"Hannah? Hey, Hannah? Earth to Hannah Banana!"

"Huh? Eh? What?" I sputter, blinking rapidly as I peel my eyes away from trying and failing to find anything else of interest with my Aura Sight.

"You spaced out for a second there," Ida says. "What's up?"

"Oh, uh, nothing, I'm just sort of coming to a terrifying existential realization maybe?"

"Well in that case don't tell me, I'm way too sober," Ida grunts. "Come on, let's drive."

Aura sight sees auras, and auras come from souls. Right? Right. Now logically speaking, there could be plenty of explanations for why most people don't have auras. Their souls could just be too weak for me to see, or too magically inert to have an aura. But at the same time, something in the back of my head keeps bugging me, insisting that that's wrong. Souls are inherently divine in nature. So without the grace of the Goddess, how could there possibly be souls?

I had an edgy atheist phase for a bit after I accepted that I was gay and couldn't mesh that reality with what my pastor kept spouting about sin. I got really mad at the concept of religions and gods and decided that there isn't an afterlife and no inherent meaning exists in the universe. I mellowed out a bit after that and went from firm atheist to wibbly skeptic. My new position was that there probably isn't an afterlife because everything is statistically improbable until evidence for its existence can be observed by humanity, no religion possesses evidence about the immaterial, and therefore all religions are equally unlikely. They could technically exist, but with it being literally impossible to determine that existence, spending brainspace on it is a waste of my time.

I still consider myself a skeptic, I suppose, but part of being a skeptic is that when you do find evidence of something, you don't go "hmm, this seems fake because I'm skeptical," you say "oh dang, that's evidence" and adjust your worldview accordingly. And the Goddess observably exists.

Do I know what the Goddess is? No, not really. Do I know what souls are? Nope, not that either. But Death magic exists, and I've been told it proves that souls persist after death, containing the identity of the person who once held them. Therefore, consciousness exists after death… as long as you have a soul. So the idea that most people on my entire planet might not have a soul is honestly kind of terrifying.

I don't want to stop existing. I honestly can't think of anything that frightens me more. I'm tempted to thank the Goddess for confirmation that I won't, but I think I'll wait until I actually know what the afterlife is like. Oblivion seems bad, but Hell seems worse… and my Goddess can certainly be a wrathful one when the mood strikes Her.

I sit down in the passenger's seat of Ida's car, trying to banish the stress of this new revelation, or at least properly slot it in line behind my plethora of more immediate stressors. Ida has magic, so I should teach her about magic. She starts driving, keeping the radio off for once as I figure out where to start. I guess if I don't know where to start I may as well start anywhere. The element wheel is as good as any.

Ida is not happy to learn that she opposes Chaos, but honestly it makes a certain kind of sense. The sort of chaotic fae energy she has still possesses a sort of logic, which falls under the realm of Order. Chaos in the magical sense is true randomness, the absence of methodology, and it's fundamentally incompatible with life. Ida very much has a method to her madness, even if it's only understood by her.

Unfortunately, teaching Ida what she needs to know mostly just emphasizes how much I still need to know. I tell her about learning spells vs. having spells, I tell her about aura strength, I talk about how the Goddess seems to favor some people more than others and how she gives everyone their magic personally. I also, of course, tell her about the dangers of miscasting, but also how it's supposedly pretty safe to cast magic as long as you're not speaking the incantation.

"That's kind of a weird contradiction," Ida frowns. "Magic is super safe until it's super deadly?"

"I don't know what to tell you," I shrug. "When I'm casting a spell without speaking its name, I just… cast it. Once you figure it out it's pretty much automatic. But the incantation is a whole thing. You have to understand the spell you're trying to cast at a pretty deep level, and then you have to pick a name for it that the Goddess approves of. It has to be descriptive and… I think she also likes it if it's clever? Or at least interesting? It's not really needed, I suppose, because some spells have lame names like Aura Sight, but I think she was distinctly happy with me when I chose a theme."

"Huh," Ida frowns. "What's your theme?"

"Um," I say, a blush starting to form on my cheeks.

"Oh my god it's really geeky, isn't it?" Ida sighs. "It's a theme for absolute fucking dorks."

"It's Pokémon attacks," I confirm quietly.

