The System touches me for a brief second. For just a brief moment, I connect to the Magical Construct that spans this universe. Eerie logic in electronic blue lines crawls across my vision as it readies the Magic that will change my very body and give me the traits that will give me true power and color any classes I can obtain.

My awareness of my reality temporarily expands to all the Magic under the System's Domain, before retracting back to my body like a balloon, bringing with me the Magic that bonds with my being.

The traits will change me to something more Magical in nature, this System sending Magic as needed for achievements that define the person's very being.

Within my mind’s eye, a cartoon representation of my soul on a chalkboard appears. It is made of clear-white chalk lines surrounding empty spaces with the typical grayish-green and wooden frame of a stereotypical class chalkboard.

My soul is scribbled inside a representation of my body, but for some reason, it just looks wrong inside my body, like a square peg in a round hole. If I had a body in my mind, just looking at it would give me a full-body twitch.

I ignore this in favor of watching the chalkboard magically being written on, all of this being inside my mind’s eye, a fever dream created by the System for a peculiar reason that I fail to comprehend.

First, thousands of grey-chalk hands are scratched onto the chalkboard. Thick, beefy hands roughly grabbing and rearranging my soul, before the stop-motion picture settles on a derelict ziggurat in ruins.

*scrape, scrape*

Red chalk stubs are used to scrawl horns onto the ziggurat in ruins.

The chalk drawing then swirls together in a Tim Burton-esque swirl on the otherwise normal chalkboard, before becoming a mess of chalk glass on a ground with anime sparkle symbols.

A child weeping tears of calcium carbonate walks into the picture. They desperately glue the liberally sprinkled shards into a facsimile of the figure they want. It almost looks like how I want to look, but it is just off.

It is just SO WRONG!!!!

The mind view trembles at my severe anger - like a video taken with a shaking camera - but does not end nor is the material inside influenced.

The statue of glued-up glass, where it had been looking into the side, emotionless, turns its head towards me.

It looks down at its stomach, then looks at me, its dainty, lightly shaded mouth opening in surprise. Its stomach explodes into nasty, yellow diarrhea.

A blur of the sun and the moon is scribbled onto the chalkboard like a comic book montage, until the sketch shows a drawing of the same figure, but older, having fixed themselves after that long while. This older version is a haggard being abstractly made with geometric glass.

A hyper realistic kid walks up to the being and hugs them. The glass creature looks at me hauntingly as the child withers like a grape stuck on a vine.

Trait: A Torment’s Mummifying Soul

A hand of shadow rushes into the picture from outside of my view. The blurry grey limb extends from the darkness into the spotlight that laid upon the chalkboard. It grips the board fiercely, before spinning it around until it is practically a cylinder.

Then I find two hands of shadow gripping my arms ruthlessly. Now I have a body, and the hands of shadow lift me up and place me in a fragile and skinny boat, before something kicks the boat with great enthusiasm, sending me riding through the base of the "cylinder" on a skinny boat. I close my eyes, preparing to get the mother of all concussions as I ride into the optical illusion of a cylinder.

And yet logic is defied. Instead of getting smashed by the spinning board, it turns into an actual tunnel. Suddenly I am steering through crazy twists and turns in an endless branching labyrinth of tunnels

I am submerged under this drab, hopeless grey liquid, just riding along this wild current.

Suddenly, a huge metal fin, practically a wall, crashes down through the ceiling.

Just as quickly as it came, it rises back up. The current takes me on a path following right after the silver fin.

WHOO! I shout wordlessly into the awful grey. I feel rather at home here. The colors just seem to evoke nostalgia.

Me and the boat fly out on a massive spray of grey solution.

A shocked giant with an oversized nose looks at us with a comical wide-eyed stare. We land on its skin. The grey fluid seeps into their blank white skin, and the giant promptly falls downs, sticking its hands to its face, shaking wildly. Between its fingers, its eyes stare out crazily, wild pinpricks looking at everything with intense hopelessness.

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It laughs at the misery, at the despair, of the world. It was completely overwhelmed.

It shrieks in desperation as a grey pallor crawls up its skin, massive blank white molars biting into its skin to remove the grey.

Bloody grey chunks rain down onto the blank white floor of this world.

It sighs in relief as all that is left is a ripped up and bright red arm, arterial blood spurting all over me and the boat.

I feel an irresistible pull of the logic of this fever dream, forcing me to look over the edge of the boat onto the arm I am on. I see a grey drop drip down from the boat in slow motion.

