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A few years ago I stumbled upon a DeviantArt story about 2 women competing for thee same job, with one regressing the other in order to get the promotion (hence the name). For about a year I have not been able to find it... The idea and general plot comes from the original story, but direction differs. To whomever had written the original story - Thank you! Prologue The two women sat on opposite sides of the conference room, flanked by senior partners. Both had just completed a competitive summer associate program at the firm. Only one associate position was open. Simon, the youngest partner ever appointed, had worked closely with both candidates during the summer. Instead of relying solely on formal evaluations, she proposed one final exercise: the two would collaborate on a complex internal project, presenting their analysis to the firm's litigation team. The partner overseeing the project would then decide who had shown the sharper legal acumen—and who would receive the coveted offer. Introduction It was Friday evening, and Samantha was still used to going out clubbing. But come Monday, she was supposed to compete with Jessica to become the firm’s newest associate. Tonight, though—tonight was supposed to be one last study session before their showdown. Jessica lived in one of those old-money buildings tucked into the heart of the city. From the outside, it looked worn and stately, almost forgotten. But inside, it had every amenity money could buy. Samantha hadn’t known that—until she approached the entrance and a uniformed doorman opened the door for her with a practiced nod. “The elevator’s out,” the doorman said. “Sorry, miss.” Five flights of stairs later, Samantha understood exactly why Jessica had insisted she come over. “It’s just easier,” Jessica had said, brushing off every other suggestion. “More private. No distractions.” Jessica’s apartment was small and quaint, almost unexpectedly so. It had high ceilings, antique light fixtures, and a strange kind of quiet that came with thick old walls. As Samantha caught her breath, Jessica offered a casual explanation. “It was my grandmother’s,” she said, pouring two glasses of sparkling water. “She moved to the suburbs last year—health stuff, and the weather, you know. I just pay some honorary rent to keep the place warm.” Samantha raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Of course Jessica would have access to a place like this—a perfect blend of charm and privilege. Still, this wasn’t the time to get distracted. Monday was coming. And tonight, they were supposed to be friends. Locked In Samantha remembered the wine spritzers from the night before. She didn’t remember falling asleep. Her head throbbed as she sat up, and the room—her room, she thought—looked the same, but not quite. The antique light fixtures hummed faintly above, their buzzing no longer mechanical but alive somehow. Watching. The air felt colder, like the apartment had exhaled overnight. Something had shifted. Something had begun. She also remembered… an office party? Had there been one? The laughter hadn’t sounded right. The guests weren’t colleagues. Not exactly. They had stood too still. Their smiles didn’t reach their eyes. Witnesses, not friends. Clients, maybe. Watching. Waiting. Assessing. That memory—or dream—flickered behind her eyes like old film. Unsteady. Sticky. Still dizzy, she pushed herself up and moved toward the kitchen. It was empty. Last night’s countertop—tidy but lived-in—was now sterile. No dishes. No glasses. No coaster. No trace of a human evening. As if someone had wiped everything clean, including the memory of what had been real. She turned toward the hallway, looking for Jessica. Or a bathroom. Or maybe just proof that she was awake. But the farther she moved, the more the apartment unraveled. The floor plan bent subtly, unnaturally—like it was folding in on itself. Curtains replaced doors. Rooms opened into blank white space. No mirrors. No sinks. No plumbing. Just shapes of spaces pretending to be rooms. And then—her name. Whispered, faint. A voice she couldn’t place, but knew anyway. It echoed like a breeze through drywall. She followed the sound, calling back, but it slipped ahead of her, always a room away. Leading her deeper. Her steps slowed. And somewhere—maybe in memory, maybe not—a hand touched her wrist. Not roughly. Not kindly. Just firmly. “Sign here,” it whispered behind her, pressing something cold into Samantha’s palm. A silver ring. No gem. No flourish. Just polished control. Not a promise. Not affection. A stamp of ownership. The hand helped her sign, like she was nothing more than a toddler. Then it was gone. The hallway was empty again. The front door wouldn’t open. Of course it wouldn’t. The knob didn’t even turn. She tried the windows—sealed, fifth floor, inert as screens in a dream. Her chest tightened. Then, it began. First: the argument from last night. Gone. She couldn’t recall the case law they had debated. The structure faded next—the doctrine, the analysis, the definitions. Her JD dimmed behind her eyes like a dying lightbulb. She reached for a statute and found only dust. Then came college. Concepts she once wielded like tools slipped from her mental shelf. High school years began to blur. Middle school collapsed in on itself like a paper model soaked in water. She stood in the skeletal hallway, knees weakening, breath stuttering. Elementary school. Shapes. Colors. Her address. She tried to name the months. The days of the week. Gone. And then, finally, letters. A tune hummed through her skull, sweet and slow—a lullaby, maybe. A song. Something she hadn’t heard in decades. Her lips moved with it without meaning to. And warmth spread suddenly down her thighs. Her eyes widened. She had forgotten— She froze. Jessica Outside, the evening had cooled. The city was quiet in that hushed, watching way it sometimes gets—when the work is done but judgment hasn’t yet arrived. A car waited at the curb, engine low, headlights slicing through the dusk. The doorman sat behind the wheel, hands steady at ten and two. He didn’t look up when Jessica stepped outside. Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she descended the stairs—five flights, unbothered. She moved like someone leaving a meeting, not a scene. She slid into the passenger seat and set the leather tote in her lap. As the building disappeared in the rearview mirror, Jessica unzipped the bag and sorted through its contents: ID, credit cards, keys, laptop—all the ordinary bones of a modern life. She removed Samantha’s driver’s license and studied it under the dashboard light. Then she slipped out an identical card—same name, same number—but the photo had changed. Her own face stared back, perfectly lit, DMV-official. She slid the new card into Samantha’s worn wallet, then dropped the original into a slim envelope. “Bank drop,” she said, handing it to the driver. “No prints.” The man gave a slight nod, never taking his eyes off the road. Minutes later, they pulled up in front of Samantha’s apartment building. Jessica looked up at the windows—dark, uncurious. She stepped out with the tote, leaving behind her own purse, phone, and everything else with her real name on it. She walked past the car without a word, heels whispering against the pavement, and slipped into the building’s side entrance. She moved through the lobby and descended the back stairwell to the underground garage. It was nearly empty, dimly lit, half-forgotten. Samantha’s car was there—exact spot, firm decal on the windshield, a faint trail of brake dust on the floor. Jessica stood beside it for a moment, checking the details: tag number, scuff on the rear bumper, the corporate parking permit on the dash. Everything matched. She pulled out her phone and typed one word: To: Driver Confirmed. Go. Up on the street, the car pulled away, slow and silent. Jessica took the elevator to Samantha’s floor. She didn’t need a key. She had the tote—the one Samantha never left behind. Everything was in it: ID, laptop, keys, phone, even the apartment fob clipped to a leather loop. Inside the unit, she moved with familiarity. The place was modest, warm, filled with the quiet chaos of a young professional’s life—books on the coffee table, a half-empty French press on the counter, court filings open on the couch. She made a quick pass through the apartment. No cameras. Everything was moving according to schedule. At the door, she paused. The tote was still in her hand, Samantha’s name faintly embossed on the leather tag. Jessica placed it gently by the coat rack. She opened the laptop—no password. The joint report sat untouched since last night. She copied it to a flash drive, then checked the email. Nothing sent. Nothing suspicious. She opened a private browser window and accessed the surveillance system in the other apartment—the one where Samantha was. Four camera feeds flickered on: bedroom, hallway, kitchen. And the living room. Samantha was there. Curled up on the couch under a throw blanket, one leg dangling, face turned toward the cushions. Her breathing was shallow but steady. Still asleep. Still forgetting. Jessica watched for a moment, unmoved. Then she closed the laptop. She didn’t need it anymore. She turned, walked down the hall, and stepped into the bedroom. Not hers—but it would be. She lay on the bed, arms folded over the blanket, fully clothed. Her eyes stayed open a while longer, staring at the dark ceiling. Then they closed. Jessica moved through Samantha’s apartment with quiet purpose. It wasn’t large, but it was respectable—neutral-toned furniture, overpriced minimalist art. The kind of place someone with a future lived. Someone on track. Someone who mattered. She opened the blinds. Morning light spilled across the hardwood floors. Dust motes drifted in the still air—unnoticed by Samantha anymore. Jessica had already forwarded the mail. Changed the voicemail greeting. Updated the firm’s HR system with a note: mental breakdown, suspended pending medical review. No one had called to question it. Not yet. She spread out the documents from last night on the kitchen table, carefully reviewing each signature and initial. Everything was in order. Jessica wasn’t just in possession of Samantha’s apartment now—she was officially her legal guardian. At exactly 9 a.m., a firm knock echoed through the apartment. Jessica glanced at the clock—right on schedule. The doorman—now her trusted assistant in this carefully orchestrated takeover—stood at the door, flanked by a small, efficient team carrying flat boxes and bins. Without hesitation, Jessica stepped forward and led them through the living room to the guest room. “This is the space,” she said, pushing the door open. The team entered, taking in the futon, desk, and a few dusty law school boxes. Jessica’s voice was calm, measured. “Strip everything out. Replace it with soft, safe furniture—no sharp edges, nothing heavy. I want it comfortable, but controlled.” The team nodded and immediately set to work. Jessica watched the first few moments of the transformation, then turned toward the door. She had more important things to do. Jessica slipped Samantha’s leather tote onto her shoulder, the familiar weight settling against her hip. Inside were the keys, the laptop, the phone—the tools of a life she was about to step fully into. Her own belongings—gone. No loose ends. This was the first test. The moment she walked out as Samantha. Her heart didn’t race. It didn’t even flutter. It was cold, to be precise. She glanced once more at the surveillance feed: Samantha still rocked softly on the floor, lost to the world Jessica was about to inherit. Taking a deep breath, Jessica closed the door behind her. As she took the elevator down, she checked the apartment’s surveillance feeds on her phone. Samantha was curled up on the floor, rocking slightly. She’d clearly wet herself. She hummed now—something tuneless, soft. Her