I shoot up from the floor. I did not even realize I had fallen unconscious.

Apparently, when I fell, my limbs went literally every which way. For example, one arm lay perfectly flat along my back and along my opposite side and one leg had temporarily folded into a digitigrade structure. I rearrange them back to my preference.

I take in a deep breath, in... and out.

Those visions focusing on my traits are freakin’ intense.

Most of the adults I talk with do not describe their trait visions to be anywhere near as intense as what I went through. Though, I did read a series of poems on the trait visions of army soldiers. Those were pretty awful too. PTSD Berserker Rage is an absolutely nasty trait. From the few excerpts I could understand at 7 years old, the soldier was a Gun-Augmenter with potent regenerating abilities, and she essentially bull-rushed trenches through no-mans land repeatedly against enemy fire and magic. The trait vision she had after she left the war was of getting triggered and killing her family with her bare hands; all in excruciating detail. She put herself in a high-security asylum soon after that.

I stand up and brush out my wrinkled-up dress with my metal fingers, delighting in my perfect self. Unfortunately, my gloves are all shredded, so I need to remove them, but it doesn’t matter now that I feel whole, like a broken mirror expertly pasted together. My eyes (the ones on my face) looking around, while my Orbs of Vanity all look at myself, for I feel too enamored with my wondrous self to not enjoy the work of art that is me.

I should name myself something new; something which just resonates with me. I look back over my truths.

Name: The Charismatic Star. The Forsaken Jester. The Noble of Paranoia. The Happy Bard. Broken Mirror.

I should take inspiration from these. I adore The Charismatic Star the most, so I should choose something that draws on that the most. I would use it if it wasn’t a title instead of a name.

Stella? Eh, kind of boring.

Sterling? A bit rich for me. I enjoy coins though. They are always works of art.

Ugh, I really like the name Sirius. I love the idea of the name, but everyone will think of Harry Potter, and I don't need a death flag either.

Then there are a whole bunch of names that would be perfect! Like Sidrid and Namid, but they come from someone else’s culture. In particular, ones that it would not make sense for me to use.

You know what? I like Sol. It’s simple, but I think it fits.

I’m pleased with it, and that’s all that matters.

I am Sol, and I will be a blazing star like the world will never know!

Very chunni phrasing aside, The King does not seem to be up, so I might as well explore his lands. Who knows, I might even find an exit.

I just need to find someone to be a guide.

Hmmm... Tormented Princess, huh?

On a whim, I stand up straight, stretching myself out and exulting in my new form.

Instinctively, my Will gathers the Miasma my body radiates out like a furnace releases heat and pushes my Miasma in an imposing clarion call of royalty and clap my hands once.

I laugh commandingly and like magic, an Anathema servant appears next to me. They nod affirmatively and start walking.

I quickly grab my guitar and follow close behind them, strumming my guitar in a simple arpeggio. My fingers flutter over the strings expertly.

I hear rapid clattering behind me and turn to look behind myself coolly. Awww, it’s my bed/puppy/crystal snake-wig maker. It bumps against my legs like a cat and walks beside me with an adorable bounce to its steps.

Now that I am not temporarily addled in my role as an Anathema, I can focus on the weird fuckery going on with the spatial dimensions of the hallway. Everywhere I look, wherever I expect walls to meet up, it seems like Miasma is seeping into and warping... something. I would presume the three main dimensions of space, but since I normally do not get a glimpse into the very foundations of non-essence reality getting messed up in front of me, this will have to remain speculative.

I reach down to pet the little creature.

I jump trains of thought, thinking about my little crystalline pet. I should name them too.

Names for everyone!

Hmmm... maybe Iris, after the goddess of rainbows? Dude is pretty sparkly and colorful. Perhaps I should use a less gendered name, given that I don’t know their preferred pronouns. Granted, they may not be intelligent to even care or understand that type of thing, so I guess this is mainly for my sake.

Crystal? Nah. I should not even be considering that. The lack of originality pains me so much that I want to pull a Dobby and punish myself.

Ottoman? As amusing as it would be to name them after a foot rest given how much they resemble one sometimes, it, perhaps, is a bit cruel.

Prism? A bit dull.

Facet? I kind of like that one.

“How’s that sound, buddy? Does Facet sound like a good name?” I say as I lean forward to pet them

Fragile sheets of rectangular crystal shear off its main body, forming a “head.” It quirks its head in confusion.

My mouth quirks up in amusement. Perhaps I should use different logic. After all, they are still an Anathema. I don't think they even understand what a name is. “Does the meaning of Facet represent part of your truth?”

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At that very edgy (yet apparently effective) sentence, it nods vigorously.

“Then that shall be your moniker,” I say solemnly.

It prances around me happily at my statement.

Ah. Looks like we are at the tailors. I poke my head into the room, my blue hair hanging askew.

They are still preparing for war. I would have thought they were preparing for Betsie, but maybe they have been preparing for a different incoming force.

The tall spindly figures turn slowly to stare eerily at me, the pitter-patter of blood dripping onto the floor with hundreds of arms filling the silence, everything lit up by the sickly green light of the curse runes.

I slowly drag my head away from the opening and a full-body shiver runs up my spine, my many eyes blinking in fear. I don't need to talk with them.

I continue padding along the crystal floor, my ragged pink-and-white sneakers squeaking loudly in tandem with the clacking, spiffy buckled shoes of the servant next to me and the odd clattering/thudding of amorphous semi-solid crystal squishing against solid crystal.

*sigh*

And the gross laughing of the leering sun watching us.

