12-30-2019, 07:00 PM
December 30th, 2019; 8:55AM.
Office of Dr. Perel Hester, PsyD, Clinical Psychologist
Bankers Hill District, Mercy, Misericordia Province, Gardavasque
Dr. Hester’s office at the First Avenue Counseling Center was impressive if somewhat cold. Her Doctor of Clinical Psychology degree from Mercy University was framed with an artistic rendering of the iconic Motherhouse Chapel and ornately-landscaped grounds the school was famous for. Outside her double-pane 4th floor window, she could look out to see, but not hear, a dreary rainy December day. Thanks to a certain pop song from the past, many believed it never rained in Southern Misericordia Province, but it had been raining almost everyday for the entire month. Her office had been custom soundproofed; there was advanced recording equipment and a few expensive microphones she required for her wildly successful podcast series, Sacred Sofa. And of course numerous copies of her three bestselling books, Sexually Woke, Erotic Intelligence For Dummies, and How To Fuck Like You Mean It, took up most of the space on the mahogany bookshelf behind her desk. She was incredibly accomplished for someone only 32 years old, and she knew it.
Perel sat down in her leather swivel chair behind her desk and opened her PearBook computer to launch the encrypted video conference application for her 9 o’clock session. She clicked on Dawn Marcort-DeFarge’s file, which inexplicably was practically empty of clinical data and health insurance information, containing only and handful of irregularly scheduled appointment entries and a single vague mention of “Adjustment Disorder” in the Dx field.
At 8:55:30, their arranged time, Perel launched the video conference. Dawn was ready on her end; she was alone in the bedroom of her home at the Saint Antoine Estate up in the Loyal Valley, nearly four hundred kilometers away. It was a bright sunny morning there. The brilliance of the skylight caught Dawn’s ash blonde hair in certain kind of way that made Perel shiver with anger from a distant memory she could barely recall.
“Hello Dawn,” Perel began, cheerlessly.
“Good Morning, Perel,” Dawn replied, with a slight sense of urgency in her tone. Perel noticed this.
“How are you feeling today?” It’s a question every psychotherapist asks every session, but this particular question, with these exact words in this order and spoken with this specific inflection, was actually setup for a coded inquiry.
“I’m euthymic… And you?” This response, the use of a clinical term by a client to her therapist and these precisely-selected words and rehearsed inflection, confirmed the expected response. It signaled to Perel that Dawn was alone, safe, and they could speak freely on an encrypted connection, all protected under the legal veil of therapist-client privilege, which in Gardavasque at least was sacrosanct.
Perel looked at Dawn for just a moment, noticing she was missing her usual confident air of authority. They had a history, some of it quite painful, that went back decades. Perel frowned, sensing something wasn’t right with Dawn. “So, how are you feeling today,” she asked this time with genuine concern for Dawn’s wellbeing.
Did you get an email? About a timeshare in Aeluria and a juice extractor?”
“Mine was about a ‘cosmetic surgery getaway’ to Comhar and a juice extractor,” Perel replied. “I was insulted, until I actually read it. Then I cried a little.”
“Well, I’m kind of freaking out. My husband took a sample of my DNA and sent it off to a Geno-Mix lab without my consent. He’s as dumb as a bucket of hair, and I honestly think he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know that I know. Anyway in a few weeks, it’ll come back showing I have over 50% Kerlian DNA and my cover will be pretty much blown, but of course I’ll be long gone by then. I’m finally going home. Oh well, it’s probably for the best.” Dawn was uncomfortable being so forthcoming with Perel, but despite their 28-year age difference, they were sisters with a common upbringing. Who else but family could keep the darkest of secrets? “Ready for another bombshell? I’ve had contact with the Programme.”
There was a long silence as Perel took a moment to consider the implications of what had just been shared. It meant that probably all the Auroras were being called home; this could only be the case if there was a major disruption with the Aurora Programme or perhaps with the Kerlian government itself. It meant that probably she would soon have contact with the Programme as well. She would have to leave her husband, her son, and perhaps her career behind. Within a second, she put a lid on those thoughts and returned to the therapy session. After all, she had a client right here on the screen who also needed her support. “So you’re kind of freaking out,” Perel reflected back.
“I don’t feel ready to leave,” Dawn said. “For one thing, I have - ” she was about to use the expression ‘smoking gun’ but then she realized never to use that phrase when referencing the President of Gardavasque - “a shitload of evidence on my target. Definitely enough to bring down the entire party… forever. I just need a little more time to deploy it, to make sure it doesn’t come back to me or to The Matriarchy.”