"Of course it is. Fuck, that gives me so many questions. Does this goddess from another dimension know about goddamn Pokémon, of all things? How?"

"Um. I mean, She's a Goddess. It could literally be any number of ways. At minimum I'm pretty sure She knows everything I know. She responds to thoughts pretty directly."

"This is so fucking insane," Ida grumbles. "So I just… have magic now, huh? I just have to focus on it and then boom! It'll happen?"

"Yeah. Maybe don't try it while driving though."

Ida rolls her eyes.

"Hannah, I know you're a mere mortal restricted to seeing the world from her own viewpoint but most people are not the sort of fucking disaster to test something unknown and dangerous in a moving vehicle."

Well. That's just rude. But probably accurate. Ida doesn't react to my indignant scowls, though, and soon enough we're parked right outside my house.

"Well, you can test your magic while I get ready for work, then," I grumble, moving to open the door. "It's probably better if I'm not around, in case it turns out to be dangerous."

"Wait," Ida says, staring blankly forward and not shutting off the car. "I think you should stay."

I frown a bit.

"Your magic almost certainly won't hurt you," I tell her. "But that doesn't mean it can't hurt me. It's safer for you to test it alone."

"I don't… I think you should be here," Ida says slowly. "I don't know why, I just… is that weird?"

Huh. Is that weird? I mean, this is Ida, she's probably not saying this because she's clingy. Honestly, it's super plausible that her magic is giving her hints about stuff it needs in order to activate. Mine did that.

"Uh, no, that's not weird," I assure her. "Having feelings about that kind of stuff is how I learned to cast, so my vote is to trust it. I'd prefer you not cast anything you don't understand on me, though. Can you try it on like… a bug or something?"

"You are a bug," Ida snorts, shutting off the car. "But no, I don't think so. I… can you just stay here? Please?"

Hesitantly, I nod.

"...Okay," I allow. "I hope we don't regret this, though."

"Yeah," Ida confirms. "God, I can't fucking believe I'm taking this fantasy bullshit seriously. If I didn't know how hilariously useless at manipulation you are I'd think you were gaslighting me into this somehow."

"Is that… a compliment?" I hedge. I feel like having gaslighting skills isn't a good thing.

"No," she grunts. "Okay. Fuck it. Here goes."

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Okay, nope this won't work," Ida says.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"This isn't enough. It wants something else. I need to… no, we should… fuck, I dunno. Play me in rock-paper-scissors. First to ten."

I blink in surprise as she raises her fist to the starting position, but nod, raising my fist in kind. Why not? What could go wrong in a nice, friendly game of rock-paper-scissors? …Haha don't actually answer that, me.

"On scissors. Ready?" she prompts.

"Ready," I confirm. "Rock, paper, scissors!"

I play scissors. She plays rock. I lose. Seems reasonable. We play again, and that time I win, which prompts Ida to scowl, scrunching her face together in a determined expression. We play nine more hands after that, and I lose every single one of them.

"Holy garbanzo beans," I gape after the ninth consecutive loss. "Luck manipulation?"

"What? No, fuck you," Ida snaps. "It's not luck, bitch. Rock-paper-scissors has a lot of skill to it if you actually know what you're goddamn doing. There's a bunch of psychology to it, not to mention ways to cheat."

"Wait, have you been cheating?" I ask.

"Not if you can't prove I am," she smirks. "Otherwise I'm just the best!"

"Alright, but was that your magic at play or can you always kick this much ass at rock-paper-scissors?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

"I… I mean, it was definitely the magic," Ida says. "But it was also me, I think? It's fucking freaky. Like, I was still doing everything, I somehow just knew how to do everything. I had all these predictive and muscle reading skills that I never had before and can barely even remember now. …Fuck, how did I do that? Shit, this is so fucking messed up. I guess my magic makes me better at stuff?"

"What does that mean, exactly?"

She opens her mouth to respond, then shuts it with a scowl, taking a moment to think.

"...I don't know," she ultimately concludes. "No, I'm just wrong, I'm not better at stuff. I think? I feel manic as all hell, like I do when I get fucked up and try to do dumb shit like fight MMA professionals just to show I'm hard enough. I think I can win at anything, but then I get my ass kicked."

She looks down at her hands, seeming to barely even be paying attention to me anymore. A grin slowly works its way up her face, starting cute but morphing towards worrying at high speed.

