So I'd apply it myself. Create structure from remembered commands. Be the good girl he'd built even without his presence to reinforce it. Not because I believed he was watching—that delusion had passed—but because being his good girl was all I knew how to be anymore.
"Bedtime protocol," I announced to no one as darkness settled over the city. "Brush teeth. Skincare routine. Appropriate nightwear."
I moved through the motions mechanically. Found toothbrush and products arranged exactly as he would have wanted. Of course. This whole apartment was designed to his specifications, built for the doll he'd created then abandoned.
The closet offered dozens of nightgown options. I chose simple cotton—rebellion in its plainness. Crawled into the bed that still felt wrong, arranged pillows in poor approximation of his presence.
"Good night, Daddy," I whispered to darkness. "Wherever you are. Whatever you're doing. Your Bunny was a good girl today. Ate food and drank water and took a shower without being told."
Tears came again, but quieter now. Exhausted grief rather than active agony. I'd survived a day of consciousness. Managed basic self-care. Sent an email. Small victories that felt like Everest.
Tomorrow I'd try again. Force more humanity. Answer more emails. Maybe even leave the apartment, though the thought made me sick. Step by step, I'd build a facsimile of a life while the real me withered inside.
Because what else was there? He'd made sure I couldn't find him. Made sure no trace remained. Left me with money and clothes and this beautiful prison where I could pretend to be human while dying of conditioned need.
"I hate you," I whispered one more time. "But I'll be good anyway. Because you rebuilt me into someone who doesn't know how to be anything else."
Sleep came eventually. Fitful and full of dreams where he explained everything. Where this was just advanced training. Where I'd wake in his arms, praised for surviving the hardest test.
But morning would come, and with it the reality of another day pretending to be Lilah while Bunny rotted inside her skin. Another day of forced function. Another day of being good for a master who'd vanished like smoke.
Another day of proving that his conditioning went bone-deep.
That even abandoned, I was still his good girl.
Forever and always.
Whether he was watching or not.
Public Failure
Three days of forced functionality, and I'd convinced myself I could do this. Could wear Lilah's skin like armor over Bunny's bones. Could navigate the world beyond these walls without revealing the broken doll underneath.
The morning started with protocols I'd created for myself—shower, breakfast, appropriate clothing. Each task performed with mechanical precision, imagining his approval for maintaining his property. The babydoll dress I chose was a compromise—modest enough for public, soft enough to satisfy the part of me that craved comfort. Pale yellow with tiny flowers, nothing like the black uniform of the old Lilah.
"You can do this," I told my reflection, applying makeup with hands that barely trembled. "Just coffee. Just proving you can exist outside. Baby steps."
But my reflection looked wrong. Features the same but expression foreign—soft where Lilah had been hard, uncertainwhere she'd been defiant. Even with carefully applied eyeliner, I looked like someone playing dress-up in a life that no longer fit.
The apartment building's lobby hit like sensory overload. Too bright, too busy, too many people who might see through my facade. I kept my head down, moved quickly, made it to the street before the first wave of panic crashed over me.
Everyone can see what you are.
The thought came unbidden but undeniable. Surely they could read it in my posture—the trained grace, the unconscious submission. Could smell the conditioning on me like perfume. Could tell that beneath the sundress lived a creature built for obedience.
"Coffee," I whispered, fixing on the goal. "Just get coffee and go home."
The coffee shop was only two blocks away. I'd mapped it obsessively, chosen the closest option to minimize exposure. Two blocks of pretending to be human. Two blocks of remembering how legs worked without commands.
But the sidewalk felt like a minefield. Too many people, moving too fast, with unclear expectations. A man brushed past, and I automatically stepped aside, lowered my eyes, made myself smaller. Beta behavior he'd trained into me now playing out in public.
"Watch it," the man muttered, already past, but I whispered "Sorry, sir" to his retreating back.
Sir.The honorific slipped out without thought. How many other trained responses would betray me? How many times would Bunny peek through Lilah's mask?
The coffee shop appeared like salvation. Familiar corporate branding, predictable menu, safe harbor in the chaos of independent existence. I pushed through the door with relief that lasted exactly until I reached the counter.
"What can I get you?" The barista smiled, expectant, and my mind went blank.
