Part 4: Marion's Experiment
From across the living room, Marion could see the evening sun reflected in the collar. Sonia had left it on the worktable. The jewels, if they were jewels, glowed blue.
She had promised herself she would leave it alone. Looking was different. She could do that from here. Then she was beside the table, holding her hands just above it and feeling the faint vibration in the air.
She picked it up with the cloth, copying Sonia’s careful grip. The weight surprised her. Watching Sonia handle it, she had expected something lighter. Turning it over, she examined the inside, where gleaming lines met near the lock. The catch looked simple enough, but Marion had seen Sonia test it repeatedly, always with the same result—it wouldn’t engage.
Holding it carefully, Marion tilted the collar in the light, inspecting the clasp. The lines from the inside seemed to lead directly to it, as if they carried energy there. She furrowed her brow, studying the tiny grooves and seams in the metal. Yet the clasp would not close.
In the hallway mirror she could see herself holding it.
It’s a collar. It’s meant to be worn.
The thought wasn’t entirely her own—or at least, it didn’t feel that way. She shook her head. A moment later she was still considering it.
Almost dreamlike, she stepped in front of the mirror, still holding the collar with the cloth. She studied herself with the collar in her hands. She raised it slowly, hesitating for just a moment, her heart pounding in her chest.
Then, as if compelled by something beyond her own will, she brought it to her neck.
The moment it touched her skin, she felt the faint hum more clearly. She felt it against her throat. Marion’s breath caught as she closed the collar around her neck. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her.
But the clasp still wouldn’t lock.
She pressed lightly, turning the collar this way and that, trying to coax the mechanism into engaging. The lines inside seemed to shimmer faintly now, their clarity almost glowing against her skin. She could feel the collar’s hum resonating against her pulse, warmth spreading from her neck down through her body.
She checked her reflection, then the catch again.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Why won’t you work?”
The hum grew a little stronger. It seemed to answer her.
But it wouldn’t lock.
Frustrated but still curious, she traced the clasp and smooth surface again. She could feel it working, but it would not lock.
Not yet.
With a sigh, Marion slowly unclasped the collar and set it back on the table. As she stepped away, the hum faded. She ought to have been relieved. Instead she looked back at it.
She rubbed her neck absently, the phantom warmth of the collar still lingering on her skin, and waited for Sonia to come home.
When Sonia stepped through the door, she looked more animated than Marion had seen her in weeks. She dropped her bag by the coat rack and made a beeline for Marion, pulling her into a warm hug before kissing her cheek.
“Marion. We’ve worked something out.”
Marion leaned back in the hug to look at her. “I’m going to guess this isn’t about dinner.”
“The dig.” Sonia steered her toward the couch. “We had the linguists in today, and historians, and specialists from other institutions. Listen to this.”
Marion raised an eyebrow as she settled beside her, tucking her feet under her. “Okay, spill.”
Sonia sat forward, her hands already moving as she explained.
“They’ve compared the script with Linear-A—the Mycenaean writing from Greece. There’s a definite relationship. Some of the symbols are almost identical.”
“I’m with you so far,” Marion said.
“But here’s the thing,” Sonia continued, leaning closer. “This script? It’s older. Much older. And way more complicated. Linear-A is basically a simplified version of this. And get this—the letter frequencies don’t match. Same alphabet, but it’s not the same language.”
Marion blinked. “So… the Atlanteans weren’t the Mycenaeans?”
“Exactly!” Sonia said, gesturing excitedly. “They’re not the same people, but they had contact. Maybe the Mycenaeans borrowed the script from the Atlanteans, or maybe the Atlanteans influenced them. What’s clear is that the Atlanteans were far more advanced. Far beyond anything we expected.”
Marion tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. “How advanced are we talking?”
Sonia hesitated, her eyes sparkling. “Well… advanced enough to be enslaving other nations by means of their tech.”
“Slavers?” Marion echoed, her voice laced with disbelief.
“Yeah,” Sonia said, nodding gravely, “it was common at that time, as you well know. But… not this way. The artifacts we’ve been finding—it’s undeniable now. They’re not just decorative or ceremonial. They’re tools. Restraints, stimulators, things that are meant to control people. And they’re… all strangely sexualized.”
Marion raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Sexualized how?”
Sonia giggled, running a hand through her hair. “Oh, you’ll love this. The museum team brought in some local BDSM experts to consult.”
“They what?” Marion laughed, leaning back in shock.
“From the local munch group. People we know.” Sonia finally sat back. “I wish you’d seen the team when they arrived.”
Marion tucked her feet underneath her. “Names, Sonia.”
“Okay, first, they brought in Juliette Lefèvre. You know her, right? The one who runs that workshop on historical restraints near Montmartre?” Sonia grinned. “She’s obsessed with period-accurate bondage gear. I mean, if there’s a way to tie someone up like a 15th-century Venetian courtesan, she’s figured it out.”
Marion chuckled, already envisioning the scene. “And what did she have to say?”