Perel winced a little at use of the word “Matriarchy” partly because, in the pursuit of her career as a feminist psychotherapist, she had come to realize some deep philosophical fissures within the whole notion of small “m” matriarchy. From her perspective, Perel believed Kerlian society was in need of a psychological overhaul from years of white knuckled oppression and humiliation on the world stage. Perel suspected it would be a monumental task to heal Kerlile from the abuses of its leaders. Secondly, Perel was aware of the countertransference with her client. Perel knew Dawn was dyed-in-the-wool, but she herself was not. Nevertheless, like the mostly-ethical therapist she was, Perel wanted to avoid allowing her personal values to interfere with Dawn’s process. “You’re frowning as you say this.” Perel observed neutrally.
“Well, yes. I mean. I’ve worked decades to get where I am, and without anyone to help me the way I've helped you. I’ve endured daily bombardment of the most degrading forms of macho bullshit imaginable. Being ignored and then interrupted in the board room, performing oral sex on my ‘husband,’ even enduring MeAsWell incidents just to get them on video. All for the Matriarchy. I’ve put in my work, and I don’t want it all to go to waste because of some ego-driven decision by The Council.” Dawn’s anger was starting to bubble up; they were both aware of the dynamic increase in volume, pitch, and prosody of her voice as she recounted all she had suffered.
“You’re angry about that,” Perel reflected back in a calm voice, adding in the element that was missing from Dawn’s protest: her affect.
“You’re right. I am,” Dawn conceded. “I’m angry about the timing of it, only. I’m angry at having something of my own for a moment, only to have it snatched away by an authority figure who thinks they knew what’s best for me. Story of my life.” She could feel a genuine wave of grief for her childhood wash through her. Dawn experienced a flashback of the Aurora Centre, her best friend being taken away when she was only 5, and other unspeakable crimes that had deprived Dawn of the ability to form secure attachments. Then, realizing how long it had been since she allowed herself to grieve for herself, she suddenly became aware of the session again, and of Perel. She smiled as she composed herself, “Oh you’re good.” Suddenly Dawn craved a cigarette for the first time in 20 years.
Perel allowed herself to smile back; it gave her pleasure to accept a compliment from a sister. “Thanks.”
With a deep breath, Dawn refocused back to practical issues to steer clear from her wave of grief, and because she knew she had to keep the session as short as possible. “Okay. Thank you for that. So, I have some business, if you don’t mind.”
Aware of the momentous emotional shift that had just taken place, Perel prepared now to switch gears from therapy session to team meeting. Dawn had been her mentor and tormentor for decades, but also her only real connection to the truth of who and what she really was. Everything that Perel had accomplished, Dawn - and her resources - had a hand in either starting or maintaining. But in this transition, Perel also realized, with Dawn’s imminent departure, she would soon be the only Aurora left in Gardavasque. “Sure. What is it.”
The Programme has been aware of our being in contact since February; can’t keep anything from them. Don’t worry they were not upset. They didn't like it, but it is actually turning out to be a blessing from the Goddess. Nevertheless, things being what they are, the decision has been made that this is our last conversation as Perel and Dawn.” This was a reference to their identities as Gardavascans, their real names were actually numbers. “I have instructions for you to obtain a new passport from the Programme; your current one contains a flaw that the Gardavascans may be able to detect. You need to send me a Misericordia Multiphasic Personality Inventory 2.0, my responses will provide you with the information you need for your passport as well as reports to be leaked to the press after I’m safely back in Grapevale. I’ll upload it to the Secure Therapy Portal at exactly 11:18AM.
“Ok.”
“So that’s it.” Dawn was searching for some warmth from Perel that wasn’t ready to come forth just yet, as Perel’s head began to calculate the vast implications of their conversation. “Soon you'll be getting orders to rematriate as well, consider this a heads up. Thank you for everything. I’ll look forward to finally meeting you in person once we are all back home.”
Perel noticed a cloud must’ve passed over the skylight in Dawn’s room, because the walls grew a tad darker and more shadowy there. “Yes. That’ll be grand, won’t it.”
Dawn took in one more breath for herself before ending the session. “Good luck, Perel. Long live the Matriarchy.”
Perel took one last look at her sister. She has been trained to always take one last look at a friend, for one never knew when the chance would come again to look upon a friend. “Break a leg, Dawn. Long live the Matriarchy.” She terminated the video conference just in time to catch a beam of sunlight over the Coronado Bridge spanning Mercy Bay, the first ray of sun in almost a month. It was a beautiful view. Perel took a moment to drink it all in before forwarding the MMPI 2.0 to Dawn’s Secure Therapy Portal.
