58. Reverie

“Maev, why is Fargo asking questions about—?” Talla stops short in the doorway when she sees us covered in our own blood. “Oh, godshit! Are you okay?! What happened?”

I wipe at our face with a cloth. The bleeding has stopped, but we’re still a mess.

“Vi unlocked her magic sense,” I mutter, my voice still nasally from all the blood clotting inside of it. “Didn’t go great. Also, have you heard of knocking?”

“Sorry,” she says, stepping inside anyway. “Are you sure you’re okay? That’s a really extreme reaction.”

“Not really,” I answer as she comes over to help me clean up. “She’s totally out of commission from the backlash.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Vi mumbles absently. “Nothing I do ever matters.”

Yeah. It’s bad. She was just lying on the floor and bleeding out until I switched with her. I almost feel sorry for her, but after how much shit she gave me when I was going through it, the best I can manage is to not laugh at her.

“You’re normally so resilient against magical strain,” Talla comments. “How did this end up happening?”

I shrug. “She took the [Adept] class. She was muttering about feeling something weird and then we just keeled over.”

Talla frowns, but her eyes start swimming the way they usually do when she’s trying to read back something from her mental library.

“There’s some precedent there,” she muses. “Usually when someone attempts to retrain into magic by themselves or under a poor tutor. Going from no magic sense to a skill-based sense backed up by significant Awareness and Ego can cause severe magical shock.”

“Sounds about right,” I reply with a nod. “Will she get over it on her own, or should we try getting one of those fancy potions?”

Talla shakes her head. “You can’t afford tinctures, and you don’t want to owe us for one. If you can, try to coax her into doing things she enjoys and talk to her as often as possible. Coming back up from severe strain with a negative expression can be slow without good support.”

“Noted. What was that about Fargo?”

“Oh right!” She straightens up at the reminder, sitting back on her hooves to level a severe expression at me. Uh oh. “Did you tell Fargo about your extra class slots?”

“Uh, no?” Not directly at least. “I just said we were planning to upgrade our classes. That’s normal, right?”

“Maggie, you were anything but normal in that conversation,” Allie reminds me.

“Maybe,” Talla sighs. “But now he’s going around asking people about your personalities. He’s not explicitly digging for info about your classes, but Rara says it’s pretty obviously his intent.”

Shit. Now what? Do we come clean? I like the guy, but I don’t know if I trust him that much. How much have we leaked to other people about our secondary classes by accident? Allie can be a real yapper, so it’s hard to keep track. Especially when we got completely smashed just the other day.

“I’d rather not kill him,” I murmur under my breath.

“Woah! Okay, let’s maybe take a second to calm down,” Talla exclaims. “It’s not that serious a problem.”

“Mags, you really need to remember that people can hear the things you say when you’re in front!” Allie snaps.

For fuck’s sake—I’ve usually got the opposite problem. What the hell is wrong with me today?

“Right. Sorry. What do we do?” I ask.

“We don’t necessarily need to ‘do’ anything,” Talla says. “I just wanted to be sure you weren’t telling him anything dangerous, or at least hear why.”

“Not on purpose,” I grumble. “I guess I’ll tell him to keep his nose out of my shit.”

“Ew. I assume that’s another phrase from your language, but I didn’t need that mental image.”

“Why is this my job, anyway?” I protest. “Allie, shouldn’t you be handling this?”

“There’s nothing to handle,” she says. “Depending on what he’s told people, rumors will spread regardless. I guess we can confront him about it, but that probably means either answering his questions or flatly refusing to.”

“How important is it for us to actually keep our extra class slots secret?” I ask.

Talla grimaces. “Important enough that I flinched a little bit from you saying it out loud just now. You’ve already got enough unwanted attention—that would earn you a whole lot more.”

“Great...”

I guess that’s another fire to put out. I’m losing track at this point.

“So you’ve advanced your classes again?” Talla asks. “You didn’t tell me you were so close to mastery. I could have helped you choose.”

“Uh...yeah. Sorry.”

I don’t know what the hell I’m apologizing for. Classes are supposed to be kinda private, aren’t they? It was one thing when we had no idea what we were doing, but we don’t need her to hold our hands anymore. Hm, actually scratch that—she can hold my hand any time.

“What did you end up going with, if you don’t mind me asking?” Talla continues. “You don’t have to answer in specific if you don’t want to.”