“Oh, she was in her element,” Sonia said, shaking her head. “She took one look at these Atlantean cuffs we’d found—solid metal, jointed but lightweight—and immediately started explaining how they were way ahead of their time. The adjustable design, the locking mechanism, even the way they’d distribute pressure to avoid injury—it was practically ergonomic. She even demonstrated with a couple of modern replicas she’d brought along, locking a volunteer’s wrists together while explaining the physics of restraint. You should have seen the poor guy’s face. He was so red, Marion.”
“Who let her do that?” Marion asked. “Please tell me it wasn’t someone important.”
“David, the intern. Poor guy. I swear he didn’t know what he was getting into,” Sonia said, laughing along. “Anyway, then they brought in François Dupré. You remember him, the guy with the ridiculous mustache? The one who makes custom paddles and floggers for half the kink scene?”
Marion laughed harder. “François? With the museum people? Please tell me he brought his suitcase.”
“He did!” Sonia said, smirking. “He unpacked like twenty different tools—paddles, canes, whips—laid them all out on a table and started explaining impact play to a room full of vanilla academics. He gave this super-detailed breakdown of the types of sensations each tool could deliver and how the weight and flexibility of the materials affected the experience.”
Marion wiped her eyes. “Oh my God. How did anyone survive that?”
“Barely,” Sonia said with a grin. “Then came Léa Dubois. You know her—the one who builds those insane electronic toys? She’s a literal engineer, Marion. She looked at this weird Atlantean device we found—it had wires, or what looked like wires, embedded into some kind of flexible material—and said, ‘Oh, this is for electrical stimulation.’ Just like that.”
“She just announced it?” Marion asked.
“She did.” Sonia nodded. “She even explained how it could create controlled pulses for, um, punishment or pleasure. Then she pulled out her tablet and started showing schematics of her own designs, comparing them to the artifact. The curator nearly fainted.”
“Go on,” Marion said. “You can’t stop there.”
Sonia smirked. “Oh, it does. Best of all was Michel Rousseau. You remember Michel—the hypnotist?”
“Michel?” Marion sat up. “They invited Michel to explain suggestion to them?”
“Yep. He looked at these carvings we found in the temple—patterns and symbols etched into stone—and said, ‘This is suggestive of trance induction.’ And then, Marion, he demonstrated. He asked for a volunteer and used nothing but his voice to drop the poor curator into a light trance. Half the room was holding their breath.”
Marion fell back against the cushions, laughing. “You’re telling me the museum people let Michel hypnotize someone in public?”
“Not just someone,” Sonia said, her grin wicked. “It was Professor Leclerc. You know, the guy who’s always lecturing about ‘professionalism in academia.’” She mimicked his nasal tone for effect, and Marion doubled over, clutching her stomach.
“Oh, this is too much,” Marion wheezed. “How did they even justify bringing these people in?”
Sonia shrugged, her laughter finally subsiding. “Honestly, it made sense. These artifacts are strange, and we needed specialists who could recognize their purpose. But the academics were not ready for that level of bluntness. I swear, Marion, it was the best entertainment I’ve had in years.”
Marion wiped at her eyes, still giggling. “I can’t believe I missed this. Next time you’re dragging me along. I have to see it for myself.”
“Oh, trust me,” Sonia said, leaning in with a mischievous smile. “You would have loved every second of it.”
Marion shook her head, laughing again. “Sonia, you’re telling me that your big academic discovery boils down to Atlantis being the world’s first BDSM dungeon?”
Sonia snorted, leaning back on the couch. “Not just that. But yeah, kind of.” She gestured vaguely toward the desk where the collar sat, gleaming faintly in the dim light. “It’s clear now that their whole society—or at least the parts we’ve uncovered—was deeply tied to control, submission, and power dynamics. It wasn’t just about work or punishment. It was… intimate. Deeply sexualized.”
Marion’s smile faded into something more thoughtful. “And you’re okay with that? I mean, you’ve been handling this stuff for weeks. Doesn’t it creep you out?”
Sonia shrugged, her expression softening as she traced invisible shapes on the armrest of the couch. “A little, maybe. But it’s also fascinating. These people were so far ahead of their time in some ways and so… regressive in others. But it’s part of history. And honestly?” She glanced at Marion, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “It’s not like we’re strangers to power dynamics ourselves.”
Marion rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed slightly. “Okay, fair point. But still… this is wild.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Sonia said more quietly. “There’s so much we don’t understand yet. And that collar?” She nodded toward the desk, her gaze lingering on the object. “It’s probably the most advanced thing we’ve found. It’s not just symbolic. It’s a tool—maybe even a device.”
Marion’s eyes followed Sonia’s to the collar, its chrome surface reflecting the light, its jewels glinting. She didn’t say anything, but the memory of the hum against her skin, the faint pull she’d felt, made her shiver. It had been strange and alluring, and even now, the thought of it both excited and unnerved her.
She leaned into Sonia, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Just promise me you’ll be careful with it,” Marion murmured, her voice soft but firm. “It feels like it has… a mind of its own. Or an agenda. It is designed to… make people do things.”
Sonia smiled, turning to press a kiss to Marion’s temple. “Always,” she said, though her gaze lingered on the collar. Marion rested her head against Sonia’s shoulder. Sonia kept looking past her at the worktable. Earlier she had wanted to know what the collar did. Now she caught herself picturing it on Marion, and had to bring her attention back to the woman beside her.