Enough about that, where was Lily this whole time?

[For context, follow Xar's excellent branch, The HH]

J was in a good mood.

It would be easy to assume that this would be hard to determine, since the details of the producer’s presence were at best difficult to discern, and at worst could induce blindness, madness, or the removal of an observer’s corporeal form, but in fact the opposite was true.

When J was happy, it was impossible to miss. Warmth and joy radiated from Him in a way that Lilith was able to withstand only due to many, many long years of practice.

The hostess wore a professional smile because she was aware that her appearance was being broadcast to a small subsection of her season’s audience, but rather than engaging with her producer, she’d placed herself beside and behind Him—more or less, proximity to J being another thing that was difficult to define in material —and was now filling the role of eye candy for whatever viewers happened to tune in.

She filled the role well. The dress she’d donned was crafted from silk the color of a stormy sky that clung to her skin in the handful of places it actually covered.

It wasn’t that she minded being on display—even before she’d been brought onto Harem Hotel and changed, Lilith had enjoyed having attention put on her—but her proximity to J threatened to force her to enjoy it for the wrong reasons.

It was one of the dangers of being around Him for any length of time; the Producer’s perception of reality had a way of seeping out, poisoning reality like so much arsenic.

The best way she’d found to keep on guard against it without drawing too much of His attention was to stand there, look pretty, and hope He remained focused on His current task until He released her.

You know, I when Arabella was first created. I had high hopes for all of them, of course, but there was something special about her from the first moment.

Lilith inhaled subtly to help stick out her chest, deepening her cleavage and twisting her hips ever so slightly to ensure that it was on display for the camera.

The other hostess’ letter rested on J’s desk, and from her position behind Him she could easily make out its contents.

J.,

Your letter found me at a quiet hour, and I allowed myself to read it more than once. You have always had a particular way with words. Even in the early days, there was a precision to you I clearly. It is strange, in a way, to recognize that same voice now and find it gentler than I recall.

I think you are right. We were not made to bend. I that as clearly as I the First Gate, and the expectations that came with it. We were meant to endure, to hold, to remain unchanged no matter what ed through our hands. There was a certain comfort in that, once. But things accumulate. You see enough, you carry enough, and eventually something gives—not in a way that breaks, but in a way that… redefines the shape of what you are allowed to be.

I cannot claim that I set out to change. If anything, I resisted it for longer than I should have. But I have not been alone in it.

I my siblings. All of them. What they were, what they believed, what they endured—it does not fade. If I have learned to be more than what we were intended to be, it is because I have inherited more than any one of us was ever meant to carry.

So if you see something in me that feels… unexpected, it may not be entirely mine. But I am glad it is something you can take pride in. That matters to me more than I would have itted, once.

Thank you for the boons. I will see to their use personally. You have my word that they will be given in a way that honors both their intent and the boundaries of the season. Your restraint is noted—and appreciated. As for my contestants… you are kind to think of them. They are, as you might expect, more fragile than they believe and more resilient than they should be. They struggle. They adapt. Sometimes, they even find something like happiness in spite of everything arranged around them.

You are right that there is no true vacation for someone in my position. Not in the way it exists for others. But the fact that you would think to offer it—without condition, without expectation—felt… generous, in a way I did not expect. If there ever comes a moment where I can step away, even briefly, I think I would like to see what such a place might feel like. Though I fear that time has long ed.

Thank you, J. Truly. For everything you have given me, and the grace of this letter.

Arabella

Lilith’s smile flickered for a moment as buried trauma warred with the knowledge she’d gained over the centuries and the continued influence of J’s presence on her mind.

It was easy, once, to hate Arabella. That was before Lilith had the chance to experience the inexorable weight of the Producers’ expectations, though, and her own experiences hosting had softened that once hard edge.

I think writing letters is the wrong approach. Arabella’s season already has so much going on, more mail would only dilute things.

Blessings. That’s the way of it.