"...But I didn't lose just now," she chuckles. "Holy shit. Holy shit."

"Um, you okay, Ida?"

"I'm better than okay!" she laughs. "I'm the best that's ever been! Go get changed for work, I'm gonna keep messing around with this."

"Uh, okay," I nod. "Just be careful, and don't let anyone see you."

"Sure, sure," Ida dismisses, waving me off.

That's not very reassuring, but I guess I didn't notice her using magic, and I am magic. I sneak into the house as best I can, thanking the blaring television that currently distracts my father. I quickly head upstairs, change into my work clothes and take most of my school stuff out of my backpack. I bring the rest of my backpack to work, because I don't really want to be caught without medical supplies and extra clothing again. I take the time to individually bind up my mutant fingers in bandages as well, since I suspect whoever's managing today might challenge me on my gloves. Showing that I literally can't use the cash register touch screens without them should get me some leniency, but I'll have to take my gloves off to actually do that.

Slinking back downstairs and returning to Ida, I find her scowling as she picks a bunch of playing cards up off the floor of her car.

"What's up?" I ask, plopping into the passenger's seat. "Figure anything out?"

"Well I figured out that I can't even win a game of solitaire, and I'm not totally sure why," she grumbles. "Spell wouldn't even activate. …God, that's so fucking weird to say. Anyway, it sucks, because I feel like I should be able to be the best at everything."

I raise an eyebrow at that.

"You think your magic is supposed to make you 'the best at everything?'" I ask. "I mean, magic's crazy, but that's a bit arrogant, don't you think?"

"Huh!" she exclaims, thinking for a moment before twisting around and looking towards the back of the car. "Yeah, it… it kinda is, isn't it? But maybe that's it. Like, you said Order magic is about thinking there's a way the world should be, right?"

"Uh, kinda, yeah," I nod. "Like, the concept of 'clean' or 'sorted' isn't objectively defined, it's totally subjective. But my subjective definition of those things seems to drive the objective functions of my magic. There's a more orderly way I want the world to be, and my order magic makes the world that way."

"Well, subjectively speaking, the world is objectively better when I am the best at everything," Ida insists, crawling halfway into the backseat to pull the foot mat off the duct-taped holes I dug into the floor of her car back when my mutations were just starting. "If that's arrogance, then I think I have arrogance magic."

I blink, not really having any words for that. Arrogance magic!? Oh beans on toast, I can't even claim that doesn't make sense. Of course Ida would develop arrogance magic.

"The world would also be better if my shit wasn't broken," Ida continues. "My stuff should always be the best stuff. So let's see if I can do anything about that."

She rips a strip of duct tape off and focuses for a moment. I stay quiet, letting her work. Then, I start to see it. The metal twists, shifting and even growing when necessary to get back into place, and when it's done there's not a shred of evidence that the damage ever occurred. Ida takes a deep breath, admiring her work with an ever-growing grin.

"Oh my fucking god," she chuckles. "I take it all back. Magic is the coolest thing ever."

"Goddess," I correct automatically.

"Huh?"

"You have a Goddess now," I remind her. "Not a god."

Ida glances back, giving me a concerned look.

"Oh," she answers. "Uh, right. Yeah."

"I just… y'know, if you have arrogance magic I think you should be careful about that, is all," I stutter, my brain doing its best to catch up with my words and figure out why I'm so insistent on this. "Arrogance is probably fine, I'm sure the Goddess thinks it's great if she gave you that. Just be careful it doesn't evolve into hubris, okay? She's dangerous, Ida. She can and will smite you if you make Her mad."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Duly noted, I guess," Ida shrugs, ripping off the next piece of tape to expose the second of ten holes in the floor. "Can't say I wouldn't do the same if I were a goddess."

Uh. Huh. Gosh, the idea of Ida and the Goddess having similar personalities is simultaneously terrifying and enlightening in a bunch of different ways I really don't want to think about. I stay quiet as she struggles through repairing the rest of the damage I did to her car, not wanting to disturb her and not sure what to say. She actually starts sweating a bit when she gets halfway through repairing the damage I've done, leaning down in the space between the front seats and bumping up against me as she works, her butt sticking right up in my face.

