"I guess," I say quietly, "I'll keep your advice in mind."

Madaline nods. She can always just flip the board. I wonder, in a vaguely absent way, if Madaline considers the Goddess a friend out of genuine affection, or if she just considers the Goddess a friend because the game ends up being played regardless of whether or not you opt in? It certainly seems like a less terrifying way to live, if you just accept reality for what it is and play along.

I don't think I can do that, though. I'm really dang good at carrying on through the worst situations and acting like they aren't a problem, sure, but at least I don't fool myself into thinking that's a good idea. When everything is this bad, when my very birth was divinely ordained to be used against me, I don't think I can have fun. I don't think I can play a game. Goddess, I hope You enjoy me just the way I am, because that's what I'll be sending at You.

If there's one thing I know about You, it's that You're my enemy. You will never be my friend.

The Goddess smirks, the Goddess shrugs. Enemy, friend, opponent, rival, mother, lover, master… whatever I want to call Her, our relationship is the same. It's as equally unchanged as my relationship with the weather, or my relationship with a supernova. She will laugh at my joy and sorrow equally. She will gasp at both my triumphs and my failures. She will be by my side until the moment my soul dissolves from this and every world, holding me and kissing me and cheering for me at every turn. I am Her prophet. I am Her champion. I am Her chosen. And these things will be no less true no matter what I do. There is no choice which deviates from Her enraptured attention.

But if I really want to annoy Her, well, that'll be its own kind of entertainment too. It's my call; that is, after all, the most important rule of the game.

Anything else would be too easy.

I shudder, Madaline watching me curiously. I have no idea how much of this… 'conversation' she's picking up on. I'm not sure I want to know. But what I do want to know is this: is the game really about destroying the world? If I'm stuck being a piece, Goddess, don't I deserve to know what it is I'm really playing for? Are these horrible torture-cultists right?

The Goddess laughs. It seems to Her that the more salient question is this: even if they are right, does that mean I'm going to decide to sit and do nothing while they torture me to death? Are these the people I'm going to throw my lot in with? Out of all my friends, all my allies, everyone who cares about me and fights with me and would want to help me with anything I set my mind to, would I really choose these horrible schmucks?

And that question kind of answers itself, doesn't it? Maybe I am on track to cause some kind of horrible apocalyptic event. But even if so, these people will never be the ones I trust at my back to fight against it.

"You seem… to have made a decision," Madaline says, smiling slightly. "Forgive me… if I hope it never becomes relevant. My… other friends still want to keep you trapped, after all."

Ah. Yes. The horrific reality of the Goddess almost distracted me from the horrific reality of daily soul torture for a moment. That starts sinking back into the forefront of my mind, and all of a sudden a single day off doesn't really sound like much at all. Welp, time to panic again!

If Madaline notices my mounting terror, she certainly doesn't show it. If anything, she looks rather sleepy. She yawns, seeming perfectly content to sit in front of my cage and say nothing. Whatever it is she wanted to know, she's already learned it, and her indifference to whether I escape or rot here seems to match our shared indifference to everything whenever she's wiping our minds clean of thoughts.

I finish the rest of my food and drink a bit of water. Then, to my utter despair, I start to realize that I'm sleepy. That doesn't seem fair at all. I get one day to not be in agony, one day to heal, one day to maybe be able to think, and my body wants to spend it all sleeping. It's sickeningly horrible. I don't want to sleep. I don't want tomorrow to come. I know what happens tomorrow and I am going to hate it.

I don't want to feel this way. And she's right here. I could just ask her to—

"Addicting, isn't it?" Madaline murmurs. "Sorry."

Oh. Oh, right. I let out a shaky breath. Maybe… maybe sleep wouldn't be so bad after all.

Sleep turns out to be bad. Mostly because when I fall asleep, it's Friday, and when Friday is over, I have to go back to the torture dungeon. The day barely even registers in my mind before it's already gone; I speak to my friends briefly about the Goddess and what Madaline and I talked about, but no one has any good ideas on how to defy Her. We barely even know what She wants, outside base entertainment. All we know is that we can't get caught speaking spells out loud with anyone else around.

Then, Friday night happens. Madaline does not offer to help me again. My day becomes torture and pain once more, and somehow it seems to hurt all the worse for the brief reprieve. The routine was broken, and so the wound is ripped open just as it started to heal, newly jagged and raw. It is the most pain I've ever had to endure in my entire life. I still can't bring myself to stop it. The next time I really feel aware enough of anything but pain and routine to think, I find myself in the car, being driven to my therapist on Saturday morning.

"You don't seem to be doing well, Hannah," is the comment from my mother that finally snaps my attention to reality. I bite down an instinctive 'no shit.'

"I haven't been doing well for a long time now, mom," I say instead.

"...But the therapy is helping?" she asks.

"As much as anything can, I guess," I mumble. "You really did pick a good therapist. She's… got a way with words."

She nods, satisfied now that her actions have been tied directly to me getting better. I'm not getting better, of course, but that would be an inconvenient thing to bring attention to. As long as she's responsible for everything good in my life and guiltless for everything negative, she's happy enough to not bother me further. Like this, the drive continues to be uncomfortable, but at least it's uncomfortable and silent.

We make it to the building Dr. Carson works in, and before long I'm following her back into her office. The cold fear of therapy still pulses in my primordial lizard brain, trained for far too long to associate this sort of place with danger and abuse, but it's a little dull compared to the sharp throb of soul damage. I walk into the room with an impressive zero panic attacks, only having to stop and fight one off once on my way to the couch. Collapsing down into the seat, I sit and stare at nothing, slowly coming to the realization that I have absolutely no idea how to talk about anything that is happening to me right now at all.