This is where Vi would tell me to shut up, but she’s too busy wallowing to care. Still, I guess I’ll do her the favor of not giving up every last detail. Though I wonder if I should mention our newest discovery of a mystery headmate.

“Uh, another two-star class and a couple of tier zeros,” I hedge. “Vi’s working on learning more magic, obviously, and Allie went with the language one.”

“Huh, I thought you’d be working on your second three-star by now,” she muses. “Well, I’ll be here if you need any help. In the meantime, I’ll go let Rara know that there’s nothing to worry about.”

“And I’ll get Allie to tell Fargo to shut the fuck up.”

“We also need to help get Vi back on her feet,” Allison adds. “Can you ask Talla if there’s any way we could get access to chocolate? Or maybe some of those candies that Maari had.”

“Do you—?”

“I heard,” Talla interrupts. “I don’t know what that first thing is, but I can get you some sweets—that’s a good idea.”

“Vi doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but it might still help,” Allie says. “And we should arrange another visit to Anna’s lab. Tomorrow if possible.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Talla agrees. “Anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so. Mags?”

“Nah,” I agree. “I think we’ve done enough for one day.”

* * *

The void between sleep and wakefulness used to be terrifying. When I was trapped without any power to act for myself, these moments were a torment where all I could do was ruminate over memories that weren’t my own, unable to do anything to change or influence what happened to me. I was a prisoner in an alien body. I still am, in spite of my inadvertent jailers doing as much as they can to make that prison more comfortable and welcoming.

I...appreciate it, despite everything. They’ve been patient with me, even though I’m not always fair to them. When I asked for this power, I expected to have to argue for it. I was prepared to show that vulnerability and allow them to humiliate and tease me if that’s what it took. I didn’t have to. Perhaps they already knew—understood as quickly as I did the potential in this class.

If they did, they made no mention of it, and I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for quite a bit, but it just feels like another dagger in my heart. A sliver of uncertainty that burrows its way deeper with every passing day.

Now, at last, I have a brief reprieve.

Already, the [Lucid Dream] skill is working, keeping me conscious while Maev and their body sleep. I begin tentatively exploring the power with an image of myself. It’s something I got to experience just today, thanks to Violet’s spell, and even if it wasn’t a perfect representation of me, it was me.

The image forms around me, but I can still see it in the strange way of dreams. I am much shorter than I used to be, with more distinctly orange fur—aspects of Maev that have corrupted my own identity. Yet, when I try to correct these errors, nothing comes to mind. This is just...who I am now.

I don’t know how to feel about that, and such thoughts are anathema to my purpose here, so I try to ignore them and focus on the positives. I feel like myself again. The feeling of my fur as it catches the air, my hooves against the ground, and even the weight of my ears on my head. I’d forgotten that last one entirely—something I’d completely taken for granted until experiencing it once more. Oddly, I think I might prefer Maev’s smaller ears a little bit, but these are mine.

Reaching up to touch my horns, they feel real. I was worried they wouldn’t—that none of this would feel real. But the memories these images are formed from, enhanced by the skill, are as vivid and real as any waking experience.

In moments of weakness, I’ve questioned whether I’m even real, or just a strange figment of Maev’s imagination, conjured up in response to a strange world in some twisted attempt to adapt. But there’s no way they could have manifested an experience like this from nothing. I am real, and I am myself. Thank the Goddess.

Yet my mind can’t help but wander. If I’m real, then so are my memories. My last moments, a distant echo from centuries ago, feel so painfully recent. My fingers trace the length of my horns—those monsters bolted them to the altar.

And then I’m there again. Sudden and unexpected—an errant thought transformed by my skill into a living nightmare. A scream wells in my throat, but refuses to pass my lips. I struggle helplessly against my bonds, reliving the worst and final moments of my life as tears streak down my face.

No! This isn’t what I wanted! This was supposed to be a retreat! A sanctuary! Why must I be cursed to suffer?!

“Shh. Relax your body. Still your mind. Close your eyes,” a soft and familiar voice urges me.

I do as she says, still unable to find my voice. I feel the sensation of hands over mine—gentle arms wrapping around me in a soft embrace from behind.

“Focus,” the voice continues. “Hold that sanctuary in your mind. Remember a time and place where you felt safe.”

Home. The cloister. There was a quiet courtyard the other sisters avoided. It was neglected for years before we cleaned it up—me and a few of the other orphans.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she says. “Open your eyes. Let’s relax there together.”