It's a pretty nice butt, honestly, even as skinny as Ida is. While she can look pretty young from a distance, being very short and skinny, Ida makes an effort to accentuate her assets with tasteful makeup, expert accessorizing, and very, very tight clothing. Though they aren't as pronounced as most girls our age, Ida doesn't let anyone forget that she has curves, and when her shirt starts riding up to reveal her back and belly I have no choice but to muster all my willpower and redirect a deeply blushing face to look out the window until she sits back up.

"Fucking… finally," Ida huffs, her face shining with sweat. "That is awesome, but it is exhausting. I need a rest, you drive."

She tosses me the keys, which I fumble to catch, and then she shoos me out of the passenger seat. I get out of the car and head around to the driver's seat, experiencing the surprise of having to adjust the seat back for once. It's so strange not being the shortest person driving a car.

"You sure?" I ask. "You never let other people drive your car."

"Well don't fucking crash and I won't have reason to regret it," she mumbles. "I'm fucking tired and I agreed to give you a ride to work, so you can do it yourself."

"Alright," I nod, and start the car. It's very weird driving a car other than my dad's, but I take it slow and we get to my work safely. Ida spends the entire trip insulting my driving skills, but we still make it there. I park and move to get out, but Ida grabs my wrist before I can open the door.

"Hey," she says. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn't seem forthcoming.

"Hey?" I prompt.

She squirms a bit, slouching down in her seat with one leg bouncing nervously. She spends nearly half a minute looking like she's on the verge of saying something before she finally comes out and actually says anything at all.

"You're in some deep shit, right?" she manages.

Instinctively, I want to brush her off. To not say anything, to keep all my problems to myself, but that's not fair to her. Not when she already knows this much. So I wiggle my extra limbs, pulling them free of the bindings around my stomach that hold them in place and letting them peek out from underneath my shirt, the clawed spider legs revealing themselves with my best take at a shrug. Ida's eyes widen, though she carefully doesn't react.

"I'm not really human anymore," I say quietly. "And that's far from the worst of it. When I go to sleep tonight, my free will has a good chance of being stolen away by a mind rapist who plans to use me as a living weapon. I've been panicking about it all day because I don't know if there's anything I can do about it."

"Is that something I'm gonna end up getting stuck in?" Ida asks. "This other world?"

I shrug.

"Not to my knowledge," I tell her. "But my knowledge is next to nothing so it's a possibility. Nothing all that bad has happened on Earth yet, though I feel like that's just a ticking time bomb waiting to happen."

"Okay," Ida nods. She's still holding my wrist. "Hey, Hannah?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm a hedonist," she says. "I think there's no fucking point to life if I don't spend it living my best one."

"I did always get that impression from you, yeah," I agree, smiling softly. "It's fine. I'll keep leaving you alone, keep you out of the drama. If you're not overt with your magic I doubt anybody will bother you."

"No," Ida growls, giving me a frighteningly intense glare. "Fuck that. Fuck that until it tears in half. Hannah, I… this is insane, but I'm with you, okay? One hundred percent, one thousand fucking percent, I'm with you. I was a complete piece of shit for ditching you before when it first got weird."

"I… it's fine, Ida," I insist, pulling my hand away. "Really. It's probably better if you just avoid me and lie l—"

"No! Shut the fuck up, Hannah!" Ida shouts, pointing a furious finger at me. "Look at me! I do what I goddamn want! And I'm all-in on this. You don't get a say, because you do stupid shit with your say like forgive me and pretend you don't have any problems when on the inside you're fucking dying. And I saw you doing it! All last fucking week, whenever you weren't making goochie-goo eyes at that Autumn bitch, you were miserable. And I just… that hurt to see, okay? I can't stand that shit. I'll kill anybody that makes you feel that way."

She turns away from me, sinking a little lower into the passenger's seat and crossing her arms over her chest. I gape at her, feeling more than a little bowled over by that furious tirade. It's not fun being yelled at, even if that was ostensibly a pretty intense emotional declaration of… friendship? Maybe more than friendship? Gosh I don't want to read too much into that and don't know what I would want the answer to be if I did. She may have already admitted to wanting to have sex with me, but knowing Ida that definitely isn't something that requires love on her end.

