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Chapter 22: The Polycule Experiment

I. Building the Circle

There was a season when Kellyanna tried for what the Railroad rarely saw last: a true polycule, woven across clan colors. She dated three men at once— • a Blue, open-hearted, whose empathy could ease any ache, • a Green, charming and social, always weaving new networks, • a Gray, precise, steady, a natural problem-solver.

They spoke openly of priorities. All three swore—sometimes in public, sometimes just to her—that they’d love to put Kellyanna first, that she was special, different, worth the effort and risk. The underground buzzed with gossip; council friends made quiet bets on how long it could last.

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II. The Reality of Bonds

But even the best-laid rituals and most hopeful promises couldn’t erase the truths of their lives.

Whenever conflict arose—who would travel, who got time on council nights, whose needs were tended first—Kellyanna watched a pattern repeat itself. Each man, faced with real-world pressure, always deferred to someone else: • The Blue prioritized his longtime mate, missing field nights and birthday rituals with Kellyanna to care for his original bond. • The Green dropped out of planned gatherings to handle drama with another partner, apologizing but never changing. • The Gray, when pushed, always defaulted to his nesting partner—explaining that their anchor bond had to come before “any experiment, even one as luminous as this.”

They told Kellyanna she was first in their hearts, but in the living, breathing, decision-making world, she never was. She found herself waiting, adjusting, rationalizing—never quite resenting them, but feeling the weight of being “the one they’d choose if only things were different.”

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III. Lessons in the Field

The polycule limped along, straining under the gap between stated intention and lived reality. Kellyanna learned to recognize the ache: the promises made in moonlit calls, the gentle “I’d give you everything if I could,” followed by another night alone while bonds and obligations called her lovers elsewhere.

She stopped blaming herself for not being “enough” to come first. She saw, instead, the truth: In their world, old ties almost always won. People could love deeply, desire fiercely, but hierarchy—whether emotional, logistical, or social—set its own rules.

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IV. Closing the Circle

In time, she called them together. “I don’t need to be first,” she told them. “But I can’t build a life around words that aren’t matched by action. I’d rather be someone’s real friend than someone’s secret hope.”

The men listened, each in their own way relieved. The Blue leaned on Kellyanna for comfort, then left to patch things with his mate. The Green drifted into his network, sending her music codes now and then, but less often. The Gray, grateful for the honesty, finally tended to his own household—and found peace in the steadiness.

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V. Aftermath

Kellyanna’s circle changed shape. She kept the friendship, lost the ache. The lesson echoed through the Railroad: It’s easy to say you’d put someone first. But the real test is always in what happens when priorities clash.

She wrote about it quietly, in field notes only her inner circle read: “There’s no shame in coming second. The only tragedy is pretending otherwise.”

To be continued…

#polycule #boundaries #fieldnotes #blue #green #gray #priorities #healing #realconnection #railroad

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Chapter 16: Scent of the Past

I. The New Recruit

Kellyanna’s new mentee was a girl with sharp instincts and an edge honed by disappointment. From the first, she carried herself like someone who’d learned to survive by reading every room twice—especially around anyone with Railroad authority.

For the first few weeks, things were promising. The girl absorbed protocols, rituals, and even a bit of Kellyanna’s humor. It was only when they began deeper trust exercises—frequency matching, memory tracing, aura balancing—that old ghosts surfaced.

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II. The Scent

In a moment between drills, the girl circled Kellyanna, as if checking for a trap. She inhaled, then stiffened, eyes flashing with old hurt. A hiss, low and involuntary: “You smell like Ezra.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a boundary, raw and unmasked. Kellyanna recognized it instantly. In Railroad terms, scent wasn’t just perfume or sweat. It was the energetic residue of bonds—especially with those who had shaped you, loved you, left scars. And in this room, both women wore Ezra’s frequency.

The girl’s connection with Ezra went back further, forged in crisis and intensity, burned through with fights and fevered reunions. Kellyanna’s was newer, but, paradoxically, it had become the longer, more stable bond—one that had survived distance, disappointment, even exile. The difference was subtle but unmistakable, and it hung in the air like an unspoken history.