"Well," Dr. Carson starts for me, seeming to notice my dumbfounded silence, "how has the past week been treating you, Hannah?"

Hmm. Well. There is only one way that I can sufficiently sum it all up, I think.

"Bad," I say.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Dr. Carson answers, making me briefly suspect she does have magic powers with how she can somehow say platitudes and make them sound genuinely sincere. "Would you like to talk about it?"

I stare at her for a bit. She maintains eye contact, a pleasant but patient smile on her face.

"...That's it?" I ask. "No, 'hey Hannah, remember how last session you proved magic is real and revealed you were mutating into a bug monster?'"

"I distinctly recall insisting that you are not a monster, actually," she answers happily.

"...Dr. Carson, please," I insist. "You are being way too normal about my life and it's weirding me out."

Dr. Carson pauses for a moment, absently tapping her pen against her notepad while she thinks.

"So, a bit of transparency here," she answers. "I believe in the importance of professional conduct in professional settings, especially in my profession where I am often dealing with people who need to be able to trust me with the sort of things they don't trust with anyone. I am, for some people, the only port in a storm, and if I'm not reliable and steady in all the ways I project myself to be, if I am not worthy of the respect and trust I am given, then not only will I be unable to help my clients but I might even make their situation worse. You, in particular, have first-hand experience with the sort of damage a person in my position can do. So while I certainly have questions, doubts, worries, and anxieties of my own… this is not the place for me to voice them. The fact that you have made good on your promise of being a client completely unlike any other I have experienced does not at all change what my duties to you are. As such, I can't allow myself to start a conversation about how the revelations you've brought to my table affect me. That is not what we are here to talk about today, unless you specifically request it."

"And if I do specifically request it?" I ask, taking off my gloves and letting my extra limbs twist partly back into visible space. My current shirt doesn't have limb-holes, so I'm just letting them pop in after the first joint, making it look like they're appearing out of thin air. I flex my fingers, scraping my claws lightly against my own palms, and watch my therapist as she tries and fails not to stare.

"...If you want to talk about my thoughts and questions on the matter," Dr. Carson says, "I certainly have a lot of them. Your claims about religion, about other worlds, about magic… they all leave me desperately hungry for answers, I'll admit. But above all else, I want to ask more about your brief mention of being able to cure diseases."

Ah. Yeah. I should have expected that.

"...'Cure' is a strong word," I hedge, "but the one person I helped does seem to be doing a lot better, last I heard."

"But I believe you mentioned that further use of your magic to cure people was something you didn't want to draw attention to," Dr. Carson presses. "So normally, I wouldn't do that. But if you're encouraging me to be selfish with my inquiries, that's something I'd like to ask about. Not that you should feel any pressure to answer, of course."

"No, I guess… it's kind of relevant to my current problems," I mumble. "So… gosh, uh, where do I start. Magic comes from the Goddess, right?"

"You mentioned a Goddess last session, but you got distressed when I asked about her and requested we change the subject," Dr. Carson says, looking at her notes.

"Yeah, that sounds like me," I sigh. "So magic comes from the Goddess, who is like… a being that exists in, as best I can tell, some kind of imperceivable reality above our own. But She is both willing and capable of acting directly on our world, and the main way She chooses to do so is by giving people magic powers. Which… I've demonstrated."

"Sure, I'm with you so far," Dr. Carson nods amicably.

"Right. Yeah. The problem with this is that you can make a spell more powerful by summoning the Goddess directly to help you cast it, and this… is bad. Because whenever the Goddess is around people without magic, they get magic, and I have no way of knowing or predicting what that magic will be or do. It's very personalized to whoever gets it, so if the wrong person gets magic, the consequences could be… disastrous. Possibly even apocalyptic."

"...And that's what you have to do to cure diseases?" Dr. Carson guesses.

"Exactly," I confirm. "To use my spell with that level of power and precision, I need to speak its name aloud, and if I do that then I give whoever I'm helping a soul, and if I do that I'm risking all hell breaking loose. It's kind of a lose-lose situation."

"I see," Dr. Carson nods. "I imagine that's quite frustrating."

"Frustrating is one way to put it," I agree, pulling off my jacket. "I'm pretty much being constantly tempted by a divine troll to end the world. And that sort of leads into my current troubles: in that other universe I told you about, I've been kidnapped by a cult and I'm being tortured daily."

Dr. Carson pauses again.

"I don't want you to take this as disbelief in your claims," she says carefully, "but most people don't speak with that level of flippancy about their being tortured."

"Yeah," I agree. "I'm trying to hang onto the flippant mindset as best I can, though, because otherwise I don't think I'd be up to talking about it at all. I've had trouble talking all week."

Dr. Carson nods.

"Dissociation can be a useful strategy for dealing with issues in the short term, but it's important to be careful about not letting it become the crutch that replaces your legs. By distancing yourself from the issue, you can defend yourself from short-term problems, but you also prevent yourself from healing."

I shudder, hating myself as I yearn for Madaline.

"...Yeah," I agree. "That makes sense. I'm trying my best, though. I'm trying."

"I know you are, Hannah," Dr. Carson reassures me. "And even if you don't always succeed, that doesn't mean the effort is wasted. I notice you're doing a good job at not pointing your blades in my direction, today."

"What?" I ask, having to take a moment to figure out what the heck she's talking about. …Oh, right. Last session she wanted me to practice never pointing my blade-limbs at anyone by accident. "Oh, I'm not… I barely even thought about that all week. They're just kind of droopy because my everything hurts."

"Because of the torture, or because of something else?" Dr. Carson asks.