You know what? Right now, it doesn't matter. I have Ida back, one way or another. Realizing that shoves everything else out of my mind, a soothing waterfall of relief filling me. I have Ida back. I didn't mess up our friendship after all. She has my back, and I literally have no choice but to embrace that. Which is perfect, because she's right that I probably wouldn't have accepted it otherwise.

"Thank you, Ida," I tell her, holding back a sudden urge for tears. "You're the best."

"I fucking know," she grunts. "Now get out of my goddamn car."

I smile, taking a brief moment to wrap up my extra limbs again before exiting, leaving her keys in the ignition. I head into work and get my day started, occasionally glancing out the window to see Ida's car sitting motionlessly for nearly fifteen minutes before she finally gets into the driver's seat and leaves.

Work is terrible, which is arguably a good thing because I'm so busy I don't have time to freak out about what's going to happen tonight. Three people call out sick, leaving my boss and I alone with one other employee to handle the entire dinner rush. I'm stuck up front because the extra employee was hired barely a week ago and only knows how to work one station in the kitchen, leaving my boss to do basically everything else in the back while I handle every single customer getting increasingly irate about our long wait times. At one point I turn away from the register and see four different full trays of orders ready to be bagged, and I am very, very tempted to just speak Refresh out loud and forcibly move them all where they're supposed to go at once. I don't, but it's a pretty close shave with my limited self-control. I wonder if I can be fired for using magic on shift. I guess legally I probably can, it's not like 'mage' is protected under equal opportunity laws, but would I be? …Nah, probably not. My boss would think cleaning magic is pretty sick.

I do use some silent cleaning magic when I'm out in the dining room making sure everything looks nice. Subtle stuff where I give a table a cursory wipe-down with a towel and secretly make the whole thing ultra-clean, or force all the crumbs on the floor to obey my broom in a single sweep. Not that I have a whole lot of time to clean in the first place between taking, bagging, and tabling orders. Once the shift finally ends though I pretty much use as much magic as I can get away with to speed through the closing routine and make sure everything is clean for tomorrow, because I am exhausted and I have no desire to stay here any longer than… huh. I forgot that I really, really don't want to go to sleep tonight. Steak on toast, I'm really stupid. If anything I should be slowing down.

I mean, I shouldn't slow down, because that would be really unfair to the people I'm working with who very much want to go home, but oh Goddess I do not want to go home, I do not want to be faced with the combination of my own exhaustion and easy access to a bed. After all, I still haven't decided if I'm going to run away and leave my friends with a mind-controlling bastard, or if I'm going to… to kill him. I… no, no, no, I hate this. I hate this so much. I don't want to kill him, but I don't know what else I can do. Murder is bad, it's wrong, but Sindri can steal and twist free will.

I've called him a mind rapist before, and to some degree it feels wrong. It feels like rape—one of the and arguably the most terrible thing you can do to another person—can't possibly be used as a point of comparison without hyperbole. In reality, though, I think I've been generally avoiding the term in order to avoid thinking about how horribly, disgustingly, terrifyingly accurate it is. Sindri's violations aren't sexual in nature, no, but having someone worm their way into my mind and rip away the parts of me that want to scream 'no?' What… what other analogy can I use for that!?

I find myself kneeling on the floor, vaguely aware that I'm starting to hyperventilate, tears forming in my eyes. When I go home I am consigning myself to waking up in the same room as a man who intends to discard my personhood like a worn-out toy. I might escape, I might even end up killing him, but nothing will change the fact that I have to take that dive, I have to know that he has already twisted me and he very possibly will do so again. Maybe he'll find a way to retain his mind control when I'm here on Earth. Maybe I'll stop being anything but his puppet, his little fake 'friend' who sticks with him because she's physically lost the capability to identify abuse. I could wither away to nothing, become no one, end up being his little monster pet in truth, just like one of the animals he thought I was. And the worst part is, I can't stop it. I'm doomed to have to face this possibility, to face him, and none of my plans give me a surefire way out. I'm going to go home, I'm going to get in bed, and I'm going to risk being raped. Those are the stakes. That's what I'm consigning myself to. The one fucking thing that's basically guaranteed to get me even more traumatized than I already am, and I just… I just… fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

"Hannah? Hey, Hannah!"