Office of Dr. Perel Hester, PsyD, Clinical Psychologist
Bankers Hill District, Mercy, Misericordia Province, Gardavasque
Dr. Hester’s office at the First Avenue Counseling Center was impressive if somewhat cold. Her Doctor of Clinical Psychology degree from Mercy University was framed with an artistic rendering of the iconic Motherhouse Chapel and ornately-landscaped grounds the school was famous for. Outside her double-pane 4th floor window, she could look out to see, but not hear, a dreary rainy December day. Thanks to a certain pop song from the past, many believed it never rained in Southern Misericordia Province, but it had been raining almost everyday for the entire month. Her office had been custom soundproofed; there was advanced recording equipment and a few expensive microphones she required for her wildly successful podcast series, Sacred Sofa. And of course numerous copies of her three bestselling books, Sexually Woke, Erotic Intelligence For Dummies, and How To Fuck Like You Mean It, took up most of the space on the mahogany bookshelf behind her desk. She was incredibly accomplished for someone only 32 years old, and she knew it.
Perel sat down in her leather swivel chair behind her desk and opened her PearBook computer to launch the encrypted video conference application for her 9 o’clock session. She clicked on Dawn Marcort-DeFarge’s file, which inexplicably was practically empty of clinical data and health insurance information, containing only and handful of irregularly scheduled appointment entries and a single vague mention of “Adjustment Disorder” in the Dx field.
At 8:55:30, their arranged time, Perel launched the video conference. Dawn was ready on her end; she was alone in the bedroom of her home at the Saint Antoine Estate up in the Loyal Valley, nearly four hundred kilometers away. It was a bright sunny morning there. The brilliance of the skylight caught Dawn’s ash blonde hair in certain kind of way that made Perel shiver with anger from a distant memory she could barely recall.
“Hello Dawn,” Perel began, cheerlessly.
“Good Morning, Perel,” Dawn replied, with a slight sense of urgency in her tone. Perel noticed this.
“How are you feeling today?” It’s a question every psychotherapist asks every session, but this particular question, with these exact words in this order and spoken with this specific inflection, was actually setup for a coded inquiry.
“I’m euthymic… And you?” This response, the use of a clinical term by a client to her therapist and these precisely-selected words and rehearsed inflection, confirmed the expected response. It signaled to Perel that Dawn was alone, safe, and they could speak freely on an encrypted connection, all protected under the legal veil of therapist-client privilege, which in Gardavasque at least was sacrosanct.
Perel looked at Dawn for just a moment, noticing she was missing her usual confident air of authority. They had a history, some of it quite painful, that went back decades. Perel frowned, sensing something wasn’t right with Dawn. “So, how are you feeling today,” she asked this time with genuine concern for Dawn’s wellbeing.
Did you get an email? About a timeshare in Aeluria and a juice extractor?”
“Mine was about a ‘cosmetic surgery getaway’ to Comhar and a juice extractor,” Perel replied. “I was insulted, until I actually read it. Then I cried a little.”
“Well, I’m kind of freaking out. My husband took a sample of my DNA and sent it off to a Geno-Mix lab without my consent. He’s as dumb as a bucket of hair, and I honestly think he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know that I know. Anyway in a few weeks, it’ll come back showing I have over 50% Kerlian DNA and my cover will be pretty much blown, but of course I’ll be long gone by then. I’m finally going home. Oh well, it’s probably for the best.” Dawn was uncomfortable being so forthcoming with Perel, but despite their 28-year age difference, they were sisters with a common upbringing. Who else but family could keep the darkest of secrets? “Ready for another bombshell? I’ve had contact with the Programme.”
There was a long silence as Perel took a moment to consider the implications of what had just been shared. It meant that probably all the Auroras were being called home; this could only be the case if there was a major disruption with the Aurora Programme or perhaps with the Kerlian government itself. It meant that probably she would soon have contact with the Programme as well. She would have to leave her husband, her son, and perhaps her career behind. Within a second, she put a lid on those thoughts and returned to the therapy session. After all, she had a client right here on the screen who also needed her support. “So you’re kind of freaking out,” Perel reflected back.
“I don’t feel ready to leave,” Dawn said. “For one thing, I have - ” she was about to use the expression ‘smoking gun’ but then she realized never to use that phrase when referencing the President of Gardavasque - “a shitload of evidence on my target. Definitely enough to bring down the entire party… forever. I just need a little more time to deploy it, to make sure it doesn’t come back to me or to The Matriarchy.”