hair was matted. Her thumb hovered near her mouth. A thin line of drool traced from the corner of her lips. Jessica smiled. Jessica arrived ten minutes early—better to be waiting than caught off guard. She wore Samantha’s tailored coat, Samantha’s ID slipped neatly into her wallet, and the lipstick on her lips was the exact shade Samantha favored. She ordered Samantha’s usual: oat milk flat white, no sugar. Handed over the credit card. The barista glanced at the name. “Samantha?” Jessica smiled—small, controlled. “Yes.” First test. Passed. She claimed a corner table by the window, back straight, phone untouched, eyes calm and alert. When Erica arrived, she spotted Jessica immediately—and softened, like a well-trained dog recognizing its handler. She wore a pale sweater with a cartoon bunny, soft pink leggings, light-up sneakers blinking faintly with each step. Jessica rose halfway to meet her. “Hi, sweetheart.” Erica’s shy smile bloomed as she slid into the seat opposite. “You remembered my order?” Jessica nodded, sliding the second drink forward—warm milk, lightly sweetened with vanilla. A child’s comfort in an adult’s cup. They talked lightly, the casual rhythm of normalcy. No mention of restraints. No whispers of Samantha’s shaking, her drugged breath. Just coffee, warmth, routine. Then, after a pause: “Want to help me shop for her?” Erica’s eyes brightened. “For the girl?” Jessica sipped. “Yes. For the girl.” They stood together. Jessica took Erica’s hand as a mother might guide a toddler—fingers curling firmly. Instinctively, Erica’s thumb found its way toward her mouth. The pharmacy. They moved slowly through the aisles. Jessica carried the basket; Erica trailed, quietly suggesting: powder-scented lotion, soft burp cloths. Jessica accepted only what was necessary. In the clothing section, Erica held up a pink onesie with glitter trim. “This one’s cute.” Jessica studied it. “Too young. She’s further gone—but not that far. Not yet.” Erica flushed and quietly replaced it. Jessica paused at the sleep sacks, selecting a neutral cotton one and adding it to the basket: extra absorbency briefs no-rinse shampoo childproof locks training spoons wipes At checkout, the clerk glanced between them. Erica stood slightly behind now, thumb near her mouth, eyes lowered. He hesitated, eyeing the items, then Erica—still sucking her thumb— “For her?” Jessica’s gaze didn’t waver. She handed over Samantha’s card. “No,” her voice cool, even. “She already belongs to me.” Then, holding his uncertain stare: “A new one is coming.” The clerk forced a nervous half-laugh. Jessica didn’t smile. She held his gaze until the payment processed. The clerk took the card and tapped a few keys. Then he paused. “Do you have ID to match this?” he asked, glancing back up. Jessica didn’t blink. “Of course.” She reached into Samantha’s tote, pulled out the wallet, and slid the DMV-issued card across the counter. The photo. The name. The number. All matched the card. He studied it for a beat too long. The overhead fluorescents hummed. Jessica didn’t shift her weight. Didn’t breathe too shallow. Just watched him, pleasantly patient. Then—beep. The register accepted the payment. He handed back the card and receipt. “Have a good one, Samantha.” The second test passed. Outside, Jessica turned to Erica, voice soft but firm. “Remember—the party tonight. You’re dressing up as a grown-up.” Erica nodded slowly, thumb slipping from her mouth, eyes flickering with something unreadable. They parted ways—Jessica heading back to Samantha’s, Erica lingering a moment longer in the shadow of the ordinary. Jessica’s heels clicked sharply against the cracked concrete of the underground garage. The space was cavernous, shadows pooling in every corner, swallowing the muted glow of the flickering fluorescent lights. The stale, metallic scent of oil and dust hung thick in the air. She approached Samantha’s car—its cold metal frame sat like a tomb, the faint haze of stale cigarette smoke lingering just beneath the driver’s seat. The parking permit on the dashboard gleamed under the harsh light, a quiet reminder of the life she was about to inherit. Jessica slid into the driver’s seat with practiced ease, her fingers brushing the smooth leather. The engine roared to life with a low growl that echoed unnervingly off the concrete walls. She gripped the steering wheel, eyes narrowing in on the rearview mirror. Her reflection stared back—calm, composed—but behind the glass, the shadows seemed to ripple, as if the darkness itself watched and waited. She turned off the garage lights, the car’s headlights cutting through the gloom like twin beacons, then pulled out slowly, the tires crunching softly over scattered debris. As she emerged onto the empty street, she pulled Samantha’s phone from the tote and scrolled through the contacts. Maya – (work, but more) Jessica tapped the call button. Two rings. “Sam?” The voice was fast, alarmed. “Oh my God, where have you been?” Jessica let just enough breath catch in her throat. “Hey. I’m okay. I just… needed time.” The drive blurred past fractured streetlights and empty intersections. The city felt drained of its usual chaos. The quiet made the voice on the phone feel unnervingly close. “Time? Sam, you disappeared. I thought you were dead.” Jessica’s smile curved faintly as she took a left onto a side street lined with shuttered shops. “I had to clean up a few things. Make space.” “You don’t sound like yourself.” Jessica passed under a blinking traffic signal. “Maybe I’m just… better now.” “Are you back?” Maya asked, voice quieter. “I’m here, aren’t I?” Jessica replied. A pause. “You sound weird.” Jessica softened her tone. “I missed you. I’m having something tonight. You should come.” “Tonight?” “Just a few people. Quite. Familiar.” Maya hesitated. “Why not, I can’t miss it.” “Great!” Jessica replied before Maya could reply. She ended the call before Maya could say goodbye. The car rolled to a stop outside the crumbling apartment