My boss is kneeling on the ground next to me. The cleaning supplies are scattered on the floor around me. I'm sobbing in earnest, at least when I can manage to successfully take a full breath. My chest hurts. Oh good. A panic attack. Again.

"Fine," I somehow manage to choke out. "I'm fine."

"Do you need—"

I don't pay attention to the rest of my boss' sentence because he reaches out to put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and it takes all of my willpower to not claw his fucking throat out. I freeze, utterly motionless, not trusting myself to so much as breathe. He's touching me he's touching me he's touching me like that bastard did but it's not the same, he's trying to help, it's fine it's fine it's fine it's fine it's fine it's fine!

"...Off," I hiss, and thank the Goddess that's enough for him to get the message and remove his hand. My panic attack has fully evolved into predator fight-or-flight response and I'm seconds away from biting anything in range. I have to leave. To separate myself from people. The… the walk-in fridge has a lock on the inside. A thick door. I can hide there. I stand up and start to move, tears still falling down my face as I wordlessly step past my boss, step into the fridge, and collapse into a sobbing mess. I'm not human enough to feel cold anymore, so the temperature doesn't even bother me.

The smell does, though. I don't have even the slightest bit of willpower left to resist the urge to take off a glove, rip open a bag of raw chicken with my claws, and just devour the entire thing. One bag of chicken, incidentally, is ten pounds. Twenty cuts of meat, each slippery with marinade, torn into chunks by my teeth and swallowed by the mouthful. Ferociously gluttonous, I devour bite after bite of stolen meat and silently imagine each and every one as a person: Sindri, my boss, my old therapist, my own mother, my friends, the dumb preppy girl who made fun of my gloves earlier today, the various customers that yelled at me. Dead, dead, dead, dead, all by my tooth and claw, my dominance made manifest. Only when I reach into the bag and swipe at nothing but the remains of uncooked chicken juices does my fugue end, my stomach painfully bloated but somehow not burst. I waste a bit of time shuddering in revulsion, but then I realize I have to hide the evidence and get back to my job. Having a panic attack like that is really going to hurt my chance for a promotion.

A few quick casts of Refresh set the walk-in looking pristine, and with my budding spatial sense it's easy to find an opportunity to exit the fridge and throw away the empty chicken bag without anyone seeing me. I head back out to the dining room, where to my eternal embarrassment I find my boss finishing the last of my closing duties. I let out a shaky breath, feeling my cheeks turn a bit pinker. It's fine. I just let everyone down, but they're not going to be that mad. Probably.

"Sorry," I say automatically, reaching out to take the mop from my boss.

"It's fine," he says, probably lying. "It's been a rough day for everyone. I was really impressed with how clean you got everything else, actually."

"Um, thank you," I shrug awkwardly. "I'm good at cleaning. I like it."

"I guess you've found a good job then," he chuckles. "Just finish this up and we'll finally get out of here, okay?"

Oh. Goodie.

I get through the rest of the closing routine on autopilot. It's all I have left. I catch a ride home with my boss, successfully do not murder him, and with terror suffusing every bone and exoskeletal feature in my body, I trudge up to my room. A normal person, I think, would get in bed and be kept wide awake by this sort of panic and fear. But I know that when I lie down on that mattress, I'll be out like a light. And then I'll have to face it all. I can't do that. I collapse to the floor of my room, and shakily send off a text.

Help.

The response is almost immediate.

What do you need?

Thank you, Brendan. Thank you.

I have to go back, I text him. I have to go back and he'll be waiting and I'll have to kill him.

You could run.

No. He's a rapist. A monster. I have to kill him.

The typing symbol starts and stops, over and over. He's taking too long. I need to hear his response now.

Just say something, I send him.

I believe in you, he answers back.

I don't.

I know, he says. But I do. And I think I'm right to. You'll make it through, Hannah. No matter what. I'd bet the whole world on you.

Okay, I say. Then I follow it up with something I don't normally say, and maybe should more often. I love you, Brendan.

I love you too, Hannah, he answers immediately. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

He's implying a lot in that statement. He's saying I'll still be alive tomorrow, and I'll still be me.

Okay, I agree. I'll talk to you tomorrow. I'm going to bed.

Good night, Hannah.

It won't be. But good night to you, Brendan.