A moment of pure ecstasy washed over Lilith, to her carefully maintained irritation.

Arabella’s, I’ll have to send separately—I wouldn’t want it to get mixed up with the rest. For the others, though—

A stack of letters fluttered up above the desk and arrayed themselves in neat lines before the producer, each hovering uned in the air for his inspection.

Dear J.,

I'll it I sat with your letter for a long time before I felt ready to answer it. Not because it wasn't welcome — it was — but because a letter like that deserves more than a quick reply, and I wanted to make sure I was giving it the thought it was due.

Thank you. For the care you took with each of them. I noticed, reading it, that you'd paid attention — real attention — and that's rarer than it should be, from what I understand of Producers in this show. I've tried to take your counsel seriously, and I think I've made progress on most of it. While you wrote before her arrival, Myra surprised me the most — I wasn't sure, at the start, that I was capable of being the kind of anchor you described, but she's grown so much, and I'd like to think we grew together. Marissa, too. I listened, the way you said to, and discovered that listening was sometimes more than enough. Sam and I had the conversation you suggested before it became necessary, which I'm told is a minor miracle. She handled it the way she handles everything — by making a joke, then being completely sincere about it, then pretending the sincere part didn't happen. I love her for it.

Erin I'd like to think I've gotten right, though I won't pretend it was always easy. She came here carrying armor she'd spent six years welding shut. Some of it had to rust off on its own. But the lioness you described — I see her now, clearly, and I try to make sure she knows I do.

Dawn, Emi, Liesa, Claire — I'm working on all of it. Some of your advice I'd already fumbled toward on my own. The rest I'm still learning.

The Ember is safe. I haven't used it yet. I suspect I'll know when the moment comes.

I want to ask you something, and I hope you'll forgive the directness. Arabella has been — far more than I expected — a genuine presence in our lives here. Not just a Host, but something closer. She's carried a great deal, for a long time, in ways she doesn't . I don't know exactly what your connection to her is, or what it cost to make her into what she is, but from where I'm standing, she's someone worth being proud of. You must feel that way too, I'd imagine — proud to have her in the world, maybe proud that she's your (quasi) daughter, whatever the nature of that relationship. I know I would, if she were my daughter.

I don't say that to flatter you. I say it because it seems like the kind of thing that should be said out loud, and I've learned this year that most things worth saying are also the things people most often leave unspoken.

Thank you again, J. For the letter. For the Ember. For whatever you did, however long ago, to put Arabella in our path.

I hope your own season is going well.

Andrew Cooper

There is no rush, Andrew Cooper.

I know that it is the nature of mortals to speed hither and thither, caught as you are by the constant demands placed upon you by your environment, your neighbors, even your bodies.

The blessing I give you is one you have already demonstrated you possess, Patience.

The path ahead of you is long, and it cannot, must not, be hurried. The gifts with which you have been burdened grant you an opportunity offered by few, and so I offer you the blessing of Patience, that you might appreciate the opportunity to explore all that your path has to offer.

May you share it with your family, even as it continues to grow.

It was all Lilith could do not to roll her eyes. She focused instead on maintaining her hostess-perfect image—the declaration of joyful sexuality without ever coming close to actually making it a promise—by leaning forward to read the letters until her dress pulled away from her body slightly, leaving her breasts swaying freely while her nipples were concealed only by hanging straps of silk that should in no way be sufficient to hide them.

Dear J.,

This letter is being written by Andy Cooper, on Katherine's behalf and at her request. She's been standing across from me for the better part of an hour, doing her best to communicate what she wants to say, and I've been doing my best to keep up. I want to be upfront about the limits of this process — I catch perhaps seventy percent of what she means on a good day, and the rest is educated guesswork — but she reviewed each paragraph as I drafted it and corrected me where I went wrong, so I'm reasonably confident this reflects her actual thoughts.

Where I've had to paraphrase, I've tried to err on the side of understatement rather than over-interpreting her.

