Thanksgiving Seduction (Part 4 of 4) - "Gratitudes Price"

The Gratitude Feast begins with forty-three seasoned guests ready to be consumed, but Nora and James's emotional immunity disrupts the ritual. When the ancient entity arrives, they discover it's been starving on synthetic emotion for decades, craving the real gratitude the Blackwoods forgot how to provide. By cooking genuine emotion together - combining their gifts with even Adrian's skill - they satisfy the true covenant and save the town. Adrian leaves to find his authentic self while Nora and James become the new keepers of Westbrook's harvest tradition, bound together in love and purpose, serving real emotion to a town learning to feel again.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:03):
Caloroga Shark Media. Hello and welcome to Romance Weekly and
Thanksgiving Seduction. This is episode four, Gratitude Price. The in

(00:43):
looked perfect for a massacre. Adrian had transformed our family's
home into something out of a food magazine. Amber lighting,
harvest centerpieces, table set with china I didn't know we owned.
Forty three guests were a right for the Gratitude feast,
and every one of them had been eating at Harvest

(01:04):
for months, their emotional signatures seasoned to perfection. We could
still run, James said, beside me, both of us hidden
in the kitchen's back entrance, leave town. Let someone else
handle this. You don't mean that, no, he admitted, squeezing
my hand, But I had to offer. Three days we'd

(01:28):
spent cooking together, building my immunity, replacing Adrian's false emotions
with real ones. Three days of increasing intimacy, not just
physical but emotional. Our gifts intertwining until I could feel
James's presence like a second heartbeat. We'd made love last night,

(01:49):
and it had been nothing like Adrian's choreographed seduction. With James,
I felt everything twice, my pleasure and his genuine and
overwhelming and real you're thinking about last night, he murmured,
and I could taste his awareness in the air, warm
like cinnamon. How do you know your emotional signature gets

(02:13):
this specific frequency when you're remembering us together, like honey, crystallizing.
That's both romantic and weird. Welcome to our life. He
checked his watch. Twenty minutes until dinner service starts. You ready,
No good, neither am. I Let's go. We slipped through

(02:45):
the service entrance into organized chaos. Adrian had hired outside
staff for the evening, none of them local, all of
them moving with the synchronized efficiency of people who'd been
emotionally programmed. They didn't even look at us as we past.
The dining room was filling with guests. I recognized most
of them, the mayor, the bank president, Missus Henderson from

(03:09):
the library, all of them glowing with the same fevered anticipation,
their emotional fields crackling with synthetic gratitude that Adrian had
been feeding them for months. Norah, my mother, appeared, and
I nearly gasped. She was radiant, but it was wrong,
like a light bulb burning too bright before it dies.

(03:33):
Isn't this wonderful? Adrian's saved the inn. We're going to
be partners now, m'am you need to leave. This isn't safe.
Don't be ridiculous, It's just dinner. But her eyes were glazed, unfocused.
She'd been eating Adrian's food too. When had that started, Ladies?

(03:59):
Adrian's voice made my skin crawl and my body responds simultaneously,
the last vestiges of his programming still clinging despite our efforts.
He looked perfect in his chef's whites, moving through the crowd,
like a prince among subjects. So glad you could make it.
Wouldn't miss it, I said, trying to sound controlled. His

(04:22):
eyes sharpened, studying me. You look different, healthier. James has
been cooking for me, Ah. His smile was knowing, building immunity.
How quaint, though, I should warn you what's coming tonight
is older than your grandmother's recipes, older than this town.

(04:46):
What is it, I asked, directly, the thing you're feeding
us to? Adrian laughed, rich and genuinely amused. Feeding you too, Norah.
You misunderstand we're not feeding you to anything. We're feeding
it through you. Think of yourselves as straws, conduits for

(05:08):
gratitude to flow through that's still consumption, only of excess emotion.
You'll generate more humans, always do. He leaned closer, and
I could smell that burnt caramel scent that still made
my knees weak. The entity takes what it needs and
leaves you intact. Mostly Mostly, some people lose a bit

(05:33):
more than others. Your grandmother, for instance, she fought too hard.
The entity had to take more than intended left her scattered.
His fingers brushed my wrist, and I felt the echo
of manufactured desire. But you won't fight, will you. You've
been too well prepared. James appeared at my elbow, his