My body shaking, I strip my clothes off and get into bed. Soon I wake up, surrounded by wood and beds and full-bodied terror. Sindri! I have to kill Sindri, or else he'll—

"Good morning, Hana," my nightmare says.

He's standing by the window. I rush towards him immediately, magic collecting in my legs, but… wait. Am I really prepared to murder someone? No, agh, I have to commit!

Aren't I overreacting? my own mind wonders. Sindri and I have have been through a lot together, and he's been on my side through all of it. What if I'm imagining this? Can I really kill him over something like that?

Oh, this motherfucker! I'm not letting him gaslight me like this! I rush closer, preparing a strike on his leg to force him to the ground, but the thoughts he put in my head—did he put them in my head?—keep squirming, twisting, making me doubt. I don't… I don't want to kill him. I don't think I can do it! We saved each other from bandits, cultists, acid-spewing forest monsters, and all sorts of things! He's taught me so much, he's helped me so much, can I really doubt our friendship like—agh, no, not that word! He's not my friend!!! If I can't kill him, I have to run!

"Friends should hear each other out first," Sindri disagrees, and I stop in my tracks. He's… he's right, of course. I mean, well, the fact that he can remove free will makes hearing him out suspect, but he wouldn't do that to me. I'm… I'm not thinking straight. I have to go. Or… no. That's stupid. I'm not thinking straight, so that's all the more reason to get help from a friend.

Sorry, I apologize instinctively.

"It's fine, Hana," Sindri reassures me, a slight smile on his face. "I have to admit, I was surprised—and a little worried—to see you acting so aggressive all of a sudden."

Yeah, that's… well, y'know. I thought you were mind controlling me, which… well. Um. No, wait, I heard you speak that incantation. I guess you are mind controlling me. But… that's… fine?

That's a very rude accusation, Hannah, Sindri says, immediately making me feel ashamed. My spell doesn't control anyone.

Oh? Gosh, sorry then. You're right, I feel so…! Wait. No, your magic definitely controls things, that's how you fight. It's not at all unreasonable to assume you can control me. You're controlling Bulupunu, after all. And those birds that you follow the Chaos mage with!

Hannah, I promise that I'm doing no such thing.

Oh. Well. Hmm. That doesn't make a lot of sense, but I trust him. He's doing no such thing. But… well, just in case, I guess I should mention something.

Okay, I believe you, I tell him. But we should look into this mind control thing anyway.

Oh? Sindri asks.

Well, because I was really, really convinced that you were mind controlling me when I was awake on Earth, I tell him. I'm not sure why I'm mentioning Earth, but it's whatever. I trust Sindri. I guess all my reasoning about you being an evil rapist seems kind of silly now, but there was definitely something affecting my state of mind. If you're a soul mage, you should help me get rid of it.

And why's that? he asks.

Well, because if you don't, I'll kill you, I explain.

He blinks with shock, which is really embarrassing so I barrel onwards.

Sorry, I mean, I don't want to kill you, I assure him. But I'm worried that I will when I go to sleep. The mind control stuff is a big deal to me, you know? I thought of all these tricks I can try to break free of it, things I can attempt or try to force or whatever. I don't really want to do any of those, but I do want to warn you that I'll keep trying. I will find whatever's messing with my head. I will rip it to shreds. I will eat its corpse.

My body is shaking as I say these things, and I'm not really sure why. I must be worried about Sindri. I used to be really convinced it was his fault, for some reason. That's why I have to tell him these things. So he doesn't get hurt.

I'm very dangerous, I tell him. You've seen me fight. It would just take a few seconds. If there is anyone messing with my head, and they can understand me now, I suggest that they run. I know that you know I don't like killing, Sindri, but for this I will kill. Sleep far away from me. Get up early. Exclude me from night watches. You have to stay awake every hour I'm conscious, Sindri. Please.

"I'm sure it will be okay," Sindri says hesitantly.

Please, Sindri, I beg him. I don't want to kill my friend.

He swallows, seeming nervous for whatever reason.

"For now, let's just wake the others," he says. "We have an important day ahead of us."

Okay, I agree happily, and jump up on Kagiso's bed to poke her awake. We have a Chaos mage to fight, after all. I should focus on that and put this entire conversation behind us.

That must be why I feel like I'm on the verge of a breakdown. Can't think of anything else it would be.