"Because of the extrauniversal soul torture, yeah," I confirm.

"Which has been happening all week," she presses.

"Correct."

"...Well Hannah, you're certainly under no obligation to contact me for any reason, but this is the sort of situation I gave you my personal number for."

"Oh, right," I blink. "Sorry. I forgot, with everything going on. …And I'm not sure I would have wanted to talk about it anyway. Except maybe to ask you about killing people again. But I think… I think I have my answer to that question. So it doesn't really matter."

"What do you mean?" Dr. Carson asks.

I sigh. I don't like explaining things to her, because it always makes me feel crazy. She's too normal to understand this stuff, it feels like. Even though I've proven magic is real, it feels like any sane person would continue to deny it anyway. I know that's stupid, but… I can't shake the feeling anyway. What if I am crazy? Still, it does me no good to stay silent.

"So… the spell I showed you. The one that sorts things. I use it for a lot of stuff. Cooking, cleaning, pulling bacteria out of people. We've talked about it."

"We have," she nods, encouraging me to continue.

"So the caveat behind the spell is that, more specifically, it moves things to where I think they should be. I have to believe, in a genuine, fundamental way, that whatever I'm moving belongs where I'm going to put it. So while the spell is powerful enough to, say, sort the oxygen out of someone's lungs, doing so requires me to have… a very specific sort of worldview. And I am afraid if these people keep hurting me, keep torturing me every night, I'll find the idea that they fundamentally deserve death to be easier to believe than I want it to be."

Dr. Carson scribbles down a few words, but when she's done she just waits in silence, staring at her notepad with a frown on her face. I stay quiet, letting her think as I pull my uncomfortable shoes off and stretch my clawed toes a little.

"That is certainly… a complicated situation," Dr. Carson eventually concludes. "I can tell from our conversations that you are afraid of hurting others, afraid of being dangerous, and it seems like this is another situation in which you're finding yourself forced to try and defend yourself. You're a very empathetic person, Hannah, to want to respect the sanctity of the lives of people going out of their way to do you harm. I don't think most people would do that, and I find that admirable. At the same time, however, you seem to struggle greatly with protecting yourself or asserting your boundaries. You have a history of simply letting bad things happen to you without working to change them, and while your positive traits are genuinely wonderful, they can sometimes feed into this issue."

"Yeah," I sigh. "I… I know all of that."

"My apologies, Hannah," Dr. Carson nods. "I'm just trying to get my thoughts in order. It's difficult for me to give concrete advice because your situation is so unique. So I suppose I'll ask you this: what do you want to do? What would be the ideal resolution to things, in your eyes?"

I shrug.

"To be let go, I guess?" I answer. "I wanna not be tortured but also not murder anybody. But… realistically, I know that's not going to happen. It's not how the other world works. It's kind of a horrible place, you know? People seem to need to kill one another on a pretty regular basis over there."

"It happens more often than we like to admit over here, as well," Dr. Carson comments sadly.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Yeah, I guess it does. Anyway, just sort of being let go isn't going to happen, so I guess… I'd like to find a way to escape that doesn't require me to sort air out of people's lungs. But I just… we tried that? We tried it and it didn't work and I just don't know what to do about it."

"I see," Dr. Carson says. "Well, then I just want to say… we all struggle to find a good answer in desperate situations. My job is not to make the decision for you, Hannah, it is to help you come to terms with whatever decision you make. So when that time comes, I will be here for you. Until then… you are the person who is most knowledgeable about what you're going through. The only thing I recommend is to decide how you don't want things to be, and work up from there."

I don't want to kill people with Refresh. I don't. Partially because it feels like I'd be betraying myself, and partially because it feels like the thing the Goddess wants me to do. I want to climb Her walls, not be led around by them. I don't want to be whatever it is She plans for me to be. So… I need to find another way. That starts with believing there can be another way.

"Okay, doc," I nod. "Thanks. I'll… I'll try to keep up hope."

"An ever-important skill to develop," she says with a smile. "What else can I help you with today, Hannah?"

I smile a little, grateful for the change in subject. I know I need to think about this, but I need a break. The ache is enough of a reminder already. So we change the subject, talking a little about how exercise helped but I still don't have a safe place to do much of it, about various other things magic can do and how it works, and about how Pokémon Sword and Shield is a sad, soulless shell of the franchise's former glory. It's not much, but it helps.

Near the end of the session, Dr. Carson encourages me to use her personal number if I ever need immediate help again, which I respond to in that usual noncommittal way people use when they know they aren't going to do something but don't want to outright admit to it. Unfortunately, Dr. Carson eats attempted deflections for breakfast, and catches mine with the expert ease of a true hunter.

"In that case, are you interested in increasing the frequency of these sessions to twice a week?" she asks. "Again, there's no pressure to accept, but you've mentioned that these sessions are helpful to you, and it's my honest opinion that eighty-five minutes a week might be below your current needs."

"You're saying I need a lot more therapy," I sigh.

"I'm saying that I believe structure is helpful to you, and placing things on your schedule acts as a useful way for you to give yourself structure."

"...Yeah, okay," I mutter. "I… it's still hard for me, what with the therapy trauma stuff. But… yeah. You're good at your job, doc. Things feel less impossible after talking to you. And that's… something, even if it doesn't last for long."

"Do you anticipate that you're going to consider positive change impossible in the near future?" Dr. Carson asks.

"Oh, definitely," I nod. "Probably in the next few hours, at least. But things won't be so bad, up until that point. And that's something."

"Yes," Dr. Carson says, her face carefully expressionless. "That is something. But I think you can do better, too. Don't give up, Hannah. Whatever else you may be, you're still a kind, intelligent girl with limitless potential."