block. Jessica didn’t move. Just watched the darkened windows. Test three – Passed. Scene of the Crime When she arrived, the building loomed before her like a wounded beast—its stone facade cracked and stained by years of neglect, windows dark and uninviting. Jessica’s heels echoed on the pavement as she crossed the parking lot toward the side entrance, the sound sharp and deliberate. The elevator was slow, groaning and rattling as it crept upward. Each floor passed with a prolonged creak, the dim light flickering, threatening to fail. The air inside the cab was thick and stale, pressing against her skin like a physical weight. Jessica’s breath hitched slightly—not from fear, but from a cold anticipation that tightened her chest. The doors finally groaned open, revealing a dim hallway. The air hit her immediately: not just stale, but alive with rot. A wave of stench rolled out—thick and inescapable. It was human. It was Samantha. The acrid sting of urine hung heavy in the air, layered beneath it the sour reek of feces, and something subtler—something that hinted at rot and abandonment, like flesh too long ignored. It clung to the walls, soaked into the floorboards, radiated from the living room like a heat. Jessica stepped inside. For a moment, Samantha didn’t see her. Didn’t process her. Then, slow and uncertain, her eyes lifted. She saw a woman standing in her space. Familiar somehow. The coat. The hair. The posture. It was like staring into a mirror bent by heat and time—Jessica wore her face, but sharper. Calmer. Cleaner. Smiling with something cold and claiming. Samantha’s mind was a swirling fog — she was somewhere between waking and dreaming, reality slipping through her fingers like fine sand. Shapes blurred, sounds distorted, and the stench filled her nose with every ragged breath — soil, decay, something dead buried beneath it all. She couldn’t tell if she was sinking or floating. Jessica stepped forward. Knelt. The difference in size was uncanny—Jessica seemed mythic, towering, stable amid the room’s slow collapse. From her coat, she produced a pair of scissors, gleaming faintly. Without a word, she began to cut. Jessica moved the scissors with slow, deliberate care, the sharp snip echoing softly in the hollow apartment. Each clump of Samantha’s greasy hair fell to the floor like discarded memories, dark and lifeless. The air was thick with the stench of soil and death—an oppressive presence that seemed to seep into Jessica’s bones rather than repel her. Jessica leaned closer, her voice low and unnervingly sweet, a lullaby twisted by darkness. “This is your first day with me,” she murmured, fingers grazing Samantha’s clammy forehead as if soothing a restless infant. “No more worries, no more bad days. You’re safe now. I’ll take care of you.” Samantha’s eyes fluttered open, wide and glassy, but unfocused—like a child waking from a foggy dream. It took her a long moment to realize who stood over her: a towering figure whose face was familiar, yet alien. It was her own reflection, warped, but with a different mask—Jessica’s. Jessica’s hand trembled slightly as she combed through the tangled mess of hair, then began to cut. Strands fell away, revealing the pallor of Samantha’s scalp beneath. With every snip, the woman she was seemed to shrink, folding in on herself, becoming smaller and smaller—less a woman, more a child, more a ghost of herself. The light flickered above, the shadows stretching and twisting like living things, swallowing the edges of the room. “Such a big girl… but you’re small now,” Jessica cooed, voice thick with false tenderness. “You don’t need to worry about being grown up anymore. It’s time to rest, little one.” Samantha’s breath caught. The air felt heavy, thick like damp earth pressed against her lungs. Her limbs twitched, small spasms of resistance, but they faltered. Jessica reached for a damp cloth, cold and sterile against Samantha’s fevered skin. She wiped gently at the grime crusted on her cheeks, her touch the first real contact Samantha had felt in hours. Only then did Samantha’s eyelids finally fall closed, surrendering fully to the blackness creeping at the edges of her mind. The room seemed to tilt, sounds bending and warping—the lullaby inside her breaking apart like glass. “You’re mine now,” Jessica whispered, voice steady and sure, not a threat but a fact carved into the very bones of the room. She repeated it softly, almost reverently, as if sealing a pact: “Mine.” The world melted away around Samantha—the pain, the memories, the name she once wore like armor—all erased by a darkness deeper than sleep. Until there was nothing left at all. Waking Up to the Party The first thing Samantha registered was softness—beneath her cheek, beneath her limbs. Then came light. Muted. Pastel. Gentle. The world bled slowly into view as her heavy eyelids fluttered open, weighed down by something far beyond sleep. She was in the guest room. That much she knew instinctively—the angle of the morning light, the familiar creak of the ceiling fan, the position of the closet door. But everything else was wrong. The walls had shed their cool gray coat she’d painted months ago. Now, they blushed a soft pink, edged with delicate white trim. Shelves that once held framed photos and books were crowded with oversized stuffed animals and plastic bins of toys. Her work desk had vanished, replaced by a low, rounded dresser stocked with baby wipes, lotion, and neatly folded pastel clothes. A camera blinked silently from the corner of the ceiling, watching. The bed beneath her was too soft. Too low. A fitted sheet patterned with cartoon bunnies hugged the mattress, boxed in by a mesh safety rail. The air smelled faintly of lavender, baby powder—and something synthetic, artificial, like a memory rewritten. Her heart stuttered. Samantha tried to rise, but her arms buckled beneath her weight. Her legs swung off the bed—only to collapse beneath her again. She hit the thick carpet with a muted thump. It was plush. Padded. Like the kind used in a nursery. She pushed herself up again, confused by her own sluggishness. Her limbs felt slow, heavy—as if they weren’t entirely hers. Still, she lifted herself to her hands and knees. And froze. