CHAPTER 38: ANSHUR’S PRANK(?)

I woke up choking on air and groaning like a little bitch. I didn’t wake up with the usual dramatic "rise from the grave" that’s good for aura farming, but the desperate, gasping, sweat-glued-to-my-face, still-half-dreaming sort of waking up.

"That was... A fucking trip, wow."

I had sex with NPCs before, but being fingered for what felt like hours on end until I pass out was... God.

Who wouldn’t be addicted to sex if placed into my position?

My hair was plastered to my forehead, and the pod’s stale recycled oxygen clung to my skin like bad perfume. It took me a full thirty seconds just to untangle myself from the neural link harness, because my arms decided today was the day they would imitate cooked noodles.

The first thing my brain processed after ignoring the horrible taste of dry mouth and sucking down my own saliva, was the sight of Anshur Von Rodolfo, the maid that was assigned to me, standing at the foot of the pod.

Waking up to someone looking down at you like that was... Strangely erotic.

God, I just have to make everything into sex, do I? I need therapy... Maybe if the Sonders pay for it, I will.

Perfect posture, impeccable well-taken-cared-of uniform, hat short ginger hair that made her look like some kind of aristocrat’s "modern twist" on a Victorian maid. Her hands were neatly folded in front of her apron, her expression unreadable... except for one twitch.

It wasn’t a smile, not exactly. More like a facial muscle’s involuntary revolt against the concept of neutrality, it was like... She was giving me that look.

I mean, I am pretty filthy, I guess, even after taking a shower.

"Morning," I croaked, my voice half-gone from VR exertion.

My whole body felt heavy, not the fun kind of "I just did something amazing" heavy, but the guilty, "I have done things that will haunt me in the afterlife" heavy... Oh god, now that I logged out, I kinda want to be fingered more until I die.

"Good evening." She answered, correcting me about the time, indeed it was around Hailie’s class time.

Anshur’s eyes swept over me once, slow enough to register as a silent judgment, quick enough to leave me guessing. There was something in her gaze I was afraid of receving; a faint shadow of disapproval, maybe even disgust, but layered under that was... dismissal. As if whatever she was thinking wasn’t worth saying out loud.

"... Did I do something that upset you?" I asked.

"Oh? What are you saying, Ms. Smith?" she said, voice polite in that razor-edged way, "Of course not, I was just waiting on you as ordered."

No further explanation, no raised eyebrow and no half-smile. She just turned slightly as if the conversation was already over. I stared at her, trying to decide if I should push for an answer or let it die, my pride did tell me to push. But my survival instincts said no.

So I swallowed it down and changed the subject.

"Have you been waiting for the last few hours...?" I whispered faintly, feeling a bit guilty.

But she didn’t answer me.

"Miss Sonder is currently in her lever harp class," Anshur said, hands still folded, eyes as calm as a lake about to drown you. "You may watch from outside the door if you wish. But it is best if you do not disturb them."

I blinked, "Lever harp? Like, a Minecraft lever?"

She didn’t elaborate.

Curiosity overrode common sense, and I followed her through the clean white hallways, the quiet broken only by the distant ticking of some very expensive clock I’d never seen but could feel in my bones. Every few steps I wiped more sweat off my face, wishing the air would hurry up and stop smelling like the inside of a computer tower.

Or maybe that was my smell, and I was projecting...

Eventually, we reached a polished wooden door with an old brass handle. The kind of door that looked like it should creak but didn’t, surprisingly. Because, of course, any sane mansion-owner wouldn’t allow creaking. Anshur stopped, gestured toward it, and stepped back like she’d just placed me in front of an art exhibit.

The gap between the two swinging doors was tiny, just enough for me to peek, so I leaned in with shallow breathings, and saw her.

Hailie was seated in her wheelchair near the center of the room, a pale cream harp curved against her side like it was built just for her. The tutor—a thin woman in her sixties with hair the color of moonlight and posture sharp enough to cut glass—stood at her left, listening intently as Hailie plucked a sequence of soft notes.

The sound was... not perfect, but it was close to a beautiful harmony. But it was warm, gentle, like someone talking in a language you didn’t know, yet you could still feel the meaning. The language of the universe, one might say.

"That’s better," the tutor murmured, her voice low enough I had to strain to hear. "But remember, the pause between these two notes is not silence. It is tension, let the tension breathe... Let them talk to us with their own voice, Ms. Sonder."

Hailie nodded, adjusting her hands, her eyes locking in on the strings like nothing else existed.

They went back and forth like that for a while, with her tutor offering precise advice, and Hailie absorbing it like rain on thirsty ground. Then they started talking about music itself. Not just the technique, but the idea of it. How a melody could speak when words failed, how it could bend someone’s mood without their permission. How it could reach parts of the soul that even the most precise language couldn’t touch.

It was like listening in to a private conversation between Severus Snape and whoever else teaches potion at Hogwarts.

I found myself... staying.

Maybe it was the way Hailie’s expression shifted with each note, or the way the tutor’s voice softened whenever she mentioned "feeling" instead of "technique." Or maybe I was just enjoying the rare sight of her in a moment completely unshadowed by curious wonder, of her just being her true, brightful and smart self.

I almost thought that this was wrong, it was somehow, somewhat, voyeuristic, like I was going to masturbate to a girl playing harp and a grandma, but, it was beautiful, quite healing to watch.

I noticed, also, that she was pulling some levers on top of each strings... So that’s what a lever harp is... Fascinating.

But, I stayed for too long, saw too much, and god help my soul.

Something pressed against my back, hard. Not exactly a shove, but the kind of deliberate, steady push that left no room for balance.

I pitched forward, my forehead smacking the hardwood floor with a whump that echoed through the room like a hijacked airplane crash into a mountain range.

The harp gave a startled twang, Hailie yelped as she almost pulled one of the strings out, the tutor’s hands froze mid-motion.

I scrambled up to my knees, rubbing my face and muttering something halfway between an apology and a curse.

I turned my head around, and saw that she was smiling, but it was gone very fast.

Anshur stood in the doorway, her lips pressed together, eyes wide in feigned horror. "Oh, dear. I told Ms. Smith not to bother this room. I’m terribly sorry, Miss Sonder!" She clasped her hands like she was praying for my redemption. "I should have not taken my eye off our curious, esteemed guest... How careless of me."

This fucking bitch.

"Y- You... I... Ah- You told me... You push- Hailie please... She’s..."

I stared at her, still on the floor, too baffled to even give a comprehensive respond.

I almost broke down crying out of shame, because technically, I was eavesdropping, and I was too dumb at the moment to try and defend myself or shift the blame onto Anshur. It just felt... Wrong, I didn’t want to.

Though, the kindest soul on earth saved me again.

Hailie was already laughing. Her soft, breathy giggles echoed, which made the tutor’s tight-lipped disapproval waver just enough to keep her from kicking me out.

"Oh my... Cory? Please, miss Amber," Hailie said, gesturing toward me with a little grin, the Amber here was the tutor, I presumed. "Let my good friend stay, she can listen. I’ll focus, I promise."

The tutor hesitated, then sighed, adjusting her glasses. "Fine, but no interruptions, please, Ms...?"

"I’m Cory." I said, forgetting to address my middle and lastname.

"Cory." The tutor spoke.

Anshur dipped her head politely and stepped back into the hallway, letting the door click shut behind her. I caught yet another one, the briefest flicker of a smirk before she disappeared from view.

... Was that a declaration of war?

Alright, this bitch will get it.

So I sat there against the wall with a little stool, quietly nursing my wounded dignity while Hailie returned to her lesson. She didn’t look at me again, at least not directly, but every so often I caught the tiny curl of her lips when she hit a particularly sweet note.

And despite everything, despite Anshur’s little stunt, despite my aching forehead. I stayed until the last string faded into silence.