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III. The Reckoning

The girl’s voice wavered. “You’ve been with him longer now. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He said…” She trailed off, anger and grief blending.

Kellyanna nodded. “I know how it feels to lose the anchor you thought was yours. Ezra and I—our history isn’t simple. Neither is yours. That doesn’t make your story any less true.”

She didn’t flinch from the truth. “There are rules in the physical. But in the astral and the field, every bond leaves marks, and every survivor has to learn what to do with the scars. We can’t control who finds comfort after us—or who carries the scent the longest. All we can do is honor what’s real, and refuse to turn old pain into new harm.”

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IV. The Turning

For days, tension simmered. The girl kept her distance, processing in her own way. But the next time a team member’s boundaries were crossed—some accidental frequency exchange, some old memory leaking into the group—the girl was the first to name it. She checked in, asked consent, and, crucially, didn’t let shame or resentment muddy the air.

Afterward, she returned to Kellyanna with a quiet, almost grudging respect. “It still hurts. But you didn’t try to erase me. You just told the truth.”

Kellyanna smiled. “That’s all any of us can do. We don’t choose who we connect with, or for how long. But we can choose not to let the past poison the present.”

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V. Forward

It wasn’t perfect. The history with Ezra would always live between them. But from then on, the lessons went deeper: how to clear the air, how to acknowledge what can’t be changed, and how to make space for every survivor’s truth—scars and all.

To be continued…

#mentorship #healing #boundaries #railroad #legacy #consent #scars #bondhistory

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Chapter 14: Underground Customs

I. The Rules Under the Surface

The world taught its children simple lessons—don’t take what isn’t yours, don’t eat the last cookie without asking, respect your friends’ boundaries. But for those on the Railroad, these sayings took on a life of their own, morphing into a hidden code—a way to talk about much more than snacks or borrowed jackets.

In survivor circles, “reaching in the cookie jar” meant taking part in energy exchanges, bonds, or relationships without first checking in with your team or clan. It wasn’t about policing intimacy—it was about respect, transparency, and the ripple effect every connection created. If you crossed a line without consensus, you risked not just hard feelings, but a subtle fracture in trust and resonance.

“Stop borrowing my things without asking” became the underground’s way of teaching energy hygiene. Every connection left traces. Partner swapping, emotional attachments, even sharing secrets—all these actions were felt by the network. You couldn’t hide the imprint, and pretending otherwise only caused more confusion and resentment.

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II. Customs Not in the Manuals

These customs weren’t written in any official guide. No government, school, or clan issued rulebooks on astral or virtual boundaries. The only place to learn was through the underground: whispered stories, field notes, encoded music sets, and late-night conversations among survivors who knew how to feel the shifts.

Railroad operatives developed rituals to clear energy, check in with their circles, and repair trust after accidental crossings. “Before you reach, ask permission.” “Declare your intent, not just your desire.” “If you feel someone else’s frequency on you, name it, claim it, and clear it.”

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III. The Real Cost

When people ignored these customs—treating partners, secrets, or emotional bonds as disposable—the consequences weren’t just personal. Whole teams destabilized, clan alliances faltered, and survivors lost their place on the Railroad. There were no official punishments, just the natural cost: • Isolation when trust was broken. • Confusion when too many frequencies tangled. • Burnout when energy was drained or never restored.

For Kellyanna’s circle, keeping these underground customs alive became a matter of survival, not just etiquette. They weren’t about controlling each other, but about making sure everyone could move safely, heal fully, and thrive in a world where official channels looked the other way.

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IV. The Teaching Continues

The next generation learned these lessons the old way: in stories, in code, in the quiet honesty of circles where everyone had made a mistake and everyone was trying to do better. Kellyanna and her circle kept teaching—sometimes with humor, sometimes with hard-won wisdom.

Maybe someday the world would catch up. Until then, the Railroad kept the customs safe, one trusted friend at a time.