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirrored closet door. Hair trimmed brutally short. Skin pale. A pale pink onesie clung awkwardly to her adult frame, stretched tight across her chest and snapped at the crotch. Around her neck was a white collar, soft and padded, secured with a silver buckle. Her breath caught. Then came the sound—muffled, distant. Music. Laughter. Glasses clinking. Samantha crawled forward, her head spinning. The carpet dulled the sound of her palms hitting it. Her mouth was dry. Her muscles trembled with unused defiance. The door stood slightly ajar. An invitation—or a test. She hesitated. Then pushed onward. The hallway beyond the guestroom was warm, almost inviting—soft golden light pooling over worn rugs and familiar framed art. It looked exactly as she had left it. Yet the moment she stepped in, Samantha felt a weight settle over her chest. This place was no longer hers. She lowered herself to her knees on the rug runner, the coarse fibers scraping against her skin. Every movement was a battle—the ache in her joints sharp and unyielding, her limbs heavy as if they belonged to someone else. The doors along the hallway wore childproof locks—tiny, plastic barriers rigged in a cruel mockery of protection. The bathroom, the master bedroom—everything was locked tight. Just like her, confined. The faint murmur of voices and laughter drifted closer as she crawled toward the staircase. Mid-century jazz hummed low beneath polite conversation, a distant soundtrack to a world she was no longer part of. She smelled wine, rich perfume, and citrus—luxury and warmth wrapped in a velvet haze. But none of it was for her. Her breath caught. The party was alive beyond that staircase—light and laughter pulsing just out of reach, like a dream she could never quite touch. She was outside now. Outside the life she once knew. She reached the edge of the living room. No gasps. No stares. A grown woman crawling in a pastel onesie, collar around her neck—and the party simply smiled. Some guests exchanged knowing looks. Others offered indulgent nods. She was part of the decor now. Jessica stood in the center of the room—radiant in Samantha’s red dress. The one Samantha used to save for important dates. The fit was perfect on Jessica, as if tailored anew. Samantha locked eyes with Jessica—the woman now living her life—and felt a cold, hollow pit open in her chest. Then a woman approached, middle-aged and calm, carrying a small velvet box. She knelt beside Samantha and, without waiting, clipped a white ribbon to the collar. From the box, she produced a pastel pacifier and gently pressed it toward Samantha’s lips. Samantha’s lips pressed shut firmly—an instinctive, final protest. She tried to turn her head away. Jessica’s voice cut through the room, firm and uncompromising. “Put it in,” she ordered quietly but without question. Samantha hesitated, panic rising—then compliance overwhelmed her. The pacifier was forced gently but insistently into her mouth. She tasted the soft plastic, bitterness flooding her senses. Jessica knelt and opened her legs, pulling Samantha toward her. From behind, Jessica began opening presents. Pastel footed pajamas. Teething rings. Rubber alphabet blocks. Samantha didn’t understand why but was drawn to the teething rings and the blocks, while the pajamas bored her. The crinkle of the wrapping paper entertained her more than she expected. Someone gave her “My First Music Set.” Jessica didn’t like it, but Samantha found comfort in the delicate melodies. Then came gifts more suited for an untrained pet—chew toys, a pink leash, a silicone gnawing ring. Finally, a plush puppy with a squeaker and a stitched name tag. “This one’s my favorite,” Jessica whispered, brushing Samantha’s hair. “Look—it even says your name.” The tag read: Lila. Samantha was transferred like a toy to one of Jessica’s friends, lying there on the floor as the woman gently set her down. Without hesitation, the woman removed the pacifier from Samantha’s mouth and put it in her own, sucking on it playfully. Soft laughter rippled from nearby guests—the woman clearly enjoying herself. As she sucked, the woman tilted a baby bottle toward Samantha’s lips. Samantha’s lips trembled, a flicker of protest and confusion rising inside her. She tried to pull away, but her limbs felt leaden, uncooperative. Jessica’s voice cut through the soft jazz and murmurs—clear, calm, commanding. The woman smiled softly and pressed the bottle to Samantha’s mouth. At first, Samantha resisted, biting the nipple gently—but soon the warmth and sweetness overwhelmed her defiance. Her eyes flicked toward the children at the party—dressed with autonomy, treated with respect. Then back to the woman before her, still sucking the pacifier—an image so absurd, so surreal, Samantha wondered if she was dreaming. The woman was fully grown, dressed in formal evening wear, seated above Samantha, her towering presence a silent assertion of control. Just as the bottle emptied, Jessica appeared. Without a word, she pulled the pacifier from the woman’s mouth, “cleaned” it in her own—a moment that stretched like eternity to Samantha—before reinserting it into her lips. The room’s light laughter swirled around her, but Samantha felt smaller than ever, swallowed whole by the infantilizing roles forced upon her. Was this real? Was it a dream? Or a waking nightmare? She no longer knew. Goodbyes & Submission The apartment emptied slowly, guests trickling out with cheerful goodbyes. One by one, women approached, offering soft smiles and gentle pats. Samantha leaned against Jessica’s side, her head resting heavily on Jessica’s shoulder, pacified and still. Though Samantha’s frame was taller—her presence overshadowing