Perel winced a little at use of the word “Matriarchy” partly because, in the pursuit of her career as a feminist psychotherapist, she had come to realize some deep philosophical fissures within the whole notion of small “m” matriarchy. From her perspective, Perel believed Kerlian society was in need of a psychological overhaul from years of white knuckled oppression and humiliation on the world stage. Perel suspected it would be a monumental task to heal Kerlile from the abuses of its leaders. Secondly, Perel was aware of the countertransference with her client. Perel knew Dawn was dyed-in-the-wool, but she herself was not. Nevertheless, like the mostly-ethical therapist she was, Perel wanted to avoid allowing her personal values to interfere with Dawn’s process. “You’re frowning as you say this.” Perel observed neutrally.
“Well, yes. I mean. I’ve worked decades to get where I am, and without anyone to help me the way I've helped you. I’ve endured daily bombardment of the most degrading forms of macho bullshit imaginable. Being ignored and then interrupted in the board room, performing oral sex on my ‘husband,’ even enduring MeAsWell incidents just to get them on video. All for the Matriarchy. I’ve put in my work, and I don’t want it all to go to waste because of some ego-driven decision by The Council.” Dawn’s anger was starting to bubble up; they were both aware of the dynamic increase in volume, pitch, and prosody of her voice as she recounted all she had suffered.
“You’re angry about that,” Perel reflected back in a calm voice, adding in the element that was missing from Dawn’s protest: her affect.
“You’re right. I am,” Dawn conceded. “I’m angry about the timing of it, only. I’m angry at having something of my own for a moment, only to have it snatched away by an authority figure who thinks they knew what’s best for me. Story of my life.” She could feel a genuine wave of grief for her childhood wash through her. Dawn experienced a flashback of the Aurora Centre, her best friend being taken away when she was only 5, and other unspeakable crimes that had deprived Dawn of the ability to form secure attachments. Then, realizing how long it had been since she allowed herself to grieve for herself, she suddenly became aware of the session again, and of Perel. She smiled as she composed herself, “Oh you’re good.” Suddenly Dawn craved a cigarette for the first time in 20 years.
Perel allowed herself to smile back; it gave her pleasure to accept a compliment from a sister. “Thanks.”
With a deep breath, Dawn refocused back to practical issues to steer clear from her wave of grief, and because she knew she had to keep the session as short as possible. “Okay. Thank you for that. So, I have some business, if you don’t mind.”
Aware of the momentous emotional shift that had just taken place, Perel prepared now to switch gears from therapy session to team meeting. Dawn had been her mentor and tormentor for decades, but also her only real connection to the truth of who and what she really was. Everything that Perel had accomplished, Dawn - and her resources - had a hand in either starting or maintaining. But in this transition, Perel also realized, with Dawn’s imminent departure, she would soon be the only Aurora left in Gardavasque. “Sure. What is it.”
The Programme has been aware of our being in contact since February; can’t keep anything from them. Don’t worry they were not upset. They didn't like it, but it is actually turning out to be a blessing from the Goddess. Nevertheless, things being what they are, the decision has been made that this is our last conversation as Perel and Dawn.” This was a reference to their identities as Gardavascans, their real names were actually numbers. “I have instructions for you to obtain a new passport from the Programme; your current one contains a flaw that the Gardavascans may be able to detect. You need to send me a Misericordia Multiphasic Personality Inventory 2.0, my responses will provide you with the information you need for your passport as well as reports to be leaked to the press after I’m safely back in Grapevale. I’ll upload it to the Secure Therapy Portal at exactly 11:18AM.
“Ok.”
“So that’s it.” Dawn was searching for some warmth from Perel that wasn’t ready to come forth just yet, as Perel’s head began to calculate the vast implications of their conversation. “Soon you'll be getting orders to rematriate as well, consider this a heads up. Thank you for everything. I’ll look forward to finally meeting you in person once we are all back home.”
Perel noticed a cloud must’ve passed over the skylight in Dawn’s room, because the walls grew a tad darker and more shadowy there. “Yes. That’ll be grand, won’t it.”
Dawn took in one more breath for herself before ending the session. “Good luck, Perel. Long live the Matriarchy.”
Perel took one last look at her sister. She has been trained to always take one last look at a friend, for one never knew when the chance would come again to look upon a friend. “Break a leg, Dawn. Long live the Matriarchy.” She terminated the video conference just in time to catch a beam of sunlight over the Coronado Bridge spanning Mercy Bay, the first ray of sun in almost a month. It was a beautiful view. Perel took a moment to drink it all in before forwarding the MMPI 2.0 to Dawn’s Secure Therapy Portal.
<t>Our Noblest Motive is the Public Good </t>