The Sisters of Dorley is a wonderful, compelling story. It presents a morally grey world, and does so with some of the best depictions of trans people in literature.

  It also inspired me to start writing again. For that, I’m deeply grateful.

  But at its heart, Dorley is a story built on transformation, trauma, and authoritarian morality—and it does so without fully grappling with justice.

  That’s not a fw. It’s a deliberate choice by Alyson Greaves, the author. You can’t tell a story about a forced-feminization facility without constructing a world where the removal of autonomy and the absence of oversight are treated as givens. It’s part of the suspension of disbelief. The price of admission.

  I don’t believe Greaves intended Dorley to be a story where we forgive the jailer because the prisoner smiles at the end.

  But I do think much of the fandom has chosen to read it that way.

  And in that gap, there’s another story—a shadow story—waiting to be told.

  This is the beginning of a Dorley AU. I’m not finishing it. But I hope someone does.

  Because this story needs to be told.

  AnnouncementCanon Dorley Begins“I have a few questions,” he says, when he realizes he’s got her attention.

  “Okay.”

  “Melissa Haverford? She’s… Mark? Mark Vogel?”

  “I never knew her by that name, but, yes.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s okay.”

  “Does she… ever mention me?”

  “All the time, I’m told.”

  “You don’t know her personally?”

  “Not really. We’ve talked a little.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “She doesn’t live here any more.”

  “No, I mean, do you have a picture of her? Like, a file photo or something. I only have what’s in here—” he taps the side of his head, “—and it’s been a long time.”

  “Oh, uh, yeah,” Christine says. “Give me a second. Abby sent me some pictures the st time she went to see her. Better than a file photo, probably. Here.”

  She holds her phone up to the gss. On the screen, Abby and Melissa are posing, four times over, in a strip of photobooth shots: ughing; sticking their tongues out; Abby pnting a big kiss on Melissa’s cheek; bunny ears. Stefan touches his finger to the gss.

  “It’s really her,” he says. He loses his voice on the st sylble, and everything else comes out in a whisper: “She’s really alive.”

  Christine loses control again. Sobbing quietly, holding up the phone, she watches Stefan as he stares at his old friend. His almost-brother. His lost sister. She never had that kind of connection with anyone, not until she came to Dorley, and the thought of having it and then it being ripped away is beyond heartbreaking. She looked up their respective ages, back in her room; Stefan thought Melissa was dead — or gone, at the very least — for seven years.

  The silence holds for a while, but it can’t st forever. “We need to get you out of here,” Christine says, sniffing, and puts her phone away. “And, about Melissa: I can send you some more pictures, once you’re safe, but it’ll need to be a while before we can think about putting the two of you in contact.” She stands, brushes out the folds in her shirt, wipes her cheeks again. “Aunt Bea’s going to be antsy about you knowing as much as you do about this pce, so you probably won’t be able to meet in person for—”

  “I want to stay.”

  AnnouncementCanon Dorley Ends"We need to go," Stefan said. "Now. Both of us."

  "Right," said Christine, wiping tears from her eyes. "Let's go."

  She led Stefan down the hallway, back towards the hallways he came to a pair of outer emergency doors.

  "What about the cameras?" he asked.

  "I've looped them," she said. "For a secret illegal kidnapping ring, their computer security is garbage."

  They climbed the steps to the little shed that housed the emergency exit.

  "Okay," Christine said. "Stay down. Stay low. We’re heading on foot through the woods. Then I’m taking you somewhere we can talk. Because I need to know—despite everything—you won’t go to the police. And you won’t tell anyone about this pce."

  "That's a bit of an ask, Christine."

  "Oh, I know. But you have to understand, if Dorley's exposed, everyone who’s gone through the program, everyone who's finally got a chance at a normal life… they’ll be ruined. Hounded. Maybe even killed. And worse—it could be catastrophic for queer people. In the UK. Maybe the world.