Limitless potential, huh? Maybe she's right. …But I doubt it. I don't think the secret to my escape is some Dragonball-style powerup sequence. Whatever I choose is going to be hard, and it's going to hurt. And that's assuming I can even find anything worth choosing in the first place.

My mom drives me home after our session, Dr. Carson having convinced her to sign me up for therapy on Wednesdays as well. I remember, belatedly, that Alma and I agreed to go on a date today, but we never really agreed on where to go. I text her on the way home, and we decide on a bookstore and dinner. Hard to go wrong with books and food, right?

My mother doesn't have many objections to the idea of me hanging out with a female friend for the rest of the day (a fact that would certainly change if she knew I was gay, but hey, that's part of why I'm in the closet). She does, however, have a lot of questions regarding my plans to sleep somewhere other than home after hanging out. I assure her that it's a girls-only sleepover (completely true) and that it's at Ida's house (completely false, but Ida would back up my lie without even thinking about it so she's the best choice). The reality is that we'll be staying at Valerie's house and attempting to see what sort of magic everyone can enact on me while I sleep.

I eventually convince mom by lying to her about how well I'm doing at school, though if I stop getting systematically tortured every night I probably will go back to doing well at school so it's hopefully just a temporary lie. Alma and I have our date soon afterwards, and it goes… okay. The longer it drags on, the more the pain in my soul leaks into everything I try to do. As expected, the exhaustion and ache overwhelms me a few hours into things, and though I have a pretty good time, I'm mostly just going through the motions by the end of things.

"You're miserable, aren't you?" Alma says, sounding… defeated. We're having dinner, and after dinner we'll be heading to Valerie's. I hold down a sigh, scrounging my exhausted brain for a set of words that won't make her think it's her fault.

"...I would be way more miserable if not for the date," I settle on. "Thank you."

She manages a soft smile, which I hope means I was successful.

"You're welcome, I guess," she says. "I just wish I could be any help."

"Being with me is help enough," I answer. "We'll figure something out."

"Yeah," she agrees. "I hope so."

The drive to Valerie's house is quiet and awkward, but we make it there all the same. Valerie makes me park my dad's car in her garage since we live close to each other and she knows I would have had to lie to be allowed to sleep overnight. Then we all head downstairs, finding Ida sitting on the couch and scratching a happy-looking Fartbuns under the chin.

"What's up, lovebirds?" Ida greets us. "How was the date?"

"It was fine," Alma dismisses. "Um, is it just me or is that dog a little different?"

"Oh yeah," I yawn. "Valerie, how have you and F-buns' mutations been going?"

For some reason, Alma looks confused, Valerie looks embarrassed, and Ida absolutely lights up with delight.

"Valerie!?" she says giddily, and oh fuck that's right she's not out yet fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm the worst!

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Hannah…" Valerie sighs.

"I'm sorry," I blurt. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I'm so stupid…"

"Fuck yeah, though!" Ida cheers, lifting one hand like she's doing an imaginary toast. "Valerie's a cute-ass name. Congrats on hatching!"

Valerie blinks in surprise.

"Thanks?" she says.

"Sorry, what's going on?" Alma asks awkwardly. "Who's Valerie?"

"I'm Valerie," Valerie answers. "I'm trans, apparently."

"Oh," Alma says. "Okay?"

"Yo, if you need help with hormones or whatever, I know a girl that can hook you up," Ida says, leaning forwards. "Buuuuut knowing you and Hannah, you're already taking the magical route, aren't you?"

"...We may have attempted an unwise experiment," Valerie admits. "Which is why, yes, Fartbuns is also growing like, four extra legs for some reason? They're just little nubs right now, but… yeah. He's getting bigger. But he still seems pretty happy, so I guess it's not hurting him? No blood yet, either."

Oh hey, yeah. Now that I'm looking for them, I do spot some extra limb-nubs growing under F-buns' skin. And looking over Valerie herself… hmm. Yep, that's some tailbone extension. I think she might be growing a bit of fur, too?

"Ten bucks on catgirl for Val," Ida says before I can even share my findings.

"...I hope not," Valerie grumbles. "That would just be stereotypical."

"Whatever nyou say, nya," Ida teases, curling one hand like a cat's paw. "Stereotypical doesn't mean bad."

"Um… n-no offense regarding the big personal revelation or whatever, but can we focus on saving Hannah?" Alma asks, seeming uncomfortable.

"Yes, I agree," Valerie says. "I didn't even want to discuss this in the first place."

"Sorry," I mutter again.

"It's fine," she sighs.

"You're so fucking tall, though!" Ida grins, standing up and wiping dog hair off her shorts. "Goddess, I bet your tits are gonna be so huge. Tall girls always get the best racks, I swear. Just, massive fucking dohondonkaroos."

"Ida, please," I groan.

"Fine, fine, okay," she relents. "Follow me, Hannah Banana."

She leads me into a side room, where a mattress is sitting on the floor.

"This is my mattress," Ida says, "which I figured would be good to bring because if you rip it up in your sleep or we fuck it up with magic somehow, I can just repair it. Plus your whole job in this is to just pass the fuck out, and my bed is super fucking comfy. So. You're welcome."

"Uh," I say. It's kind of weird that Ida brought her entire mattress here, but I suppose her logic makes sense. "Thanks, I guess?"

I pull off my outer layer of clothes to get a bit more comfortable, though I'm a bit too awkward to undress anywhere near as much as I normally would before sleeping. Flopping onto the bed with most of my limbs free is nice, though, or at least as nice as any physical sensation can hope to be through my all-encompassing pain.

