Content Warnings:

Self-harm through sawing at soul. hearing and panic attacks at voice of an abuser, mention of past abuse and being taught not to run, Arguments over names and personhood and ideation of letting self rust away.

I return from the shopping, arms laden with baskets of fresh produce and simple meats like grackle pâte, avian sticks, and dried haiqualle braids.

Mistress' favorite. I hope she can eat without too much issue, buuut I wouldn't mind helping her with that again. She looks SO cute and grumpy when I feed her!

I step in wetness as I reach the door and stop. Mistress' blood? Concerning.

Without hesitation I raise a foot and kick the door down, prepared to switch my sister into activity.

"Mistress! Are you okay?" I shout with worry.

She lies naked and pristine on the bed, surrounded by bloodsoaked sheets and cradling Miss Xafra the Speardoll in her arms.

I set the baskets down on one of the few clean surfaces remaining in the small room and rouse her gently. "Mistress, are you in there? If you don't answer I'm gonna paint your toenails pink again."

She HATES pink, which makes it the perfect threat!

Mistress wakes though. Looking vibrant, weak, but healthier than she has in a long time.

She grumbles at me about the pink while smiling and I boop Xafra with ::Curiosity:: to see what I missed. I get back SCANDALOUSLY graphic details and can't help but titter as I collect a clean set of clothes for the Mistress.

"Would you like to have a nap, then eat, before heading out? You're um... Mistress, you look really good but also pretty tired. There's a lot of blood all over the place."

"Food first, if you please." She goes on being morbid and I hand her the clothes before getting a plate of food together for her.

I miss food. I wonder If I could eat with some changes? Hmm… Something else to bother sister about before talking to Miss Xafra.

Her face lights up seeing the haiqualle braids that I sliced into reasonably sized pieces and arrayed with the local fruits and veg.

As Mistress eats, she converses with Xafra through the bond, or… A newer bond?

It's odd that I didn't feel that, but I guess only part of it broke and was replaced?

She seems excited and frustrated, like when someone (me) kept hiding her socks and stockings last time she was really sick so she couldn't dash out for the next research project.

Mistress had a lot of fun punishing me for that.

Hehe. So did I.

While they discuss, she multitasks even further by asking me questions about the town. Like if there's an adequate place to sell the chitin we collected, or any local Denizen reports. I answer but am pretty distracted by their conversation. Trying REALLY hard to keep up with both and not stare at my still half-dressed Mistress.

But… then Mistress asks me about the presence of Threshers and I can't help the internal screaming that begins, rousing my sister.

Can't let them find us, find out, take away our Mistress. No, No, No.

Sister calms me before Mistress Elevar can notice so that I answer in the negative. There are currently only a couple small Covens, and the most recent Thresher group left three moons ago.

Having finished their conversation, Miss Xafra turns mentally to me and asks if she can practice using my voice. The idea feels... kinda sexy, like I'm being used for my mouth again but in public. So of course I tell her yes.

Mistress finishes dressing while I pack, and mentions that her ankle is still weak so I get to help keep her upright while we walk.

YAY!

Stolen novel; please report.

Before we leave I hold the door in place and Mistress reknits the hinges, something simple that will hold them together for now. She attempts to clean the blood as well but… staggers in pain shortly after starting.

The Soul Rot hurts her so much. I wish I could take it in her place, I have much less to lose.

The front desk is less than pleased about the blood, but Mistress slides a jade ingot over and the problem disappears.

Walk walk walk walk walk I mumble privately, keeping pace with my big steppies to match the Mistress.

We are heading to the shops to sell the chitin, Miss Xafra practicing sharing my voice so all three of us can chat audibly. Mistress and Miss are teasing me about how shocked I was upon returning to see the situation they got in, and I rebutt with the fact that blood was seeping under the entryway, and anyway my response was pretty reasonable really.

Happy! This is so much fun.

But… before Mistress can steer us clear, a trio of Witches approach dressed in the blue and black robes of the Calla Grove, thankfully not the one that Mistress is still nominally a part of. Miss Xafra and myself fall silent to allow Mistress Elevar to handle them. Their words become itchy, itchy, itchy, and I tune them out but Miss Xafra seems to be distressed. I go to ask her silently when my mouth opens and the voice of Mistress' nightmares, her savior and jailer, comes out.

"You Shall not Speak in my Presence. You Shall not Breathe in my Presence. You Shall not Stand in my Presence. I am the Matriarch, and the Gift of Life you have been given is being Reclaimed."

Icy rage wars with terror through my bonds as the trio drops to their knees, clutching their throats and bleeding from the eyes and nose. Miss Xafra submerges with their death and I can finally turn to look at the Mistress, who is backing away from me with horror on her face.

Oh no.

I pull up my sister in a frantic rush for advice.

[Sister, It's bad again, I'm so sorry]

[Schatzi what has…] My sister starts to ask, but I quickly interrupt her with the flood of information I send: Flashes of fear, of Mistress' Stem Witch slaying with my mouth, of the impossibility of it, of the bodies on the street before us and the Mistress cowering and frozen in fear.