  It’s why I keep the secret, even though I hate it. Even though... it's objectively horrible. It’s why… when I thought you knew, I panicked. I had to find some way to keep you quiet."

  "Thus the kidnapping," said Stefan.

  "I panicked. Sorry!"

  "Less apologizing, more escaping!"

  They waited, crouched, scanning the grounds. When they were sure the coast was clear, they made a break for the tree line.

  As far as they could tell, no one had seen them.

  ***

  In the woods, they made their way toward central St. Almsworth and the bus station.

  Christine pressed ￡200 and a burner phone into Stefan's hand.

  "Take any bus," she said. "Don't tell me which. I’ll reach out once it’s safe, and I’ll get you in touch with Melissa. No cops, right?"

  Stefan just stared at her.

  "No, Christine. I can’t promise that. You know I can’t promise that—not knowing what’s going to happen to the guys still down there. It’s cruel. It’s inhumane. And none of them deserve that. Not even that Aaron shithead."

  "I did."

  "Christine," Stefan said, firm now. "No. You didn’t. You may think that now, but whatever it is you did... you're seeing it through two, maybe three years of imprisonment and coercion. Can you even trust your memories after a year locked in a basement? Isoted from any perspective except theirs?"

  He shook his head, gncing back through the trees toward Dorley Hall.

  "I might even want what Dorley has to offer. But I can’t take it this way. It’s not a reform program, Christine. It’s a cult."

  Christine froze. "What do you mean you might want—?"

  Then the realization hit.

  "Oh my god. You're trans."

  "Yeah. And the seven other guys you kidnapped? Aren’t. You're about to do to them what nature did to me—and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy."

  He felt like he should be crying. But no tears came.

  He was doing this. Giving up his one chance to be happy.

  His one shot at a future he could look forward to, not just endure.

  Because it was the right thing to do.

  And yet—he hated himself for it.

  But going through with it? Accepting it? That would make him complicit in sexual assault. Mutition. Kidnapping.

  And maybe—if the rumors were true about the washouts—murder.

  And that? He’d hate himself more.

  "Christine, you need to come with me."

  "I can’t. All my friends—everyone. They’re my family now. I have people who care about me."

  "Christine. Families don’t lock each other in basements and call it love."

  "It made me who I am. It made me a better person."

  "I believe you. Maybe it did. But that still doesn’t justify what they did to you."

  "It doesn’t?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

  "What they gave you..." he hesitated. "It was conversion therapy. Worse than conversion therapy. It worked. And nothing like that should ever be allowed to exist. You see that, don’t you?"

  "I don’t want to hurt them, Stefan. They’re... they’re everything to me."

  "They're in the cult too. They're already hurting."

  "You don't know what you're asking me to do, Stefan!"

  "No," he said. "I don’t. But let me ask you this: If you told Aunt Bea about me—do you know she wouldn’t just kill me to keep the secret?"

  Christine said nothing.

  "And are you sure she wouldn’t kill you?"

  Christine winced.

  "You win," she whispered. "But fuck, Stefan... I don’t know what we’re going to do. We can’t go to the cops—they’d—"

  "I never said go to the cops," he said. "They wouldn’t believe us. And a conspiracy like this? It wouldn’t have sted if there weren’t colborators. Higher up."

  "Then what do we do? Just run?"

  Stefan thought for a moment. Then: "No. There are people who might believe us. People with money. Influence. And a reason to hate Dorley."

  "Who?"

  "The Holloways. And the Holts. Old money. New money. And right now? They’re grieving sons they think are dead. We go to them first.

  And if I know Ma—Melissa—she probably avoided this pce for a reason. Maybe she’s grateful, like you. But once she finds out they tried to kidnap me?"

  He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

  It was the hardest decision of Christine’s life.

  But she remembered. The early days. The imprisonment.

  The abuse. The viotion. The isotion.

  Stefan was right.

  Dorley Hall had to end.

  Even if she had to go up against everyone who loved her to do it.