"So," Valerie declares. "Here's the situation. When Hannah falls asleep, she wakes up in the other world at the moment she would have woken up normally, regardless of how much time has passed here. This happens both treeside and earthside; if Hannah naps here for only a minute, she can still be awake in the other world for a full day. The time doesn't match or synch up. And that means that Hannah will receive the effects of our spells at somewhat unpredictable times in the other world. She won't know what she's going to get or when. Our best way around this is to establish a plan in advance for what spells we'll be casting in what order, so Hannah can at least know what magic is going to activate, if not at what time. But the problem with that is that we don't know when our plan's keystone will kick in on our end."

"Why not?" Alma asks. "What's our keystone?"

"It's Jet," Valerie answers bluntly, making Alma frown. "I have a bunch of ideas to try today, but frankly I don't think they're better ideas than the ones I tried the first time around. And even though Ida's spell has a lot of potential to help out while Hannah is in the other world, the strongest option we have is absolutely Jet. Her remove-from-attention spell seems to fit the criteria of a spell that would transfer between worlds, and it'd be an invaluable spell for creating a condition where Hannah can escape. If she can activate it on Hannah… well, our plan is basically to have her do that all night, if she's able. Then we support Hannah with buffs that might help her break out of her cage while people hopefully forget she even exists."

"Oh," Alma says softly. "So… I guess I can't help at all, can I?"

Oh, crap.

"Alma, of course you can help," I assure her, quickly sitting up. "I'm terrified and in pain and just having you here while I try to sleep will—"

"No Less Than Perfect," Ida interrupts, pushing me back down onto the bed as a glorious sensation of painlessness pulses through my body. "Here's an idea, Alma: how about you help by not saying things to make the situation about you?"

"Wh—Ida!" I protest, snapping back to attention. "Don't be a jerk to my girlfriend!"

"Oh, sorry Alma," Ida says with false sweetness, staring her dead in the eyes. "Was that uncalled for?"

She doesn't ask it like it's an attempt at an apology, of course. She asks it as a genuine challenge. And the way Alma flinches and looks away says a lot about what she thinks the answer is.

"Cool, so let's all shut up and let Hannah try to sleep," Ida declares. "And if you have any tricks for swapping to your alter on purpose, it'd be swell if you could do that, Alma. I get it's not always that easy, but it's something only you can do. Alright?"

"...Alright," Alma murmurs quietly.

"Cool," Ida grunts, flopping down into a chair near my head. "You want any more healing pulses to deal with the pain, Hannah, you let me know. Whatever gets you sleepy."

"...I'm going to get some last-minute art done," Valerie declares, heading to the room's exit. "Come get me when she's unconscious."

Alma says nothing, just sitting awkwardly on the side of the bed and taking a few deep breaths. I kind of wish Valerie would just use a sleep spell on me or something, but I hardly ever have trouble falling asleep and we agreed it'd probably be more efficient for her to focus on spells that might help get me out of the situation. Now that I'm actually here, though, lying on someone else's mattress in someone else's house with two other people in the room, I'm finding sleep somewhat difficult. Not because it's not comfortable, but because it's very comfortable. It's safe. I'm surrounded by the people who care about me most, all of them working to help me as best they can. I'm not in pain for the first time in far too long. And all of it, every last comfort and speck of beauty, will vanish the moment I lose consciousness.

I know I'll have to face it eventually. The torture, the pain, the cage, the cultists. I have to go from this wonderful house full of friends to an agonizing dungeon full of pain. The contrast makes the blade all the sharper, and I dread the moment it inevitably comes for my neck. I know I have to do this. I know I do. But I can't. I can't face that willingly. We already failed this once, why would we think we wouldn't fail again? Worse, what if the cultists figure out how to do the same thing!? What if they attack my friends through me?

"No Less Than Perfect," Ida invokes again, a pulse of warmth and stability flowing through my panicked mind as the Goddess briefly descends to speak the words. Huh. It even calms panic attacks. That's neat. Still, a new sleeping strategy is in order.

"Hey, Alma?" I say quietly.

"Yep," she mutters. "Still Alma. Sorry."

"I think I know something you can do for me," I say, a blush starting to lightly form on my cheeks.

"Yeah?" she asks.

"I, um. I could really use a hug."

Kagiso always finds it easier to sleep when she's wrapped around me, and I have to admit I've gotten used to the same. Just… some level of comfort that won't go away until the final moment I'm whisked away is what I need.

"...Okay," Alma agrees, scooting onto the bed more and lying down, letting me wrap my limbs around her. She's a different kind of soft from Kagiso, for sure, but certainly a pleasant kind. It's not so bad being normal sized, big enough to do the smothering instead of being the one smothered. I ignore the eye-roll I can see Ida doing with my spatial sense and squeeze my girlfriend just a little tighter. I'll be okay. I can do this.

I can do this, right?

The tears start to fall, and I bury my face in Alma's shoulder to hide them. I can't do this. I know I can't do this. I'll screw it up somehow. Not good enough, I remind myself, and the Goddess smiles. Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough.

"I don't want to go," I whisper.

Alma tenses up, slowly reaching up to pull off the hat she uses to hide her droopy, triangular ears.

"I don't want to go either," she whispers back, her body curling up a little. Her tail, I realize suddenly, is still. "I want to stay with you. I want to be by your side, always."

I don't have the mental strength left to care that she's blocked her headmate out of an intimate moment. In fact, I can't think of a better use. I don't want Jet here right now either. I just want to hold my girlfriend and be okay.

"Would you come with me?" I ask. "If you could?"

"In a heartbeat," she confirms. "To another world, to another life… it doesn't matter. I'll follow you anywhere."