(05:56):
presence immediately, calming, She's not yours anymore, age, isn't she?
Adrian's smile widened. Can you taste it, James, the marking
I left on her. She'll always carry my flavor now,
no matter how much real emotion you feed her enough,

(06:17):
I said, we know what you're doing. We're going to
stop it, how by cooking feelings at it? Adrian laughed.
My family has been managing this relationship for two centuries.
You think we haven't faced resistance before. Not like us,
James said, quietly, Not two people with the gift working

(06:40):
in tandem. Adrian's expression flickered, just for a moment, with
something that might have been concern. Then the bell rang
for dinner. Showtime, he said, and vanished into the kitchen.

(07:03):
The guests took their seats with eerie synchronization. James and
I were placed at separate tables, deliberate, I was sure,
but we could still feel each other across the room,
our emotional connection humming like a plucked string. The first
course arrived, butternut squash soup, almost identical to what Adrian

(07:25):
had first served me, but I could taste the difference.
Now this wasn't just seasoned with emotion. It was laced
with something else, something that made the air thicker, reality
softer around the edges. Don't eat it, I whispered to
my table, but they were already lifting spoons to mouths,

(07:48):
eyes closing in bliss. The Maya moaned with pleasure. Missus
Henderson actually licked her bowl clean. That's when I felt it,
the temperature drop, the way shadows seemed to deepen in
the corners of the room despite the warm lighting. Something
was coming, something that had been waiting all year for

(08:12):
this moment. The lights flickered and between one blink and
the next, it was there. How do you describe something
that shouldn't exist. It wasn't quite shadow, wasn't quite smoke.
It moved like liquid between the tables, and where it passed,
people sighed with contentment. It was feeding, already sipping from

(08:36):
the gratitude Adrian had cultivated in them. But when it
reached me, it recoiled wrong. A voice that wasn't a
voice whispered through my bones. Taste wrong, bitter, poisoned James's cooking,
I said out loud, understanding, we taste like rebellion. Now.

(09:00):
The entity swirled, agitated. Other guests were swaying in their seats,
eyes rolled back, offering their gratitude freely, but James and
I sat like rocks in a stream, interrupting the flow.
Adrian emerged from the kitchen, his face tight with anger.
You're ruining the balance, good, James said. You don't understand.

(09:26):
Without the feeding, without the proper exchange, it gets hungry,
truly hungry. And when it's hungry, Adrian gestured to the
windows outside. November had become something else, snow that shouldn't
exist yet, darkness that pressed against the glass, like something solid.

(09:47):
It takes what it needs by force, then we'll give
it something else, I said, standing norah no, but I
was already moving toward the kitchen, James right behind me.
The entity followed, curious, hungry, drawn by our strange emotional signatures.

(10:09):
In the kitchen, we started cooking, not from recipes, but
from instinct, our hands moving together, our gifts combining, we
made gratitude, but not the synthetic kind. Adrian had been
manufacturing real gratitude, mine for James, saving me, his for
finding someone who understood his gift, the town's true thankfulness

(10:32):
for prosperity, complicated and genuine. What are you doing, Adrian demanded,
giving it what it actually needs, I said, stirring soup
that glowed with our combined emotional fields, not false gratitude,
real emotion, freely given. The entity swirled around us, tasting

(10:57):
what we were creating. It whispered stronger more. It's been starving,
James realized, all these years of synthetic emotion, It's like
living on artificial sweetener, empty calories. We cooked faster, our
bodies moving in perfect synchronization. Every dish we created carried

(11:20):
real emotion. The complicated gratitude of a town built on sacrifice,
the genuine thanksgiving of people who'd survived another year, the
true appreciation for family and connection. The entity began to change,
solidifying into something almost recognizable, a face made of shadow

(11:41):
and hunger, ancient and tired, so long since real, it said,
and its voice was wind through grain. The blackwoods forgot
thought false was enough, But you remember the true covenant?
What covenant? I asked, gratitude for prosperity, real, for real,

(12:06):
not manufactured, not stolen, freely given. Adrian tried to stop us,
grabbing for the pot we were stirring, but the moment
his hand touched ours, he gasped. Through our connection, he
felt it what real emotion tasted, like, what he'd been
missing all these years of manufacturing feelings. He staggered back,