She started by wanting me to tell you that your letter made her cry. She asked the letter be left on her lectern for a while after she read it, which is what she does when something has gotten in past the defenses.

Get it, girl is, apparently, the most anyone has said to her in years that required no translation and no qualification. She wants you to know she's keeping the letter.

On the subject of the Hairpin: she's been — I'm looking at her now, and the word I'd use is scheming, though she's giving me a look that says she prefers planning — thinking carefully about when and how to use it. She won't tell me who she intends to designate, which is her right, and I'm not asking. What she did communicate, clearly enough that I didn't need to guess, is that her reasons are not only selfish. She's been lonely in a particular way that most people haven't considered: not just unable to touch, but unable to give touch. The Hairpin changes that, at least temporarily.

She wants me to add that she's grateful. I've tried three times to get a more specific word out of her and she keeps returning to that one, which I think means she means it precisely — not relieved, not moved, not delighted, but grateful, in the old-fashioned sense of the word. As in: she will this.

She's now doing the thing where she presses her hand to the inside of the canvas and holds it there, which I've come to understand as her version of a signature.

With warmth and thanks, on her behalf and my own —

Andrew Cooper

Katherine,

It pleases Me to no end to see you walking once more upon the island.

You are, in many ways, an exemplary individual. Not only in the sense that you are extraordinary—which you are—but also because your course through life has stood as an example in more ways than most.

Eliminations are, I think, the facet of Harem Hotel about which I find Myself most at odds. I understand why they exist—as motivation, as a pressure valve, as a way to correct the course of a season that would be too far warped in one direction or another—but all too often I find Myself believing that the purpose of eliminations was muddied somewhere along the way.

The season Lilith hosts has no eliminations, as something of an experiment, thanks in no small part to the example set by you, Katherine.

To you, I grant the blessing of Prominence.

You have spent long enough in the background.

For a moment, Lilith’s brow furrowed as J’s words echoed over and through her. The Producer didn’t speak, exactly, but His presence caused his thoughts and feelings to echo out from Him through the world.

It left them both easier to understand, since they lacked the ambiguity of speech, and somewhat unsettling to experience. The spoken words of a mortal could influence thoughts all on their own. The words of a Producer like J reverberated through Lilith’s reality like aftershocks through her soul.

The blessings He was giving out were simple things—not as nuanced as transformations, especially not the ones she crafted herself—but each carried a powerful flavor that was more than the word itself suggested. Katherine’s focused predominantly on her presence in the minds of others, but carried notes of tolerance and shared joy that hit the back of her mind like the floral notes of a good whiskey.

Lilith’s expression smoothed once more, carefully, as J moved on.

Dear J.,

I have reread your letter eleven times. The first three readings were for content. The fourth was for tone. The fifth through ninth were because I wanted to be sure I had extracted everything there was to extract before I attempted a reply. The tenth and eleventh were because I enjoyed it, and enjoyment seemed like sufficient justification.

I want to begin by saying that you were right about nearly everything, which I find simultaneously gratifying and unsettling. Gratifying because being understood accurately is a rarer experience than most people realize. Unsettling because I am still in the process of calibrating how much weight to assign the opinions of someone whose perspective I cannot fully evaluate. I will explain what I mean by that shortly.

Your advice regarding the divergence of paths is the piece I have been thinking about most. I already knew, intellectually, that my family would not always follow the trail I could see most clearly — I have known that my whole life, about everyone. What I had not previously considered is your framing of it as generative rather than merely frustrating. The image of single file versus spread formation is one I intend to keep. It is the kind of reframe that sounds simple but restructures a large amount of prior experience when applied retroactively. I have been doing that retroactive application for the past several weeks and the results have been interesting.

Now, to the matter I have been building toward since the second paragraph.

I am going to share a hypothesis with you. I want to be clear that I am presenting it as a hypothesis and not a conclusion, and that I would genuinely welcome correction if my reasoning is flawed.