I’m met with the image of a lush garden, surrounded by stone walls. It’s not quite the place that I remember. There are no exits or entrances, for one thing, and the colorful flowers filling the garden are unlike any I’ve ever seen. A gentle breeze sweeps past, carrying a sweet floral scent.

“I know it’s not quite the place you had in mind. We had to work together to create it, and I couldn’t help but influence it a bit.”

I blink, realizing that I’m now sitting in a soft patch of flowers. Across from me is the woman who’s been speaking to me this entire time.

“Allie? No, wait...” My eyes widen with realization. “It’s you!”

The dreamer from Violet’s illusion smiles and nods. “Yes. I am me. Are you you?”

I frown and cross my arms. “Are you mocking me?”

“No? I don’t think so, sorry...” she replies absently, looking off to the side at a colorful insect fluttering nearby.

“You’re...sorry for not mocking me?” I inquire, feeling a little lost.

She doesn’t reply right away, cocking her head at the insect and holding out a hand as it alights on her finger. After she spends a moment examining it, I realize she’s not going to answer.

“Uh...hello? Are you ignoring me?”

The woman blinks as if startled and blushes when she glances back towards me. “Oh, no, I was just thinking about bugs.”

...

“What?” I ask incredulously.

“Magdalena mocked Violet about being attracted to Nipper—which she isn’t—but even if she were, Nipper isn’t an insect. Probably not even an arthropod. Perhaps not even a ‘he.’ I do wonder whether it’s an annelid or perhaps some sort of fish. Maybe both? Or neither. It’s a strange creature. There are a lot of strange creatures in your world. My dreams can’t keep up.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about or what that has to do with anything,” I say flatly.

“No?” she sighs. “You asked if I was mocking you.”

“And that’s where your mind went?”

“Mhm. Dreams are like that,” she replies airily. “Stray thoughts, ebb and flow, memory and creation swirl and dance together to create something new and absurd and beautiful.”

I stare at the strange, distracted aspect of Maev, dumbfounded. The other three are all focused and driven in their own ways, but this one just seems...aloof? Airheaded, perhaps.

She blushes again and looks away.

“I’m sorry. I’m not used to interacting with real people. Or, um, any people, really.”

She giggles briefly at some private joke, but I’m too stunned by something else to worry about what’s so funny.

“Hold on,” I say, frowning. “Can you read my thoughts?”

Come to think of it, this isn’t the first time she’s reacted to something I didn’t actually say out loud.

“Oh, I suppose so, yes?” she says, making it sound like a question. “This is your dream, after all.”

As if that’s somehow supposed to explain everything.

She cocks her head again, then stares up at the sky. “This is all from your thoughts. The sky, the ground, the walls, the flowers, your voice, mine—all of it. Some of my memories are mixed in, but it’s all your dream.”

I blink. “Does that mean you aren’t really here?”

“Not the same way you are,” she answers. “But I am still me. Are you you?”

That question again. I thought she was making fun of me, but the way she stares at me...I think she genuinely expects an answer.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I thought I did, but I just keep getting more confused. Who am I, really? Who am I supposed to be, and who am I becoming? Am I really E’ava’al’n, or just a memory of her? Is there a difference?”

The words spill out of me—questions I didn’t even realize I had. Something about this dream space makes me feel strangely vulnerable and exposed. It’s hard to hold back.

“We don’t have to talk about you, if you don’t want to,” the dream woman assures me. “I was just curious. I’ve never met anyone before.”

That snaps me back into focus. “Wait, really? Actually, who are you?”

“Hm? I already told you,” she replies. “I am me.”

“Okay, but what’s your name?” I insist. “How long have you been...uh...here? Real? I’m not sure how it works with Maev.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, either. I think I’ve always been here, but I’m only occasionally real. As for a name...hmm...” she ponders for a moment. “Reverie, I think.”

“You think?”

“I’ve never needed to use it,” she says. “But yes, I think I’m called Reverie. Oh, and the others have nicknames, don’t they? I should too. Revi, maybe? Or River? I think I’d like it if people called me River.”

“Alright. Nice to meet you, River,” I reply awkwardly. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but out of everybody sharing this body, I think you might be far and away the strangest one.”

“Oh!” she giggles, rubbing the back of her head bashfully. “Thank you!”

Yeah. Definitely the weirdest.