ACT 1: PRESENT – THE GLASS AND THE GRIT
My name is Lira, and I polish. The brass handrails on the Obeisance gleam under my rag until they mirror the absurd, sun-drenched paradise of the upper decks. I see my own reflection—dark hair pinned back, uniform starched into submission—superimposed over a woman in a diamond choker laughing as a man in a linen suit feeds her a grape. He is not her husband. I know because I polished the fixtures outside his suite last night and heard the real wife sobbing. I polish harder. On this ship, we are all accessories. The guests are the jewels, the billionaire is the crown, and we… we are the setting. Invisible. Holding the gaudy display together.
DIARY ENTRY 1 – "Embarkation"
They said it was the opportunity of a lifetime. A "cultural exchange" on the Aethelstan, a floating salon for the world's brightest young minds. Scholarship kids like me, rubbing shoulders with legacy students and, occasionally, the man himself, Alistair Vance. The champagne was cold, the music was soft, and the ocean was a sheet of black silk. I felt chosen. I wrote that down. "Chosen." How stupid.
ACT 2: PRESENT – THE SILVER SERVICE
I serve canapés on the Observation Deck at the "Sunset Soirée." Mr. Vance holds court, a spider in a bespoke suit. A young pianist, a prodigy from Estonia, plays Chopin. Vance listens, then snaps his fingers. "Something brighter. This is a party, not a funeral." The boy's face flushes, but his hands switch to a jaunty Gershwin. I offer him a salmon roe blini on my tray. He doesn't see me. His eyes are dead. I've seen that look before. On the Aethelstan.
DIARY ENTRY 5 – "The First Request"
It started small. A "private discussion group" after hours in Vance's library. The air thick with old books and older brandy. He asked about our debts, our dreams. He called it "investing in human capital." Then came the "tasks." For Felix, the medical student, it was reviewing a private medical file. For Anya, the aspiring journalist, it was drafting a flattering press release about a controversial mine. For me, the literature major… it was to write a poem for him. A personal ode. He said he admired my "way with words." It felt like a violation, but I did it. The scholarship money was already in my account. The walls of the gilded cage are so pretty.
ACT 3: FLASHBACK – THE OTHER SHIP
I was on the Aethelstan last season. Stewardess, same as here. That's where I saw her. Elara. Hair like a rust-red flag, always with a journal tucked under her arm. She had that new, shiny look all the "scholars" had at the beginning. She smiled at me once in the crew corridor, a real one, not a customer-service grimace. "Long day?" she'd asked. I just nodded, too wary to fraternize. I wish I'd spoken.
DIARY ENTRY 12 – "The Gala"
Tonight was the Mid-Voyage Gala. We were all presented, like thoroughbreds. Vance introduced me as "his little scribe." He had me recite the poem I wrote for him. His hand rested on the small of my back, a proprietary weight. Later, in the library, he was… displeased. My latest analysis of his favorite novel was "too derivative." He said true brilliance required a "shattering of the self." His eyes were flat, like coins. I felt like a book he was skimming, about to be tossed aside.
ACT 4: PRESENT – THE WHISPER NETWORK
In the crew mess, we talk in low tones. The official story: Elara "disembarked early at the last port due to a family emergency." No one saw her leave. But Carlos from housekeeping found a cabin keycard behind a vent in a service corridor. It was hers. We don't say what we think. We just exchange glances over weak coffee. On the Obeisance, people don't leave. They are repositioned, or they become unpersons, their absence a void quickly polished over.
DIARY ENTRY 18 – "The Debt"
The invoice came today. Not for the voyage, but for the "opportunity cost." My scholarship was a loan, with interest. A loan payable in "service and discretion." Felix was asked to administer a strange injection to a nervous guest. Anya was told to seduce a rival's aide and get photos. They refused. Their families back home are suddenly facing legal troubles. I am to be his "companion" at a private dinner tomorrow night. The dress he sent is backless, ice-blue silk. It looks like a skin.