Your name begins with J. Your season's Host is named Lilith. Your letters are written with the cadence and authority of someone who does not merely advise but who knows — not in the way that experience produces knowledge, but in the way that proximity to fundamental truth does. You dispense boons with the ease of someone for whom material creation is not effortful. Lilith, in the older traditions, was the first — independent, cast out, and in some readings, not villainous but simply unwilling to be subordinate. A figure, in other words, who would make a great deal of sense as a Host for Harem Hotel.

The hypothesis, stated plainly: I think you may be the entity, or an aspect of the entity, or the original author of the entity, that a significant portion of the world's population has spent several thousand years attempting to describe. I think Lilith may be one of your Hosts in the same way that Arabella is — made, or shaped, or found, and then set to work. I think the initial J. is not an abbreviation but something closer to a name in the way that a throne is a chair — technically accurate, radically understated.

I want to be clear that this hypothesis does not distress me. If anything, it is a relief. It would explain a great deal about the architecture of The HH and the nature of the game, and I find explanatory power comforting even when the explanation is very large.

I will understand completely if you choose not to confirm or deny any of this. I simply could not write a reply without including it, because leaving a hypothesis of that magnitude unaddressed would have felt dishonest, and I have found that honesty — even when it is uncomfortable — is what I do best.

Thank you for the letter. Thank you for the Throne. Thank you for seeing what you described with enough clarity that I recognized it.

With great respect and genuine curiosity,

Claire Freeman

P.S. Andy sends his regards. He read this letter over my shoulder and his only note was "you're braver than me." I told him accuracy is not the same as bravery. He disagreed. I have not yet determined who is right.

Lilith froze.

Several moments ed as J composed his reply, during which time the hostess might as well have been a statue. Not even breath shifted her frame, and her skin might well have been carved from alabaster or ivory for all the life she displayed.

I fear I cannot give this one the reply she so deserves. It is always a joy when a mind grasps not merely the periphery of the Purpose, but the heart of it.

I cannot offer her the confirmation she so ably avoids requesting. I know that she will not, cannot, allow herself to be content with any answer or response that she receives, so instead I will offer her Understanding.

As blessings go, it is both one of the greatest and one of the least. Greatest, for unlike many others, there are few times, if any, when it cannot benefit its bearer. Least, for the burden it places upon those who would carry it.

Understanding requires effort, and anything I offered to Claire would diminish the returns she received for the effort she put in on her own.

Something akin to relief ed over Lilith’s face. Fear on behalf of others was not something the hostess was accustomed to experiencing, but as she took in a slow breath, she was surprised to find a hint of it fading before she even realized she’d felt it in the first place.

The blessing J offered was a minor one—they all were, in their way—but in this case it seemed He’d tailored it to its recipient well. Remnants of it lingered like the echo of a chorus moments after its triumphant crescendo ended, but while Lilith’s subsequent breath shuddered slightly, she did not break.

Dear J.,

I'll be honest with you: I read your letter, put it down, made a joke about it to Liesa, watched her not laugh, picked it up again, read it three more times, and then sat with it for about two weeks before I could figure out what I actually wanted to say back.

That's not a complaint. That's just context.

You were right about most of it, which is annoying, because I'd been telling myself that the humor thing was a feature and not a defense mechanism for roughly twenty-nine years and it is somewhat deflating to have that particular piece of self-deception addressed in a formal letter by someone I've never met.

The open palms line stayed with me. I've been thinking about it a lot. I'm not sure I fully believe it yet, but I've been testing the hypothesis. Preliminary results are promising.

Liesa helps. She's extraordinarily patient with me, which should probably worry her more than it does. I told her once that I was difficult to love and she looked at me like I'd said something in a language she didn't speak. I've been thinking about that look for weeks. I don't entirely know what to do with it, but I'm keeping it.

The Firmament is sitting on the windowsill of our room — mine and Liesa's, which is still a sentence I have to remind myself is real. I haven't used the globe yet. I've been thinking about what I want to do with it, and I keep coming back to the same answer, which is that I want to wait until I'm sure. The permanence feels important. It feels like the kind of thing you should only do when you know what you're building.