"I thought you didn't want to leave your dad," I mumble, the familiar feeling of being held starting to lull me to sleep.

"I don't want to leave him for Jet," she answers. "But I'll leave him for you. Nothing matters, as long as I have you."

"That doesn't… sound like a healthy thing to say," I comment groggily.

"Well, we're already having a secret tryst behind our family's backs," Alma says soothingly, cupping my face in her hands. "And you're slowly changing my body into something terrifying outside my control."

"Alma…" I whisper sadly.

"I think it's okay," she tells me quietly, "if our relationship is a little unhealthy. I don't think it was ever going to be anything else. But I'll make it work. For you."

"Alma—!"

And then she kisses me. Slow yet still sudden, she pulls herself into my lips, a beautiful and intimate pressure. A cacophony of new sensations, from the softness of her face to the cool wetness of her saliva, from the warm pressure of her body against mine to the increasingly-uncomfortable presence of a third wheel sitting at the head of the bed, it is beautiful and it is lovely and it is messy and it is strange. But that is, perhaps, who we are at our core. I, the monster. The spider. The burrower, hiding myself from head to toe in fear of the world. And her, the chimera. The fragment. The broken amalgam, hoping desperately that with this piece, she'll finally fit together.

I don't know if it's love or fear, but I want her with me. I want her with me so desperately. To have someone in that horrible place who actually cares… it matters more than anything. Just like her, I wish I didn't have to be two separate halves, two unrelated lives. I wish I could just be one, true me, with everyone I care about all at once.

And so the Goddess hears my prayer, and She smiles.

I am a bridge between worlds, She reminds me. It's only natural that I would have the ability to offer passage. And in that moment, drowning in that horrible sense of need, I don't even care that Her words are poison. I want it too badly, and I'm not good enough to resist.

I wake up inside a cage, and Alma's screams don't matter because nothing does.

Madaline sits where she usually sits. I sit where I always sit. Our food and drink are here, and while someone helped Madaline eat, my meal sits untouched because I do not care about it. And while I know I care about Alma, I know it should matter as I watch her pick herself up off the floor next to my cage, swearing to herself in obvious animal panic, I can't bring myself to act. I can't even bring myself to want to act. It's all too… detached, like it's all happening in the background of a television show I'm mostly tuning out.

"Hannah!?" Alma shouts in panic. "Hannah!?"

But I don't answer. I don't know how to answer. I am nothing. Alma spots my cage and recoils in horror at what she sees inside, not recognizing me. But it doesn't matter. Alma sees Madaline, spaced out and unresponsive, and she starts hyperventilating harder. But it doesn't matter. And when guards rush into the room with weapons, shouting at her and threatening her and making demands, that doesn't matter either.

I can do nothing to help her, because I do not exist.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Alma shouts, and when one of the guards rushes forwards he runs headlong into the wall of her invisible house, blocked off from approaching any further. As he recovers from the shock, Alma is already rushing down invisible stairs, moving straight through the floor as she staggers from the throes of a panic attack. The guards call for backup, the building seems to go on high alert with everyone running around like angry ants, and Hagoro rushes in to guard me and wake up Madaline.

None of it matters. Until, of course, it does. Then I start screaming and having a panic attack.

"Oh Goddess Oh Goddess Oh Goddess," I cry, trying not to vomit.

"What did you do!?" Hagoro demands.

"Fuck you!" I shout back. "Don't you dare hurt her!"

My torturer strides into the room, his face the quiet sort of livid that collects on someone too composed to shout.

"What happened?" he asks. "I heard there was an intruder in this room?"

"Sir!" one of the guards that tried to attack Alma reports. "Yes, sir. It was a human woman. Pale skin, lighter-than-normal hair, but not like you'd expect from someone with albinism. Oddly-shaped ears, maybe Transmutation-related? Dressed strangely, too. Never seen clothes like that before."

"Her spells?" my torturer presses.

"Barrier-Pneuma-Light, sir!" the second guard answers. "Not sure what she can do, but she demonstrated a semistandard barrier and then walked clean through the floor."

"...Walking through solid objects with Barrier, Pneuma, and Light?" my torturer frowns. "Maybe the Light aspect…? Hmm. Any incantations?"

"None, sir!"

"I see. Well, what matters is that this room stays secure. Capturing her is a secondary priority to maintaining control of the Founder's Kin, understand? Don't have everyone running around trying to catch a matter phaser. Set a trap and return the rest of the guards here."

"Yes sir!"

"Now then," he says, turning to glower at me. "We still have to deal with you."

"Don't you dare hurt her," I threaten, my back legs rubbing together with an eldritch hiss. "I'll kill you. Don't think for a fucking second that I can't!"

"Oh, I don't doubt you can," he agrees, approaching the cage. "I'm sure you've got it all figured out now, plans churning away in that apocalyptic little brain of yours. Which is why I'm going to figure you out before you can act on any of it. Even Magic Dies."

I shudder, my spatial sense briefly winking out before coming back all on its own. If my friends had casted any spells on me, they would be gone now. …But they haven't yet. I'm asleep, but my friends haven't helped me at all. Either they can't, or… well. They're probably busy freaking out because Alma suddenly disappeared.

She felt so small, when I pulled her through my soul. Like a speck of dust in a raging river. And now she's here, at the river's mouth, and the teeth are closing around her. I asked for this. I'm the worst person imaginable.

I deserve the torture that's about to happen to me.

"Vitae Vivisection," the Goddess croons, my torturer reaching inside me with more force than ever before. The screams start immediately, and they don't stop for hours and hours and hours.