Jessica’s slight form—the ease with which she surrendered made the difference feel strangely diminished. The quiet between them was heavy, charged with an unspoken shift. One woman stepped forward and cupped Samantha’s cheek with tender familiarity. It was Maya—Samantha’s best friend. Jessica popped the pacifier from Samantha’s mouth with a soft plop—and without hesitation, slid it into Maya’s own mouth. Maya’s eyes widened in startled surprise, a flicker of shock passing over her face. Yet, as the pacifier settled between her lips, a strange curiosity bloomed—an intrigue she didn’t fully understand, tangled with an unsettling fascination. “Give her a kiss, sweetheart,” Jessica cooed, her voice dripping with false affection. Samantha obeyed, pressing a damp, uncertain kiss to Maya’s cheek. Her lips felt foreign, her gestures clumsy—more infant than adult. Maya smiled softly, eyes flicking toward Jessica with a strange tenderness—as if Jessica were the true Samantha, and Samantha a helpless newborn. Jessica pulled the pacifier from Maya’s mouth and silently reinserted it into Samantha’s lips. Samantha blinked, confused and disoriented. These people—some familiar, others distant—watched with vague amusement, polite detachment, or a flicker of superiority. They saw her. But they didn’t see her. Jessica’s hand returned to Samantha’s chin, steadying it firmly. Her eyes gleamed with a chilling certainty. “That’s my good girl,” she murmured gently. “Let’s get you ready for bed.” Jessica carried Samantha down the hall and into the nursery. The low light hummed softly, casting warm shadows over the pastel walls. Samantha’s limbs hung useless as she was lowered onto the bunny-covered changing table, soft and padded beneath her. She worked quickly, wiping away the warmth and scent that had gathered there, the air heavy with the faint, sour tang of humiliation and surrender. A fresh diaper was unfolded, soft and thick. Jessica secured it snugly around Samantha’s hips, smoothing the edges with a tenderness that only deepened the sense of powerlessness. Once the change was done, Jessica retrieved the pacifier and pressed it back between Samantha’s lips, holding her chin steady as it bobbed gently with each breath. Jessica tucked a soft blanket over her and kissed her forehead. “Tonight’s story,” she said gently, “is about a princess in a faraway land.” Samantha’s eyes fluttered. “This princess… didn’t get what she wanted. Her life was hard. She had to work from a young age, to fight for everything—her education, her job, her dreams.” Jessica’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “But one day, she met someone. Someone who had what she wanted. Her name was Samantha.” “Samantha had the perfect job, the perfect apartment, the perfect smile. She didn’t even have to try. And I knew... I deserved to be her.” Jessica reached into a drawer. Paperwork rustled. “It took two years. But today, I’m no longer Jessica. I’m Samantha.” She held up the forms—documents signed in Samantha’s name. A new identity relinquished. A new name sealed. “And you, my dear? You’re not Samantha anymore.” “You’re my baby. You’re Lila.” Jessica leaned close, brushing a hand through Lila’s cropped hair. “And if you ever misbehave... if you ever try to run... I’ll destroy this new life you’ve built, and I’ll continue….” “And I’ll give the old one back to you—ruined, stained, erased. No name. No job. No voice.” Samantha’s eyes wide, pacifier bobbing gently with each breath, felt the crushing weight of loss. Jessica smiled softly and rose to her feet. “Goodnight, my sweet girl.” She closed the door with a whispering click. At first, there was only quiet. Then—faint, nearly imperceptible—a voice stirred in the hush. That voice. The same one from the apartment. The one that had lulled her, night after night. Calm. Measured. Sweet as syrup. The one that told her she was tired, so tired. That it was okay to give in. That it felt better not to think. Her eyes closed, still not sure if this was reality or dream—as she slipped into sleep. The Final Stamp Inside the apartment, the walls seemed to listen. Morning light filtered in cautiously, as if afraid of what it might uncover. Dust drifted in the still air—slow, unmoored. Samantha wore only an oversized shirt—just enough to conceal the diaper beneath. Every slight motion betrayed the faint crinkle of its padding. Jessica clipped the soft pink leash to the ring on Samantha’s collar. The pacifier, dangling from a delicate ribbon, swayed with each of Samantha’s nervous breaths. She stood motionless. Bare legs trembling. Her gaze lowered, fixed on nothing. She knew better than to meet Jessica’s eyes. Jessica said nothing. She simply lifted the familiar tote bag—Samantha’s old comfort, worn and overstuffed with plush memories. It was Jessica’s now. Samantha whimpered, almost inaudibly. Jessica’s fingers closed around the leash. A small tug. They moved slowly—past the couch, past the mirror— Samantha’s reflection flinched. Pale. Shrinking. A girl she barely recognized. The leash clicked softly—quiet, but final. And the door creaked open. Jessica smiled down, voice warm and steady. “Ready to go, baby?” The soft ding of the elevator chimed as they reached the hallway’s end. The doors parted. Inside stood Erica, long sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms, shoes neat, posture casual. She smiled the moment she saw them—saw Samantha—and stepped aside, letting them in. “I was just stopping by,” she said. Her voice was pleasant, but her eyes lingered—on the leash, on the pacifier, on Samantha. Jessica didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached out without looking, fingers brushing the cuff of Erica’s sleeve. A quiet gesture. A test. Erica didn’t pull back. Jessica gave the faintest smile. Then: “Of course you were.” The doors closed. By the time they opened again at street level, Erica’s shoes were gone. So was the long-sleeved shirt. Now she stood in a thin tank top—bare