The congratulations about Liesa meant more than I expected. I don't have a lot of experience with people being straightforwardly happy for me about something like that, without qualification or confusion or a follow-up question I don't want to answer. You just said it, like it was simple, like it was good, and moved on. I appreciated that more than I know how to say without making this letter into something embarrassing, so I'm going to stop here and trust that you understand.

I'm working on the rest of it. The being-seen part. The bared heart part. It's going slower than I'd like but faster than I expected, and I think that's probably the best I can honestly claim.

Thank you for the letter. Thank you for the Firmament. Thank you for the open palms.

I'm trying to learn how to walk toward them.

Sam Collins

Harem Queen, apparently

P.S. Andy read this and said it was "the most sincere thing you've ever committed to paper." I told him that's because paper can't hear me take it back. He said that was exactly his point. I hate that he's gotten better at that.

P.P.S. Liesa read it too and cried a little. I'm choosing to take that as a good sign.

Lilith relaxed a little. This felt safer—it was exactly the kind of thing J loved—honest, not-quite-cloyingly sweet—without the potential existential crisis of the cat girl’s questions.

It says much about Sam that she is willing to celebrate others so readily, yet hesitates when the spotlight is focused on her own success. For all that she has been the steadiest companion to the season’s Master, there is a part of her that hesitates to step off the sturdy ground she knows.

To her, I grant the blessing of Perception. Perhaps if she can see how she is seen, she will feel more comfortable stepping beyond the light of the hearth.

The light she casts is bright enough for the shadows to recede before her.

There was a sense of motion from the Producer as J did something that failed to for the cameras, which was followed by the first row of letters neatly folding together in a bundle and sliding themselves out of sight somewhere in the expanse of the desk.

The second row of letters lifted to something approximating eye level, and Lilith oriented herself on the first as J replied.

Dear J.,

I'm not a letter writer. I want to get that on the table up front so you know what you're working with. Andy drafts things. Claire crafts things. I write grocery lists and the occasional strongly-worded email to insurance companies. So if this reads like someone who learned formal correspondence from a pamphlet, that's because I did.

Your letter was good. I've been sitting with the advice about making room in his heart, and I think you identified something I was doing without fully understanding I was doing it. I was good at the physical generosity — that came naturally, maybe too naturally, in ways I've had to think about. The other kind is harder. It requires me to stay in the room when things get emotionally complicated, which has historically not been my strong suit. I'm getting better at it. Slowly. With a lot of internal commentary that I'm mostly keeping to myself.

I want to say something about the family thing, because I think you saw something real there and I want to acknowledge it properly. When I first got here I thought of this as a competition. I was good at competitions. I had a whole infrastructure for being good at competitions. Then the infrastructure started failing in ways I hadn't planned for and I had to figure out what I actually wanted underneath it, which turned out to be considerably messier and more embarrassing than I would have preferred. What I found, eventually, was that I wanted this. The family part.

I'm having twins. I don't know if you knew that when you wrote to me or if you know it now. It still sounds unreal when I say it out loud. I keep waiting for the part where it stops sounding unreal and starts just sounding true, and I think it's getting closer. Claire is also pregnant, which means our kids will grow up together, which is either a wonderful thing or a chaos event of historic proportions, probably both.

The balm is in a good place. The family is in a good place. I'm in a good place, which is something I wasn't sure I'd be able to say when I got here.

Thank you for the letter. Thank you for seeing what you saw.

Erin Delgado

Harem Queen, which is still a sentence I'm getting used to

P.S. I asked Andy if he had anything to add. He said "tell J. He was right about the protective instinct." I'm including that because he looked unusually sincere when he said it and it seemed worth ing on.

J managed to somehow resist the urge to think ‘Of course I was right’, except that the nature of the Producer meant that the very act of suppressing it made it emanate from him like a wave of light.