(12:32):
I never knew. My family taught me to craft, to create,
to control. But this, this is what it actually wants,
James said, has always wanted. Your family just forgot the difference.
The entity was feeding now, but gently drawing from the
real gratitude we were creating, leaving the guests untouched. They

(12:57):
were waking from their synthetic stupor, confused, but unharmed more,
the entity whispered, please more real. So we cooked all
three of us. Now, Adrian's skill, combined with our genuine emotion,
we made a feast of true feeling. Gratitude, yes, but

(13:18):
also fear, hope, love, loss, joy, the full spectrum of
human emotion, honestly offered. The entity grew more solid with
each dish, until it looked almost human. An old woman,
thin and tired, sitting at the kitchen table. Thank you,
she said, and her voice was November wind and wood smoke.

(13:41):
For remembering the real covenant. The Blackwoods forgot. Started cheating,
offering false coin. Made me sick, made me hungry, made
me cruel. What are you, I asked, the spirit of harvest,
the gratitude of abundandents. I exist because you believe, because

(14:03):
you offer thanks. She looked at Adrian. Your ancestor knew this,
knew the true bargain, but each generation wanted to give less,
take more manufactured gratitude instead of cultivating it. I didn't know,
Adrian said quietly. I thought I was taught that emotion

(14:25):
was just another ingredient to be controlled. It can be,
the spirit said, but control without understanding is hollow she knows,
She pointed at me. She tastes truth, and he, pointing
at James, cooks it together. They remember the old way.

(14:45):
What happens now, I asked, Now we feast properly, real emotion,
real gratitude, real exchange. She stood, moving toward the dining room,
and then I sleep until next harvest. Fed properly for
the first time in sixty years. The rest of the

(15:10):
night was strange but beautiful. We served the real feast.
James and I had prepared dishes, glowing with genuine emotion.
The guests ate and cried and laughed, experiencing real feeling
after months of synthetic emotion. The entity moved among them,
sipping gratitude like wine, growing more solid and satisfied with

(15:33):
each taste. Adrian worked beside us, learning to cook with
real emotion. For the first time. I can taste it,
he kept saying, I can taste what's real. By midnight,
the entity was ready to leave. The covenant is renewed,
she said, real, for real. The town will prosper, but honestly. Now,

(15:57):
no more false feeding. She looked at Adrian. You can stay,
but you must cook truth now, no more manufacturing. I understand,
he said. She turned to James and me. You two
are bound now. Your combined gift has marked you as
keepers of the Covenant. Every harvest you'll need to ensure

(16:19):
the gratitude is real. Together, I asked, taking James's hand. Together,
the spirit confirmed and smiled, as it should be. She
dispersed like morning mist, leaving only the scent of apples
and wood smoke. The guests began to leave, dazed but

(16:41):
oddly peaceful. My mother hugged me, tears streaming down her face.
I remember now, she said, what real food tastes like,
What real emotion feels like? I'd forgotten. As the inn emptied,
Adrian approached us, I'm sorry, he said, simply, I was

(17:03):
taught wrong. I thought control was power. But what you
two have, that connection, that's real power. You could learn,
James offered to cook with real emotion. Adrian shook his head.
I need to go find myself without the manufactured feelings,

(17:24):
figure out what's real for me. He looked at me.
I am sorry, Norah, for what I did, for what
I tried to make you. I survived, I said, and
I found something real because of it. He left that
night Harvest closing behind him. The town slowly recovered from

(17:44):
their months of synthetic emotion, returning to real feeling with
relief and some pain. Truth isn't always comfortable. James and
I took over the Inn's kitchen together. We cook real
emotion into every meal, helping people remember what genuine gratitude
tastes like. Our gift combined has become something beautiful. It's

(18:10):
Thanksgiving morning as I tell you this story. In a
few hours we'll serve our first official harvest feast, real food,
real emotion, real gratitude. The inn is fully booked. People
want to taste what's genuine again. James is beside me,
his hand in mine as always. Now we're connected permanently,

(18:33):
our emotional signatures intertwined. I can feel his love like
a constant warmth, his pride in what we've built, his
hope for what comes next. Ready, he asks, together, I reply,
always together. The kitchen smells like cinnamon and sage, like

(18:54):
home and possibility, like real Thanksgiving. And for that, despite
every thing, I'm genuinely grateful. M