The dull thud of hearts seemed to be part of the space itself. When everyone reached the center of the hall, the Deputy Headmistress personally blindfolded them. As she tied the cloth over Emily's eyes, she leaned in close, so near that her lips almost brushed her ear.
"Do you even know what you're looking for here?"
Her voice was a whisper, warm and sliding down Emily's neck like liquid heat. She knew where Emily was from. But why wouldn't she say? Was this some kind of game?
"You will enter the booth from opposite sides with your partner, but the confession will be mutual." she heard the woman say a bit further away, with relief.
"You do not speak. You do not see. You only touch. Your bodies will be exchanged, and you will feel the full weight of the other's temptations and desires. Inside the booth, there is a glass of wine—the answer to every need. But whoever drinks it will remain in the other's body forever and will of course be thrown away from here. If your partner drinks, you lose as well. Good luck."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall.
"How is that fair?"
"This is absurd!"
But Emily wasn't thinking about fairness—she was panicking. Her fate now depended on some stranger, and if they gave in, she would be trapped in their body forever.
The Deputy Headmistress's voice came again, close to her.
"And don't forget—these transformations are the cruelest magic. They strip a person down to their worst weaknesses and test whether they are ready to face them. You either change or drown in what you become."
Firm hands shoved Emily into the booth, guiding her onto a seat. Her right hand was placed on a shelf beneath the partition that separated her from her silent partner.
Darkness. Warmth. The scent of someone else. She could hear their breathing—slow, steady, like they were trying to keep calm. She decided to breathe the same way.
A hand brushed against her palm. She had no idea whose.
It slid upward, to her wrist, to her forearm. It was searching. Investigating. The other person didn't know who she was either. But they were trying to understand.
And then it all began. Like a freaking waterfall.
The flood of another's desire felt like swallowing fire. Inside this unfamiliar body—the one she had been thrust into—something tensed, deep and raw. Sick.
Flash.
Not her memories. Someone else's.
A hunched figure. Face buried in hands. Silence.
A voice, distant:
"What is wrong with you? Why are you like this? So damn sick and perverted? Like an abomination of the nature!"
Then— A shadow in water, staring back. It had no face. It was blurred, smeared away.
Reality snapped back. Emily's fingers twitched. A hand tightened around them.
Had they seen her memories too? Which ones?
She could feel else something—something not hers. She did not exactly knew what was hers anymore. The temptation was sticky, like warm honey running down her skin. Cruelty. The urge to give pleasure and pain at the same time. The body she was in ache for something she couldn't even name. The need to conquer and be conquered at once. To run or to sink deeper. To take revenge but also to be wanted. Not to be ever rejected again.
Her thoughts tangled. Her own desires twisted with another's. Every touch, every breath in the darkness only fed the fire. Oh...
Before her sightless eyes, in the blind void, images flared up—scenes she had never witnessed but could feel as if she had lived them.
Hands gripping a throat—not to hurt, but to hold in place.
Hot breath at an ear, lips just shy of touching.
A room filled with the echo of whispered, filthy words.
The taste of iron in her mouth, like a bitten lip.
A back pressed against a cold wall, fingers digging into her thigh.
And beneath it all— The quiet, gnawing fear that if she moved, if she lost focus, the darkness would consume her whole.
This person had spent their entire life trying to prove that they were real. That they weren't just some mistake. That they existed. That they couldn't be erased. That their mark on the world couldn't be wiped from the water.
Suddenly, her partner exhaled sharply and gripped her wrist—hard. Holding on. As if to keep her here. Just a moment longer.
But Emily could feel it—this wasn't just hunger. It was fear. Fear of letting go.
Her heart was pounding. Her stomach was tight. The glass was so close now, and she understood—drinking the wine would mean release. Relief. A way out of the tension, the torment, the impossible craving. The terrifying itch in the soul.
Her other hand was already reaching for it.
"Don't drink the wine."
The voice was barely there, just a breath against her ear. Her subconscious? Or the last shred of rational thought?
But the bottle was right there. She could feel it. And in the darkness, it was the only thing that promised stability.
One sip—and everything would quiet.
One sip—and she would stay here forever.
Would her partner resist? Or had they already given in? Was she suffering for nothing when she could have had—ecstasy, release, the highest pleasure?
Her heart pounded in her ribs.
And then, suddenly—it was over.
The ringing in her head faded. The booth door swung open.
"Don't touch your blindfold," barked the Deputy Headmistress. She only removed them when everyone stood together, making sure no one saw who had stepped out of whose booth.
At least four booths remained closed. Emily turned away from them. Her head ached, but the sheer relief of knowing she was still herself drowned out the pain. She touched her face, as if to make sure.
When they were led out, it felt like being born again.
At dinner, she noticed—there were half as many people now.
Her roommates were still here. Charlotte sat beside her again, but silent. But was everyone at this table truly the same person they had been before?
The ceremony of power assessment was scheduled for the evening. The director told them to gather their strength and not expect any congratulations—there was no time to relax just yet.
They were left alone. Only the servants came by to place food on the tables.
Suddenly, under the table, Charlotte squeezed her hand really hard. And then just let go, as if she had never.