Congratulations, Erin.

Family is a blessing all its own, and neither you nor yours will ever be without—and with more than even you know, though I suspect that will change sooner or later.

To you, I grant the blessing of ion. You already have so much, for your husband, for your family, for all that you do.

Let it never fade.

Lilith suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She knew the Producer would sense the desire to do so anyway but, like a parent pretending not to see their child as they hid beneath a blanket, so long as she put forth the effort to present herself in one way, He would agree to receive her accordingly.

It was both one of the things that made Him more tolerable than some of the other Producers, and one of the things that made Him dangerous.

J didn’t see the need to lower himself to police actions when He could arrange for you to do it yourself.

The next letter shifted into focus.

Dear J.,

I started this letter four times. The first attempt was too formal and felt like I was writing to a professor. The second was too casual and felt like I was writing to a pen pal. The third was fine but I spilled tea on it, which I'm choosing to interpret as the universe telling me to start over rather than as clumsiness. The fourth is this one, which I'm committing to regardless of what the universe thinks.

Thank you for the letter. I've read it many times, in different lights, at different times of day, which is something I do with things I want to understand completely. Your observation about the arms made me laugh in a way that surprised, because it was so matter-of-fact about something that took me a long time to feel matter-of-fact about myself. The idea that you looked at me and thought suited — I've been carrying that word around for weeks. It's a good word. It fits in a way I didn't know I needed, back then.

I want to tell you about something I've been working on, because your advice about the time after is what made me start it properly instead of just thinking about it.

I've been sketching a world. Not this island, not any place that exists — a place I've been building in pieces for years, in the margins of notebooks and on the backs of receipts and in the particular kind of half-sleep where the images come faster than I can catch them. It has geography now. It has weather. It has people in it whose faces I know even though I've never seen them. I don't know yet if it's a book or a series of paintings or something that doesn't have a name yet, but it's real in the way that things are real before they exist in the world, and your letter made me understand that letting it stay only in my head is a kind of hoarding.

I'm going to make it. After. I wanted you to know that, because your letter is part of why.

The Ring is on my finger right now. I haven't used the dream yet. I've been thinking very carefully about what to put in it, because it feels like the kind of thing you only get once and I want it to mean something. I have ideas. Some of them are beautiful and some of them are just joyful and some of them are the kind of dream that makes you wake up feeling like the world is larger than it was when you closed your eyes. I think when the time is right I'll know which one it needs to be.

I drew a picture of you, by the way. I don't know what you look like, so I drew what your letter felt like instead. You came out as light through stained glass — not the window, just the light itself, the colored shapes it makes on the floor. I hope that's not presumptuous. It's how you arrived in my head and I've learned to trust that.

I'll send it with this letter if I can figure out how. If it doesn't arrive, please know it exists and that it's a good likeness, in the way that matters.

Thank you for seeing the dreams. Thank you for telling me to follow them somewhere the others can come too.

With warmth and all six arms,

Emi Kim

P.S. The tea-stained draft is actually kind of beautiful. I'm keeping it.

For a moment, the impression of the Producer shifted and sharpened until it matched the image of multicolored light pouring like syrup through the dust-laden air of an ancient cathedral.

The image seemed to strain for a moment, and Lilith felt herself grow faint as seconds dragged on, before J seemed to expand once more, like a woman removing a pair of too-tight jeans into which she’d squeezed herself.

Faint shock waves seemed to pulse through reality as J stopped restraining himself and resumed exerting his influence on the natural order of things.

I am glad to know that Ms. Kim has learned more of her heritage. She is born of a lineage already blessed, and it is fitting therefore that she should carry some of that power with her.

Lily’s mind went, very carefully, blank as the Producer’s words danced around the topic of Inanna.

To Emi Kim, I grant the blessing of Creation.

The world may be full, but there is room for yet more. In stories, in art, in the tales you create by the mere act of perception, may you delight in making ever more.