When I wake up back in Valerie's house, my throat still feels raw. My cheek is also sore as hell, which I realize is because a heavily-breathing Ida just slapped me across the face. It's the least composed I've ever seen her before, a wild-eyed look of terror from a girl suddenly finding herself no longer in control. I suppose I shouldn't judge, though, since my face is probably worse.

"Oh my god, Hannah, are you awake?" Valerie demands, her massive form towering above where I lie on the bed. "What happened?"

"Goddess," I say automatically, my brain still rebooting from pain and terror.

"What happened!?" she demands again. "Where's Autumn?"

"I… she's… she's in the other world," I answer, agony twisting my insides with every movement. "I took her to the other world! And then I got tortured unconscious! Oh Goddess oh fuck, she could be anywhere! Anything could be happening to her! I just pulled her into hell and left her there!"

"No Less Than Perfect!" The Goddess shouts with Ida's lips, the fog of my terror lifting momentarily as I get a fleeting instant to be free of pain… though it quickly returns in full force, since I passed out during the torture session. "Hannah, calm the fuck down! Is there anything you could have done?"

"I-I don't know," I breathe. "Maybe? Probably? I was trapped under Madaline's spell for most of it, but the rest was just me doing nothing because I'm a useless idiot and I freak out at every little thing and I wasn't thinking at all—"

A smack rings out through the room as Ida slaps me again.

"It's a lot easier to hit you than heal you, you know!" she snaps.

"Ida!" Valerie shouts. "You're not helping."

"Bitch, I am always helping. Now both of you focus. Did you pull her through on purpose, Hannah?"

"I… kind of?" I admit, shame flooding me.

"So does that mean you can do it again?" she asks.

"Maybe?" I say. "Probably? I've gotta be able to bring her back, I… oh fuck, I need to bring her back! I need to fall back asleep, I need—"

"No, stop," Valerie says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You need to not fall asleep."

"What?" I ask, dumbfounded. "But I have to save her! I have to go help her!"

"No, tallgirl is right," Ida agrees, her eyes flicking around to focus on everything and nothing. "The same amount of time passes regardless of when you pass out here, right? At this point you can only fuck it up even more by going to sleep when we aren't prepared."

"Are we not prepared!?" I demand, my voice rising to a shriek. "Didn't we all gather here in the first place because we're prepared!?"

"We were prepared to support you from this universe," Valerie grunts. "We were not at all prepared to travel to another universe and raid a cultist base. I need… so many new drawings."

"What!? No!" I protest. "No way! I am not bringing you to that horrible hellhole! You'll die!"

"You don't really have a fucking choice, Hannah!" Ida shouts. "You kind of teleported our plan A to that hellhole while you were snogging her to sleep! And unless you've been fucking holding out on us, you're still in the torture cage! What are you gonna do, huh? Moan about how much it hurts some more?"

"Ida, back the fuck off!" Valerie demands. "She knows she fucked up, you don't have to be such a bitch about it!"

"Oh, I know she knows," Ida fires back. "And that's exactly why I've gotta be a bitch. If I try to coddle her ass, she won't believe a word I say. Nor should she. Now own the fuck up, Hannah: you need us. We have been carrying your ass this entire way and I will slap your tits off if you try to get me to drop you before the finish line again. I told you, bitch. I'm all-in. I am going to find the motherfucker doing this to you and I am going to make him suffer before he dies."

Ida glowers at me, her fists clenched and shaking. She looks furious, and seeing her anything less than fully composed is a little terrifying all on its own.

"Ida, I…" I gulp. "I'm sorry, I just… sorry."

"Shut the fuck up, Hannah," Ida growls, stomping towards the exit of the room. "I can't believe everything went tits up before we could even start. And now I have to fucking rescue your fucking monogamous bitch of a girlfriend!"

"Wait, where are you going?" Valerie asks.

"I'm getting prepared!" Ida shouts back, heading to the stairs. "You'd better start doing the same! And keep spider-girl awake!"

The front door slams shut soon afterwards, Ida's car starting up and pulling out of the driveway. I sit up, staring helplessly down at my hands.

"What… what should I do now?" I ask. "To get ready."

Valerie hesitates a moment, looking rather overwhelmed herself.

"I… guess you should probably practice the spell you'll need to use to send us to the other wo… hmm. No, actually, that might be a bad idea. Ida said you fell unconscious right when Autumn disappeared, and we couldn't wake you up for at least a full minute. It's possible that using the spell knocks you out, which would be… bad."

"Ah," I say. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"I guess you just… stay awake," Valerie shrugs. "You want an energy drink or something?"

"I guess so," I agree absently. "I'm not sure they work on me anymore, but if I end up getting poisoned that'll probably keep me awake too."

I get up off the bed, not liking how tired I already am. It's not even that late at night; the sun had barely set when I started trying to sleep and it's not much later after that. I'll have to stay awake for however long it takes for Valerie and Ida to get ready, and I have nothing productive I can do to help. I just… have to wait.

I make it barely two hours before I can't stand it anymore. I'm too antsy, and if anything my jitters are just making it more difficult for Valerie to prepare. I end up driving home and, in the absence of anything better to spend my time doing, I get the insane idea to try streaming.

It's not a bad plan, really. I just need something to pass the time, and while the idea of playing games in a crisis situation like this is revolting to me, I've managed to fool myself into thinking streaming is a job before, and I can fool myself into thinking it again. I haven't streamed all week, what with the exhaustion and torture and stuff, so it's technically even work I'm behind on. Hardly anyone is actually going to watch my stream since it's not normal streaming hours for me (or for much of anyone, really) but that doesn't matter. All that really matters is that I'm immensely exhausted, and I cannot under any circumstances let myself fall asleep.