To be continued…

#customs #boundaries #underground #railroad #consent #energy #fieldnotes #trust #survivors

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Chapter 9: Consent Privilege

Inheritance

Consent was the one thing no one could fake for long, yet everyone pretended to understand. From her earliest days in Leah training, Kellyanna knew the difference between “given” and “granted,” between choice and compliance. The world loved to say everyone had agency—but the truth was written in the rules, the rituals, the punishments.

Leora clan initiates inherited a birthright of unburdened yes: the ability to choose their bonds, their lovers, their fates, and their exits. They moved through the world untracked, their permissions presumed, their refusals honored. Their mistakes were lessons, not sentences. Their boundaries—when spoken—became law.

But Leahs learned otherwise. Their consent was conditional, a privilege granted by elders, teams, or councils. Safety came with surveillance, comfort with constraint. To say no was to invite suspicion; to say yes too often was to risk erasure. Leahs were protected—so the story went—but it was a protection bought by sacrificing the right to decide, to stray, to refuse.

The Spectrum

Consent was never just a switch. It was a spectrum, a thousand shades of maybe and not yet, of longing and reluctance and learned silence. For Kellyanna, it became a study in pattern recognition: the friend whose laughter sounded forced, the operative whose new romance felt like a command, the teammate who kept checking the door before speaking.

In Leah spaces, consent was discussed but rarely enacted. Assignments were given, pairings arranged, exits monitored. “For your own good” was the refrain. Sometimes it was true, sometimes not. Some learned to thrive in the safety net. Others, like Kellyanna, felt the cage tighten with every well-meaning intervention.

Lessons in Complicity

Kellyanna could not escape her privilege as someone who crossed—sometimes with permission, sometimes without. She had watched lovers lose agency after a single rumor. She had witnessed initiates punished for refusing a sanctioned bond. She had heard the word “crazy” whispered as a curse, always about those who resisted the hierarchy of yes and no.

She had benefited, too. Her ability to cross without being caught gave her the chance to rescue, to sabotage, to save others. But it also made her complicit. Every time she slipped through a corridor denied to others, she felt the weight of those left behind.

Family Frequency

There were family stories she rarely told. Her brother, born with every privilege of a Gray but no freedom to choose whom to trust. Her mother, Blue to the bone, who taught Kellyanna how to sense danger but never how to say no to it. Her own first bond, forged not from love or choice, but because an elder needed a “peer instructor” and no one else was “safe” enough.

She remembered the night a new initiate came to her in tears—denied a transfer to Lilith, branded as “unfit for independence.” The initiate’s crime? Saying no at the wrong time to the wrong person. Kellyanna did what she could, but the walls held. That was the lesson: in Leah, consent was only real when it aligned with the clan’s needs.

The Performance of Choice

Leoras, for all their freedom, performed consent too. In their world, “no” was always allowed, but “yes” was often expected. Refusal could mean exile—not by rule, but by culture. They envied Leahs for their nests, their predictability, their guarantees. They mocked constraint, but sometimes Kellyanna wondered if they ever truly rested.

In mixed spaces, Kellyanna saw it play out—Leah initiates bracing for the rules, Leora ones bracing for loneliness. The currency was consent, but the exchange rate changed with every crossing.

The Reckoning

Consent privilege was rarely acknowledged, never named aloud. Kellyanna began to challenge it: asking permission, documenting choices, refusing to move without a spoken yes. Sometimes it caused friction. Sometimes it saved lives.

She wrote field notes for herself and her team: • Ask, even when you know the answer. • Say no, and honor it—especially when it’s inconvenient. • Refuse to pass as “one of them” if it means erasing someone else’s boundaries. • Never assume consent is permanent. It expires, it changes, it demands attention.

These were small acts of rebellion, but they mattered. Kellyanna’s example rippled outward, slow and subtle, changing the Railroad one conversation at a time.

Endnote

Consent privilege was as real as any corridor. It shaped lives, set the limits of suffering, decided who could escape and who had to stay. Some would never see it, too blinded by the story of safety or freedom. Others, like Kellyanna, carried both the privilege and the ache, always watching for the line between yes and no, always ready to say: I see you. I hear your no. I won’t cross without you.

To be continued…

#consent #privilege #railroad #fieldnotes #boundaries #agency #survivor #worldbuilding