Once more, the grey crawls up its arm. This time, it swallows the entire being, permeating the being with grey despair.

And the being bashes its brains out onto the floor, tossing us up in the air, where me and the boat hover in defiance of physics.

For a brief moment, I am fully aware of exactly where every last bit of my blood is. A web of veins colored an apathetic grey run in three dimensions through my entire body. And it is unadulterated despair.

Trait: Phantasm Poisoned

The boat stretches and warps into a stadium full of shadowy simplified figures, at once larger than the Super Bowl and yet I see each betrayed expression with perfect clarity.

Speech bubbles pop up from all of them, "TRAITOR!" in blaring, bold black font.

Trait: TRAITOR! TRAITOR! TRAITOR!

The stadium fades to black, before cheap exposed bulbs light up one by one in the darkness, lighting up a vivid red sign of cheap cloth.

“Welcome to the Carnival”

The scenery of an amusement park made of faint purple blurred past me, as if I had been running past them.

Finally, I reached a empty theater, surrounded by an audience of customers. They whispered among each other, confused as to whether it will start.

A glowing gossamer thread floated down in front of me.

I look up.

Suspended on the ceiling is a spider-like figure, a Cheshire-like smile on its face glowing in the dark. Hundreds of glowing silk threads extend from its back, attaching themselves to the heads of everyone here.

I look closer at one of the threads, only to realize that they are actually made of miniature words.

After an hour in this weird space, someone throws a punch. And then everyone starts throttling and wrestling each other in a vicious melee.

Trait: Puppeteer

In the midst of this internal chaos, my perspective of this internal world falls on its side, as if I myself have collapsed to the ground.

In massive blocky letters, carved out of solid wood, “BA BUMP!” falls from above.

A bigger “BA BUMP” falls from the sky, crushing the previous letters.

This repeats a few times, in time with what my heartbeat would be.

The final time these towering wooden letters fall from the sky, they are aged, with lichen and mushrooms growing on them. The letters B, A, and P each have a rustic-style door in their hollow spaces, of the kind that the tradition for building it is desperately held onto by traditionalists.

Each of them is pushed open and absolute beauties, the epitome of Charisma, fly out. To describe them would be a travesty upon their perfection. One could make entire books on them describing their Charisma and those who have seen them would do their best to burn those books for the supreme arrogance of trying to describe their perfection.

They are the Fae.

I never thought I would ever lay eyes on a creature that is the epitome of a stat.

They come closer and place their hands on the left side of my chest, right above my heart, and glow with intense essence.

Then they disappear, a mischievous giggle being the only thing left in this forest clearing I find myself in.

And now I find out what 900 points of Charisma does to a person.

Incredible power flows out from my chest with every pulse of my heart, sculpting and changing me ever so slightly.

It settles deep within my flesh and gives me a shove.

I feel like I have been pushed forward on the path to my ideal self.

I have stepped onto my path of perfection, onto the path of Charisma.

Err, well, I guess it would be more like I had run up several flights of stairs along my path.

There is nothing like the euphoria burns through you, elevating you into the existence that is best for you. Nothing as pitiful as flesh restrains you from matching what your beauty your soul can be unrestrained by weighty chains.

My skin does not need every blemish removed, nor does it need the most gorgeous shade of brown or grey. That is not me. Every little facet that is me becomes metaphorically polished until I achieve a greater beauty than I would if every imperfection was removed.

Every Orb of Vanity glimmers with a gold luster surrounded by ebony darkness of the dimension hidden within my arms, covered under eyelids that stand out on my arms in a way that they are meant to be.

My teeth against my now-purple lips exemplify the beauty that carnivorous teeth in the abyssal waters of the ocean have always exemplified. My facial features are notably mine, but exactly as feminine as I want them to be, as I need them to be.

The metal of my hands is bent into angular instruments of death that sing to any warrior of the beauty of violence, and yet, they constructed by a metal of perfect purity and easily turned to the pastimes of peace.

I giggle, my joyous laughter ringing through the empty space.

Then I start sobbing with happiness. Tears pour down my face.

My body is the perfect shape for me. I hug myself, pleased as - well, as meager as this phrase can be in describing it, it kinda works -pleased as punch. So many trials and I am given this gift. For a blissful moment, all of my doubts, on whether I deserve this or not, on whether the price was worth it... all of my doubts disappear. The horror of my prior visions fade to the background and the whispers of my past fail to crush me.

My dress changes to better support and fit my changes. I could go into detail after detail that covers every minute change of my body, but it is mine, and it is private.

It is mine.

Trait: Fae Heart