Pink Pill

Seen on Twitter, via Slate Star Codex. Decided to try my hand at a more nuanced version. Limiting myself to 1000 words as a challenge, and to avoid spending too much time.

A companion story to blue pill, and also an unabashed fanfic.

Gives you the ability to make any person love you with a single touch. Can turn off the effect by retouching the person(s).

They say love is blind. That is how it looks from the outside: veneered infatuation, a surface attraction, failure to see imperfection.

It’s surprising, when you read the interviews, how many abused partners know exactly what they are getting themselves into. They loved, because they knew their love was needed. Love helped them to see; it was hope that made them blind.

And so it is with all these whom you have taken under your touch, telling them where to put their money, where to spend their time. You lay on the flirting gestures, the sweet nothings. They’re not needed—the lady at the counter told you so—but they make you feel better about what you are doing to them, harnessing their labour to the voracious appetites of your ego. It lets you feel sorry for them. You dip in a pool of pity replenished by the sorriness of their existence, kept sorry by your need to keep feeling sorry. It keeps you occupied, this need to keep your pool of pity filled, so that you are not invited to notice that other, deeper, pool of their pity gazing deep into your eyes.

Perfect understanding is perfect love. It brings one low, forces one to condescend—for how can the ignorant condescend to knowledge? The servant must know better than the one he serves. And so your power empowers the ones it enslaves. In their pools of pity you see all of you exposed, your whims exhibited, your vagaries laid open. The one to be healed lies naked before the healer.

You never let them touch you, at first because of what the lady at the counter told you, about the dispelling touch, but later because you understood. What has been seen cannot be unseen; knowledge transforms a person in irreversible ways. The only way to empty those pools of pity is to erase their target, the fountain from which they are replenished. It would reverse the relationship, turning the knower into the known. Too dangerous. So you never exercised that option. It was exercised for you instead.

He touched you first, when you didn’t push him away with your eyes. And then he touched you again, with three—no, four—hands. You screamed and ran out, and saw him again, yet another pair of hands, not touching you but other curves, made of glass. And you loved and hated him all at once, whether confused by the successive opposite effects of the pill or the simultaneous way you are caressed and revolted by his touches, you don’t know and you don’t want to know. You want to be loved, and he has just broken you and possibly the pill as well.

In a few more moments he will take you out of this world. This selfish act of his will almost kill you, but it secretly makes you glad. Unlike your other lovers, he is a being that can move mountains at will, and so there are some things of you he will never know. And for that reason his love is safe, and this spell will never be broken.

You will never reach him but his love will always be with you.

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