because they came from her owner. Someone to mold and shape and her mind into the perfect possession. Yes, Melody could certainly see the appeal. Perhaps this was better.

What am I thinking? Of course it’s better. God wouldn’t have given me a Hypnotist if it wasn’t the best thing for me.

“Wow! That’s amazing,” she said, wide-eyed with newfound anticipation. “I’ve never been hypnotized before, but I’m excited to learn with you, miss. Bekah. Sorry, I had all these expectations going in and I know it’s silly of me since of course you’ll have your own way you want everything and I promise I’m gonna do such a good job once you tell me what you want and of course I’ll accept whatever punishments you give and…” she trailed off. That nauseous look was back on Bekah’s face. Her skin seemed to pale beneath the freckles.

“That’s. Umm. Okay.” She took in a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds and then let it out. “I can see why Hana wanted to warn me.”

“Warn you?” Why would Hana need to warn her owner? She’d certainly been surprised the other day when Mel had given her Bekah’s name and they’d realized the shared connection, but she’d recovered pretty quickly. Didn’t Hana like Mel? 

“That you. Uhh. Had expectations. I mean, listen.” 

Mel waited patiently, hands palm up on her thighs, posture straight and attentive. There wasn’t quite enough room under the table for the pose she was trying to assume, but she did her best. She was ready to learn.

“Have you heard of SASS? Students Against Soulmark Slavery, I mean.”

She blinked. “Yes?” She didn’t see what that had to do with anything, but her owner had asked her a question, and she would answer. 

“I’m one of the co-chairs of the Easton chapter.”

“Oh.” Oh. “They were on the news the other day, when…”

Bekah nodded grimly. “I got my mark during the protest.”

“So you don’t… want to… you know?”

“Own you? No.” The other woman’s expression settled into something almost approaching a comforting sympathy. “I would never do that to you.”

Mel burst into tears. She didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t know how to feel.

A weight slid up next to her, and a lean arm around her waist pulled her into a side hug.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. I got you.” 

This only made her cry harder, the smidgen of comfort after the absolute soul-wrenching she’d just experienced rubbing salt in the wounds.

“I’d never hurt you like that. I’m not that kind of person. I don’t abuse people, I won’t take away your choices. You can keep on living life, just the way you were.”

“Y–you don’t want me,” Mel choked out between sobs, gunk beginning to pour out her nostrils. 

“What?”

She was spiraling. She knew she was, but she couldn’t stop it. Mel’d had nightmares that went like this, but those weren’t real. She might have woken up sweating and despairing, but at least she’d woken up.

“You don’t want to own me. You don’t want me. My soulmate doesn’t want me.” The words tore her throat as they ripped their way out. Mel knew she was ruining her dress with tears and mucus, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

“Wait. You want to be owned?” The sheer disbelief in Bekah’s voice was enough to interrupt Mel’s spiral, if only for a moment.

“O-of course I do. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve known since I was a kid that I should belong to someone, that I needed to serve and obey and submit. And I knew that one day God would give me to someone who would take care of me, someone who I could love and belong to.” She looked up at Bekah through a veil of tears. She couldn’t read the expression on those sharp features. She couldn’t think clearly enough beyond the constant pounding refrain of not good enough, not good enough, not good enough. It felt like her pulse was beating a steady rhythm in her ears in time with the words. “And my owner doesn’t want me.”

***

Bekah truly did not understand how she’d fucked things up this badly. It hadn’t gotten off to a great start, what with the whole Princess thing. She really should have let Hana warn her, but that boundary of privacy wasn’t something she wanted to breach. Not that she’d be tempted to go further down that pathway. The idea of having access to Mel’s innermost thoughts and desires had no appeal to her. But best not to open the door, regardless.

She’d pulled things back on track from there. They’d cleared up that little confusion, she’d moved into the main reassurance that she wasn’t a monster and then it had all gone truly off the rails.

The girl was brainwashed. That was the only explanation for it. She’d been exposed to this fucked up society that told people that being a slave was okay so much that she’d internalized it. Bekah had to handle this carefully.

“Hey no no shhhh you’re great, please don’t cry,” she cooed softly, pulling the woman’s head into her chest. “It’s not that I don’t want you. You seem great. It’s just that I don’t wanna hurt you, or take your life away, or anything like that. That’s all.”

“But what if I want you to?” came Melody’s voice, muffled by tears and fabric.

“You don’t want that. You might think you do, but you’d hate it if it really happened to you. It’s just a fantasy, sweetling.” Bekah didn’t know where the endearment had come from but it felt right, and Melody melted just a little more into her embrace in response, so she let it stand.

“It doesn’t feel like a fantasy,” came the mumbled response. “It feels real.”

“I know it does. I know. But trust me. This will be better for you, I promise.” She lifted the taller woman’s chin up with one fingertip, bringing their faces close enough to kiss once more. Melody’s pale brown eyes were shining with tears. She looked so fucking beautiful like that Bekah had to restrain herself from actually leaning in for the kiss. Not the time, Mourning. “Do you think you can trust me?”

A pause. “Y-yeah. Okay.”

Relief flooded Bekah’s body. She really hadn’t know what she was going to do if the other girl said no. “Good. Good. I’m so glad.” She awkwardly pulled back from the dangerous draw of Melody’s lips, and the other woman buried her face back in Bekah’s shoulder.

“So what do we do now?”

That, Bekah thought, is an excellent question. Her original plan of figuring out the paperwork and letting her go on with her life as normal was clearly out. She was too innocent, too conditioned by society. Some bastard out there would eat her up. Frankly she was surprised someone hadn’t already.

“Well, how about this. You go back home and rest up, calm down a bit. We can… we can date!” Inspiration struck like a bolt of lightning. “That’s it, we can date like a normal couple. I can help you get over your…” hands waving, “thing, and we can build a normal relationship. We can show the world that it can be done.” And Bekah would get to keep spending time with Melody, and eventually kiss that crooked smile of hers. Once she was de-conditioned enough that it wouldn’t be taking advantage, of course.

“O-okay. I can do that. But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t have a home.”

“You what?” Bekah asked, intensity dripping from her voice. She felt Mel tense up against her, and intentionally softened her tone. “Sorry. I mean, you don’t? Where do you sleep?”

“I’m not homeless or anything. I did have an apartment. I just… when I got the Soulmark and you arranged the meeting, I thought I would be going to live with you. So I broke the lease and moved out.” She gestured awkwardly with hand to the surprisingly large and bulky leather bag she’d set gracefully beside her before her initial curtsey. “I brought all my important things here.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” The words left her mouth before Bekah could stop herself. It was insane. Who would throw away their whole life on the whim of a stranger? The answer came to her in perfect synchrony with Mel’s whispered response.

“It’s what slaves are supposed to do.”

Fuck.

“Okay. It’s okay. You can stay with me for a while and we can figure out next steps from there, okay?” Bekah hadn’t meant to make that offer, but seeing Mel raise her head with a watery smile and hope in her eyes for the first time since she’d broken the news that she wouldn’t be owning her made it impossible to take back.

“Really?” Melody asked, and Bekah’s heart broke.

“Really.” She pulled her universe ordained soulmate into a tight embrace, squeezing tight to leave no room for doubts in either of them. “We can do this.”

It’s okay, she thought. I can fix her.