shoulders, bare feet, exposed in a way that looked accidental but felt chosen. Jessica walked out first, without pause. Samantha hesitated—then the leash tugged gently. Jessica’s voice was even: “One step behind.” Not to Samantha. To Erica. Erica obeyed. They walked slowly through the street, a strange, unspoken procession. Each step felt choreographed from a dream no one wanted to admit having. They passed a shop window—glass like a mirror. Jessica glanced, then spoke, soft as fog. “Thumb.” Erica didn’t falter. Her thumb slid into her mouth with practiced ease. Jessica kept walking. The café was too normal. Too awake. Sunlight spilled across the patio. Distant laughter. Plates clinking. Jessica ordered with Samantha’s old credit card—her name still legible, her life erased. They sat outside. Samantha was tethered to Jessica’s bag like a well-behaved pet. Head down. Hands folded. Still. Jessica opened the tote, pulled out the familiar container. Unscrewed the lid. Powdered baby food. Vanilla-scented. Synthetic sweetness that made Samantha’s stomach turn. She poured it into a bowl, stirred slowly. “Here,” she said, removing the pacifier from Samantha’s mouth. Her tone was gentle. Almost kind. Samantha’s hands twitched upward instinctively— Smack. Jessica slapped them down. A single, surgical motion. “Try again. Mouth only.” Samantha hesitated. Then bent forward. Lips to plastic. She began to lap. Erica flinched. But said nothing. Jessica continued chatting idly, sipping from her cup like this were any other café morning. Like none of it was strange. Then, her voice shifted. Lower. Calm. “Show me.” Erica froze. Jessica nodded once, slow and deliberate. After a pause, Erica knelt. She reached for the pacifier still clipped to Samantha’s collar. Her fingers hesitated. Then she took it—placed it in her own mouth. Not submission. Something worse. Compliance. Jessica’s gaze remained level. She unfastened the ribbon from Samantha, let it dangle, then clipped it to the strap of Erica’s tank top instead. It looked absurd. Deliberate. Erica exhaled through her nose. Her cheeks flushed. Jessica reached down again and tugged the leash. Samantha rose, uncertain. Stiff. Jessica guided her onto her lap, piece by piece, like a puzzle only she could solve. From her coat pocket, she drew a second pacifier—sleek, untouched. She pressed it to her own lips. Sealed them around it. Samantha blinked. Jessica began to bounce her. Lightly. Rhythmically. Then: a sound. Small. Unbidden. A burp. Jessica froze. Her eyes sharpened. She leaned forward and removed the pacifier from her own lips—a thread of saliva connecting bulb to breath. Then she placed it into Samantha’s mouth. Click. Samantha’s eyes fluttered. Her body softened. Something in her folded tight and quiet. Erica stood up slowly. She brushed crumbs from her thighs. Her feet were bare against the concrete. Jessica didn’t look up. “That pacifier better still be there when I come check.” Erica paused. A breath caught. Then she nodded. And walked away. The leash tugged softly. Samantha began to crawl. The morning air was cool against her skin, but the heat trapped inside her diaper clung—thick and humid. The pacifier bobbed between her lips, its ribbon swaying gently with each movement. She could still taste Jessica’s saliva mixed with the vanilla-laced baby food from breakfast. Jessica walked a few steps ahead, heels clicking crisply on the concrete. One hand holding the leash like it was second nature. Each heel-click: a metronome. Each shuffle of Samantha’s limbs: a reply. A rhythm. They left the coffee shop behind, winding slowly through quieter streets—clean, expensive, private. The kind of neighborhood where eyes turned away politely. Where no one asked questions they didn’t want answers to. Samantha no longer looked up. She didn’t want to see their faces. She knew what her own would show. Jessica began to speak. Not loudly. Not unkindly. Just calmly. Like she was describing the weather. “I suppose you’ve wondered about them,” she said. “The ones at the party.” Samantha blinked. The sidewalk blurred at the edge of her vision. “They weren’t guests,” Jessica went on. “Not in the way you thought. Not really friends. Not strangers either.” She paused to let a car glide past, never once looking down. “They were clients.” Samantha’s breath hitched. The pacifier muffled the sound, but Jessica heard it. She smiled faintly, like reminiscing. “Before I was a lawyer, I found other uses for my skills. Structure. Control. Clarity. And I found people who were willing to pay for that.” They turned a corner. Samantha followed slowly on hands and knees. Her knees ached, but she didn’t stop. “A few of them had very specific requests,” Jessica said. “And I delivered something they couldn’t buy anywhere else.” Her hand flicked the leash. Gentle. Corrective. Samantha picked up the pace. “One of them wanted to see someone taught. Unmade. Step by step.” Her tone stayed even. Almost cheerful. “But not just anyone. Someone strong. Someone proud. Someone who thought she couldn’t be touched.” Jessica’s gaze flicked back—just for a moment. “Sound familiar?” Samantha’s heart thudded harder. Still, she crawled. “The way you looked at me in that office?” Jessica’s voice was still light, casual. “Like I was beneath you. You don’t remember saying I lacked focus?” Jessica didn’t wait for a reply. “I remember. You had your little nameplate. Your view. And I was just another intern, wasn’t I?” A breeze stirred the leash between them like a thread pulled taut. “And when the right client came looking... I knew exactly who I wanted.” Silence stretched. “That party?” Jessica’s voice dipped lower, colder. “That wasn’t for you. That was your final exam.” Samantha whimpered around the pacifier. “Some of it was real,” Jessica added, still walking. “Some of it... wasn’t. But I won’t tell you which.” Samantha flinched. “Maybe the man in the mask was hired. Maybe he was imagined. Maybe the girl you thought you saw crying