refuses. She is disqualified from the crown but made to watch from a glass box.
tries mindfulness. “I am a tree,” she whispers. The Dthrip climbs her arm. At five minutes, she feels its filaments stroke her neck. She twitches. The Dthrip’s hum becomes a shriek inside her skull—her own childhood fears, her mother’s voice, every bad review. She screams “GET ME OUT OF HERE” before Dimitri can even ask. Her crown is forfeit. Only Kai and Dr. Amina remain.
From the jungle, a low, wet thrumming sounds. refuses
She closes her eyes. The Dthrip crawls onto her knee. Then her stomach. Then her neck. Its filaments find her jaw—clenched like granite. It hums. In her mind, she hears: you’re alone, you’re dirty, you’re a fraud, your mother never loved you—
She looks at the Dthrip. It pulses on the chair. She takes off her glasses. She wipes her hands with sanitizer—then drops the bottle. “I am a tree,” she whispers
Amina smiles.
A scroll is delivered by a producer dressed as a minor Greek god (Hermes, probably—though the wings are taped on). She twitches
She is crowned Queen of the Dthrip. The prize: immunity from the next three eliminations and a golden olive wreath.