ACT 5: PRESENT – THE FIND
I'm sent to deep-clean a seldom-used lounge on Deck 3, a room with a faulty lock, scheduled for repair. Under a loose floorboard beneath the grand piano, my dust rag catches on something. A small, leather-bound journal. Elara Vesper is embossed in gold on the cover, flaking away. My blood turns to ice water. I slip it into my apron.
DIARY ENTRY 23 – "The Dinner"
It wasn't a dinner. It was a dissection. He asked me to describe my greatest fear. I said "being meaningless." He smiled. "That's the first thing you must surrender." He spoke of his philosophy: people are components. Some are ornaments (the guests). Some are tools (the staff). Some, like us scholars, are prototypes. And prototypes that don't function to specification are… recycled. I asked what happened to Felix and Anya. He said, "They are being refined." I threw up in the ensuite. He had a steward clean it, never breaking eye contact with me.
ACT 6: PRESENT – READING IN THE BOWELS
In my bunk, behind a curtain thinner than tissue, I read by penlight. Elara's voice is sharp, smart, then fraying. She saw the machinery underneath the glamour. She names names, details "tasks." She writes about a hidden network of private elevators and service ducts Vance uses to move unseen. She theorizes the Aethelstan and the Obeisance aren't just sister ships—they're stages in a process. The Aethelstan identifies and acquires promising "assets." The Obeisance is where they are… utilized or discarded.
DIARY ENTRY 31 – "The Proposal"
He offered me a permanent position. Not as staff. As an "acquisition." A live-in intellectual ornament, a "muse." My student debt, my family's mortgage, everything would vanish. All I had to do was sign a non-disclosure agreement that essentially made me his property. I said I needed to think. He said, "The ocean is very deep, Elara. And this ship is my world. There is no law here but mine."
ACT 7: FLASHBACK – THE LAST NIGHT
The night Elara vanished, there was a storm. I was securing furniture on the Aethelstan's veranda. I saw a figure in a pale dress running along the crew deck below, towards the stern. Hair like a red flag in the wind. I thought it was reckless. Then I saw two larger, deliberate shadows follow. I told myself it was nothing. We're trained to see nothing.
DIARY ENTRY 33 – "Plan"
There is a service hatch on Deck 4, starboard side, near the desalination unit. It leads to a lifeboat maintenance platform. It's not on the blueprints the crew get. If you're reading this, I either got away, or I didn't. I'm going tonight. The moon is new. The water is black. I'd rather be swallowed by the sea than by him.
ACT 8: PRESENT – THE WEIGHT
The diary is a live wire in my hands. I can't keep it. They do random bunk checks. I can't give it to the officers; they are Vance's creatures. Elara trusted the void with her truth. Now I hold it. I am no longer just a setting. I am a witness.
DIARY ENTRY 34 – "Final Entry"
They're at my door. I hid this earlier. If you found it… please. Look at the guests who never age. Look at the "staff" who never speak. Look at the water he walks upon like it's his personal pavement. Remember my name. Elara. It means "light." Don't let him turn it off.
ACT 9: PRESENT – THE TRANSFER
I am polishing the grand piano in the very lounge where I found the diary. Mr. Vance walks in with a new "prototype," a young cellist from Seoul. He points to the piano. "This is where we host our most intimate salons," he says. His eyes sweep over me, a piece of the furniture. I keep polishing, my face a blank plate. Inside, Elara's words scream.
ACT 10: PRESENT – THE ARCHIVE
My shift ends at 2 AM. I go to the crew library—a single shelf of battered paperbacks. No one is here. In the gap behind a water-stained copy of Moby Dick, I slide Elara's diary. Let it be found by the next curious, frightened soul who needs to know they are not going mad. The ship is a beautiful, humming prison. But now, in its guts, there is a secret. A small, desperate light. I go back to my bunk. Tomorrow, I will polish. But now, I will remember. And in remembering, I cease to be an accessory. I become a keeper.