was just a mirror.” Another tug. Another corner. “You’ll never know, baby. That’s part of the training.” Samantha didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But something in her chest coiled tighter. They approached the familiar building. No. Not hers. Her old office. Jessica’s now. Jessica stopped walking. Samantha halted at her feet, panting softly. Jessica crouched. Brushed a thumb against Samantha’s cheek—not gently, but intimately. Like someone inspecting property. “I didn’t break you,” she whispered. “They did. They trained me to.” A kiss on Samantha’s crown—soft, possessive. “And now, I get to keep you.” She stood. And just as she reached for the building door, she added, almost as an afterthought: “Erica? She’s the only client I still see. But she’s not just a client anymore.” Jessica’s smile curved slightly. Then: a pause. A tilt of the head. Almost tender. “You looked surprised when she knelt. When she took the pacifier.” A faint laugh. “That wasn’t training, baby. That was love.” Jessica stepped inside. The leash slackened behind her—just for a moment. Then it tugged again. Without a word, Samantha followed. The elevator ride was slow. Suffocating. Samantha sat obediently on the floor, legs spread just enough to keep her balance. The pacifier bobbed gently with each breath, a fragile metronome in the confined space. She didn’t try to remove it. She wasn’t sure she remembered how. The faint scent of her own diaper grew stronger, pressing against her senses—warm, sour, undeniable. She said nothing. She was nothing. Ding. The doors slid open to reveal a corridor of polished wood and frosted glass. The air was tinged with eucalyptus and quiet ambition—whispered meetings, starched collars, espresso shots pulled for the privileged few. Jessica walked ahead with steady confidence. Samantha followed on her knees, tethered and silent. In the private office—her old one—a pink mat had been laid neatly in the corner, aligned perfectly with the floorboards. A chair’s foot served as the tether post. Samantha’s fingers moved with absentminded ease, tying the leash to it like one might secure a pet outside a café. She settled quietly. The light sparkled on the windows, reminiscent of the silver stars she once drew in kindergarten—distant and unreachable. Behind her, voices murmured. Familiar names. Legal jargon. Calculated arguments. Strategies once hers. She remembered them all. They no longer belonged to her. The door creaked open. Samantha turned her head slowly. Management was arriving. “Good morning,” said the Managing Partner, setting a binder on the table with deliberate calm. “Shall we begin?” The others nodded. A formal hush settled over the room. “So, Simon,” someone asked casually, flipping to a tabbed page, “who did you pick in the end?” Simon smiled—a slow, knowing smile. “Samantha.” Her eyes widened. That name—her name—hung in the air. But the room didn’t turn to her. No one acknowledged her existence. Instead, Jessica—immaculate, radiant, flawless—nodded with polished grace. “Thank you,” she said smoothly. “I’m honored.” Polite applause followed. Measured. Congratulatory. Samantha didn’t move. She couldn’t. The leash tugged taut against her collar, anchoring her still. The applause stung more than any slap. It had only been a weekend. Just a weekend. And already, she was gone. Her body betrayed her again—a quiet release. Warmth spread beneath her, undeniable and intimate. The smell rose slowly—less sharp now. She was used to it. In that polished, professional room, surrounded by voices that once belonged to her, she felt less like a woman. Less like a person. Not quite a baby. Not quite a pet. She was furniture. An object to be placed and forgotten. No one looked at her. Not even Jessica.

The story below is set in the Keeper world created by BBy Kimmy. This is my first story. I really wanted to explore the world further. I really have tried to go a different direction with it: I'm not trying to step on anyone's world-building. Feeback matters to me a lot, so if you have it, It would mean the world hope you enjoy! The city showed its shadows to the headlights of the only car driving through the back alleys. Gy sat in the front seat, curled up in a ball, her arms pulling her legs tightly to her. Her long brown hair fell in a tangle around her knees. Brushing it away again she turned her head towards josh “What if we can’t find her? What if she’s dead, or lost or–” Josh reached across the seat; his steel blond styled hair flowing down to darker roots, only showing dimly in the car. He grabbed Gy’s knee and pulled her close over the center of the car “Love. I know we’re going to find her. Someone is going to find her. And we’re going to get through this Together.” He punctuated the last words by squeezing her hand. “I know it’s just… I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself. Josh, this was my fault. I’m responsible for this and I…” Gy’s crying intensified and cut off the end of her sentence. The blinker clicked slowly, as Josh pulled over to the side of the rode. “Come here Gy.” He reached over, and pulled the whole ball of Gy towards him, embracing her. Gy’s sobbs grew, and then slowly began to fade, as Josh rubbed his hand along her back. “Who’s the Keeper now? I can keep myself together about as well as a pet now” She gave a small laugh, as Josh brushed her back with the tips of his fingers. “We all need a little help now and then. You’ve been so strong for so long that–”. Josh was interrupted by the sharp ringing of a cell phone. Fumbling for the phone a second, Gy pulled it out of her pocket. “Hello” “Yes, is this Gy?” “Yes, who is this?” “This is the Arkana police station, we’re calling to let you know that your pet has been found, and is OK. Please come down to the station at…” Gy sobbed so hard that she had to ask the officer to repeat the station name.

Rosy,a girl around 24 losing her job as a space flight engineer, and having to return to her birth planet: