Chapter 1 - Four rules

Thank you for RSVP'ing to my invitation. I appreciate that it has been several years since any of us last saw each other at our wedding, so truly, thank you. The dinner party is scheduled at our place, 5 PM this Saturday. Remember to bring something for the pot!

You may have been wondering why I have chosen to invite you at all, given that we no longer really know each other. The reason is a little complex, and before I can explain it, I must give you four rules that you must follow for as long as you are in my house. If you find any of them disagreeable, please uninvite yourself; they are not negotiable. I trust that you will be able to cope.



Since the wedding, the nature of our relationship has... changed somewhat. The person you know as my spouse is no longer the person you knew back in the day. In fact, it is no longer a person at all. That is the first rule: you must call it "it". The name you knew no longer applies to it. It is a toy, it is my toy, and toys do not have names.

I have been training it to understand that it is not a person and that it is not entitled to the rights that we assume for ourselves. It may not leave the house, it may not cook, it may not read, it may not go online and crucially it may not speak. It is my understanding that it has forgotten how to; this is intentional and is the result of my training. I believe that it has lost the capacity to communicate. However, that may not be the case, and I do not want you to potentially jeopardise my training by trying to talk to it. That is the second rule: you must not speak to it. If it speaks to you, you must ignore it, and tell me immediately. You may speak to each other in its presence, so long as you are clear that it is not part of the conversation. This will affect our dinner conversation, as it will be present in the room with us throughout.

You will likely be shocked and possibly revulsed by its appearance. That is to be expected. It does not at all resemble the person you knew. I understand that many of you were growing concerned about its weight even before the wedding, and that you harboured suspicions about my role in that process; I wish to assure you that those suspicions are entirely correct and that in the past few years I have only grown it further. I encourage you to touch it, if you are so inclined; it will not protest and if it does I want you to ignore it. It is not a person, remember, and I want you to treat it as if it were my pet, much like how you would greet a dog with a thorough petting. That is the third rule: you must be honest about your reaction towards it. I want to see your disgust at what I have done to it, but most of all I want you to show it that disgust. It might not be able to understand what you say, but it is still capable of feeling emotions like shame and guilt, and it will understand your facial expressions and your body language. I want it to know that you think it has become disgusting and wrong; I want it to know that you are filled with regret for it, that you wish you could go back in time and save it from me. I want it to see your faces when you realise that what it has become is irreversible.

The fourth and final rule is the simplest, but I suspect it will be the most difficult for you. It will be in the room with us during the dinner, but it is unable to leave its bed or even sit up, and it cannot feed itself more than a few mouthfuls without exhausting itself. So, you will be taking turns to feed it. The dinner will be a mixture of my own cooking and delivered food, plus whatever you bring. The amount of food will be far in excess of what you will expect. However, it must all be eaten; whatever is left you will feed to it. If you do not wish to feed my pet, then you must eat the food yourself. I will derive equal pleasure from it either way. As you feed it, keep rule three in mind.



Now you know the rules, and you know our situation, so I can finally explain why we need you.

In the past few months it has been showing an uncharacteristic resistance to my training. Its appetite is always growing, but not quickly enough; it is always gaining weight, but not as fast as I would like. I have contained its body within its bed but I have not entirely contained its mind. It cannot talk but I suspect it has begun recalling happier times from its past, of freedom and friends. Since the wedding, we have been in isolation; the only person it has had any contact with is myself. If my suspicions are true, then it must be latching onto the memories it has of you.

This is why I need you. I want you to see it, and I want it to see you. I want it to know that you know what it is. I want it to see your disgust, I want it to see your hatred, I want it to see your fear. I want it to know you think it is an abomination. When it sees that from you, those happy memories shatter. It will have nothing to hold onto. It will be broken and unable to resist my control. I will finally be able to shape its mind into exactly what I want. It will know only obedience, and then only consumption. There will be no barrier between it and the growth that I crave.

I look forward to seeing you on the night.