It's agony. It's a shit stream. But it does pass the time, and when the sun starts to rise I shut things down and move on to distracting myself in other ways, instead. My mother made me promise to be home from the sleepover before church, and she would have had a freakout if I failed to keep that promise, but if I get ready and make breakfast for her before she's even up, that'll win me some favor and likely spare me a nasty conversation or two. So breakfast it is, my soul throbbing with every Refresh I cast to mix the batter or clean the counter.

This is… insane. It's all insane. I'm doing my routine while my girlfriend is being tormented in who-knows-how-many ways, all of which is my fault. This is not right. I should not be doing this. But I have nothing else I can do, because the routine is all I am. I'm just a slave to the ruts my brain has dug. I should run away the moment we save Alma. I shouldn't be around people. I shouldn't be.

Breakfast happens. The drive to church happens. We pull into the parking lot and walk inside, and to my horror I spot J-mug and a woman I recognize to be his mother mingling with the other people in our congregation. I duck into an obscure corner of the room, desperately hoping they don't see me. My eyes droop, but I can't sleep. I can't. I have to wait, to let my friends get the opportunity to fix my fuckups. Just like always.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Ignoring standard church etiquette, I pull it out in an instant, fumbling with the screen as I read the text.

ready, Ida says. back at tallgirl's house. where r u

I'm at church, I answer. Not sure I can leave before it's done?

r u serious???

I grimace, not sure what to say. I should go, but I don't have a car and my family would freak out, but I should go though, Ida and Valerie are waiting for me, but I don't have a good way to leave…

"Hey, it's you!" a woman's voice calls out in my direction. "My little angel!"

…What? I look up from my phone in horror, spotting J-mom walking towards me, her eyes implying a big smile behind her tightly-secured facemask. She's a tall woman, thin and frail-looking but with the boisterous attitude of someone used to being a lot more fit than she currently is. J-mug trails behind her, looking frightened and almost… guilty? That's probably bad.

"I'm so glad I caught you!" J-mom practically gleams. "I just have to thank you."

"Mom, I told you she doesn't want people talking about it…" J-Mug whines behind her.

"Nonsense!" his mother insists. "She worked an honest-to-God miracle, the doctors said so! The church should know they have a prophet in their midst!"

A lot of eyes are on us now, over half the congregation. I am… absolutely dumbfounded. Is this woman really this stupid…?

"Thank you," she says, bowing low. "Truly. The gifts you gave me saved my life, even before you saved my house as well. I owe you everything."

What? What? Is she serious? She owes me everything and she doesn't even have the basic common sense to respect what I asked of her? I am struck speechless by this… absolute insanity. What is going on?

"Hannah?" my mother asks, approaching with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's she talking about? What happened, exactly?"

"Your daughter is chosen by God," the woman insists. "She has the gift of healing."

"Mom, stop, please…" J-mug begs. "M-miss Hannah, I'm so sorry, I didn't know she was going to do this…"

"Ma'am, I understand you've been through a lot recently, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't harass my daughter," my mother says with a practiced smile. "I think you're overwhelming her with your… claims."

"They're not just claims," the woman insists. "I mean it. The doctors all know it's a miracle. There's no other way to explain it. They have a recording of her doing it on the monitor footage."

What.

…What!?

"Monitor… footage?" I squeak.

"Yep!" she confirms. "I saw it myself! And Jared witnessed it too, didn't you?"

For some reason, I'm not sure why, I feel the beginning of a laugh bubbling up in my chest.

"Mom, I really don't think we should be talking about this," Jared whines. "That footage was pretty grainy and it didn't really show… some important bits."

My claws, maybe? Does the footage not show my claws? Just fuzzy weird fingers? Goddess, like that even matters. I sucked like a pound of bacteria out of an open wound and then collapsed into a sobbing wreck. I cured what was probably an incurable disease. I'm fucked. I'm completely and totally fucked.

"...I've been fucked for weeks," I realize, and the laughs start to come out in full force. "I've been putting myself through all this shit for nothing, because I've been fucked for weeks! Aaahahaha!"

"...Hannah?" my mother asks. "What are you—"

"Shut up!" I snap. "Just… shut up! You don't get to know! You don't get to be in control of this one. Nobody does!"

Goddess it feels dreadfully good to say that. Instinctively I cringe in terror and regret the moment it comes out of my mouth, but… really, do I have to care anymore? Do I have to care what she thinks? It's over. My life is over and there's nothing she can do about it. She has no power over me. None. Everything is broken and now I'm finally free.

"Your little angel," I hiss at the stupid fucking woman whose life I saved. "Sorry ma'am, but you're barking up the wrong tree with that one."

I take off my glove, tossing it onto the floor. I'll find some other way to use my touch screen, who even cares. Everyone is staring now. Who even cares.

"I am not an angel," I tell her, tossing my other glove away.

"I am not a follower of your bigoted mess of a god," I snap, my jacket following. The back of my shirt strains and tears as I pull out my blade limbs, causing the whole room to take a step back. I laugh again, tossing my mask aside too. Let them see my claws, my fangs, my blades. It doesn't fucking matter. I have actually important things to do, away from this horrible, stifling place.

"And I may not know what the fuck I am, but it sure isn't anything any of you want me to be!" I declare, kicking my shoes off for good measure. "Now get out of my way! I've gotta go save my girlfriend."

No one stops me as I step forward, and I take a little too much pleasure in the horrified look on my family's faces as I pass them without another word. I walk out of church, and the moment my claws touch concrete I start to run.

I don't even need a car to get back to Valerie's house. I'm pretty damn fast.