[The Parasite has shown her fangs, it seems.] Sister rumbles as she takes charge, splitting arms, and fangs, and quills out, their low humming tune beginning. Its rage is a sharp defensive thing like barbed wire topping a picket fence.

Mistress is... the bond weeps with confliction, pain, panic, and worse. She doesn't run from me and that almost hurts more than the fear, because her Stem Witch was the one who taught her firsthand the consequences of running.

Sister speaks of fleeing, asking permission to carry our Mistress away from here. Her face pales further. Filled with uncertainty, anger, and so much fear. Mistress whispers half a name, "Ysel—" before mentioning Miss Xafra in its stead.

Sister responds that Miss Xafra is broken, hiding, and I worry that it is correct. Mistress breathes deep, pushing aside panic and nods, giving us permission to carry her in all four arms. Sister begins to run, hard and fast, but precise towards the forests beneath the Winding Root Paths as the Mistress grips the tether between herself and Miss Xafra tightly enough for her soul to weep Physis.

[She's hurting herself, Sister.] I whisper internally. My sister, Frame 514.5, observes without dissonance that we cannot let the Mistress proceed much further once she starts trying to hack at the Ousia woven tether with scalpels of inferior Physis, accomplishing only further damage to her soul.

Sister slows at my words and its own observation, reducing to a leisurely pace towards home, still a few days away. It thrums its quills louder and attempts to dissuade and reassure our Mistress that Miss Xafra, sister corrects itself this time, was protecting us and that yes, the old teacher is dead. Sister buried the bones in eight different graves itself. And informs her that the wording and power was much different even if the resonance matched. I push my sister to point out that the Witches' words were itchy, like the wrong tone and… that’s what finally gets through to her.

Mistress jerks into focus, demanding we stop as she starts talking about a shattered dream and the harm of the tone. We listen but don't really understand other than that she's worried about Xafra. Sister finds a barren patch, far enough between roots to avoid tracking and crouches down in a defensive stance while Mistress tries to talk to Miss Xafra. She has sister cradle both her and Miss Xafra's Speardoll form together and eventually slips into the same sleep they were in earlier while holding us all close.

[Thank you, sister. Once again you've protected us.]

My sister recoils mentally before conceding my point. It knows that it does well despite the pain of loneliness. As it buzzes and thrums, it speaks to me.

[I am glad the Parasite lured Mistress into asking about your name.]

Sister, oh my dear sister.

[You deserve one as well, or at least to have your designation used. Are you listening, Vierzehn?]

We roil with confliction in tune. I hurt it knowingly, and feel sister's ache within and without. How desperately it misses the time before when it was one of many, part of a pack. A real family.

"Do not call this one that, sister." It hisses aloud, barely audible over the quills song. "Please."

[Alright. But you need something. You Know This. Please consider my words.]

Sister courses with rage and pain, unable to dive into slumber while actively protecting our Mistress. But eventually it refocuses, asking why I chose to keep my name, trying to push away the growing feeling of dissonance.

I explain, meandering through the memories between us to Last Mistress. [She wasn't kind but she saw us, knew us as more than just tools. Even named us. And... I don't think she meant to abandon us. I don't think the pack was meant to end like that. Our purpose was left incomplete. Mistress Elevar and Miss Xafra care. Something that we have not seen often.]

Sisters thoughts slow as it works to process, asking for clarification, seeking to reduce the division between us. [But why do you insist this one needs a name? It functions without]

[Because the Mistress and Miss need it, and I think you do as well. You are not me, and I am not you. As far as we know, we are the last of our pack, and the old ways cannot suffice anymore. We are all so so very damaged, sister, but maybe we can heal together.]

My words flare the division between us painfully as sister slips and struggles to maintain its form, the stark difference between us laid bare as the sudden weeping that comes with the sun. [Any name this one considers you would deny it, and the words you would lay would only crack our divisions further. You know this. Why invite failure to our function?]

Pausing to let my sister settle, I consider before intoning gently. [I have realized that... I was mistaken. If you would take a name to use, and not just as a cudgel, I will accept ones that I wouldn't before. You liked Verrosten, how about Verrostchen? A compromise.]

Quills adjust to sing a tune of bitter amusement. Sister denies my offer.

I am a Doll. Like clay, made to be Pliant, Quiet, Obedient. I am not a person by my own choice. Sister is a Blade. A Doll crafted for combat, to kill relentlessly, to be one of many. Never a person, even before the change. It claims to be defective, rusted through, ignoring that I am the error that manifested in the change. I should have been subliminated and yet I persisted. I persist, before everything else, I persist. And I Hate it. I despise the responsibility to cater to sister, to keep it going against its own desires when doing so grates against my urge to submit, to serve, to please.

Fine. I will call you by my name, so you'll call me by yours.

[Defect. Continue onwards now. We need to get home.] I order my sister, my twin, in a manner that permits no disagreement.