I ignore him though. The servant though is jittery as a squirrel. He keeps looking at the sun nervously, walking stiffly, perfectly faking the role of a terrified, abused servant.

I heartily laugh and pat them on the back with far too much force. They stumble a bit.

Hahahaha!

I am definitely liking this new strength.

I chuckle quietly and reassuringly to them. The servant bows firmly, before throwing a crisp salute to me.

I grin, and motion them to follow me. My bones crack and muscle slurps as it rearranges itself. I skitter up the fancy embellished walls, perfectly horizontal to the ground.

The sheer power I feel from my strength increase is just wonderful. With sheer momentum and force, I propel myself along the walls, my bronze hands slamming like cannonballs into the wall.

As expected, the servant is capable of fixing the walls right behind me, so I unleash hell upon the halls, for there is no need to hold back the devastating physical force I can bring to bear. The servant runs after me, outpaced considerably by my new Speed and Strength. Now that I think back on it, it is such a major difference from when I first was thrust into this Tormented Dimension.

While I muse on this, Stamina, the source of Strength, coils in sharp lines inside my thighs as I ready to jump. I slow down for a brief second, before my limbs launch me forward. They spring from tightly wound to thin poles of broken bone and flesh three times the length of the rest of my body.

Wind rushes fast in the tight corridor as I jump nearly 50 meters with the aid of Inhuman Movements, before scrabbling along the walls to prevent sliding. It could have been even farther in an open space on the ground, but alas, the ceiling impeded me. Still, in under a minute, I finish what had been a two hour long walk to the study room for us musicians.

I enter and at once one of the musicians stands up to greet me. We hug and he pats me all manly-like on the back. I pass him a fun music piece (on paper) I thought up. He passes me an eyeball with a green iris covered in music notes.

HA!

That’s pretty funny. I think I needed that reminder these are vicious hungry monsters.

However, I am one of those monsters and we already have a sort of camaraderie, so I am not going to let that get in my way. We all start working on each other's music projects.

I take a deep breath in while my metallic fingers fly across the strings. Oh, I needed this. Being able to relax and just chill out playing music is food for the soul.

An organic symphony arises from our instruments. I can feel the deadly tune of monstrosities thrum through my bones in a delightfully discordant chorus.

The Miasma radiating from my body as I play my song strengthens the concepts behind the musicians, building upon the foundation of The King’s Miasma, which does not particularly resonate with musicians, with my truth of The Happy Bard.

I never expected that Miasma would come so naturally to me. This may not be Magic, but it is magic, you know? Notes of Essence materialize over my instrument, pulled out from my Torment body and making bubbles in those shapes of music notes. They hover over me like a cloud of bees, before I send them off to the musicians with a nudge of my mind.

The music notes hover over each musician before popping over each of the Anathema, raining down on them with droplets of Miasma. It leads to an immediate effect, changing each single one of them.

Many mouths of various sizes start to appear on the lower half of their faces, each mouth warping the ethereal musicians, growing into carnivorously happy smiles.

They wrinkle and grow haggard, their many perfect smiles and flawless teeth soon set on impossibly old-looking spirits.

Lurid makeup creeps up their faces like moss up the corpse of a tree, somehow disguising their haggish features and making themselves look youthful once again.

I look on with fascination. I mean, why not be interested in this? Everyone is always interested in those personality tests, and this is similar. The difference is that instead of some meaningless data, I can see one of my personality traits, a core part of what I am, affect the outside world in a way that not many get to see.

Two lock many lips in an impressively weird take on a French kiss, fusing together into one solid figure. Each has a hand to the other partner’s back, stabbing them straight into the back with the violas they had previously held. Their silhouette forms a black harp that radiates a song of terror and eagerness to betray the other because they can’t stand a relationship built on compassion.

Another, singing like nails on a chalkboard, runs around the room to escape a tumble weed of hands and arms that somehow plays twenty piccolos despite the lack of mouths.

It really is horrifying to watch. It makes one squirm inside knowing they are so abominable that stories play out in miniature exemplifying those qualities.

My grin widens reflexively as I gnaw on my hands in a nervous tic, long teeth chiming as they gnash together with the bronze hand like a pure symphony of bells. My eyes glow like ghostly beacons even in the well-lit room as I focus on the changes, pushing more of my truth into them.

I can feel a connection with each of the Anathema in the room and push the Miasma they produce into the room. Adorably, large Among Us characters in the form of cheap, plastic balloons pop up. A poorly made prop of the meeting table in Among Us appears in the center of the room.

I can see the symbolism involved in the amusing reference to pop culture.

I really am an imposter. I even have the tongue and the teeth.

I giggle maniacally, my mouth opening wide as the absurdity hits me and I recline onto my chair, my laughter joining the cacophony of beasts in the music lounge.

No one be sussin’ me though! I’m too good to be caught!

I’m hungry.

My thoughts immediately turn to consuming the Anathema, a haze of hunger settling over my mind. All I could think is how delicious Betsie...

AHHHH! Goddamnit, no!

I shake my head wildly, clutching my head while I laugh my ass off in horror. The Anathema look at me weirdly.

My arms tremble as my muscles rebel at the thought of avoiding such an addictive pursuit. My face twitches as my emotions war across my face. I want just a taste... but it so abominable.

*inhale*

*exhale*

I stand up and clap my hands, calling on the servant once again.

I laugh out to them that it is time to leave. I need to distract myself and rid myself of these thoughts. Some more exploring will do me good.

Facet was strutting around like an art deco bird, flapping square sheets of crystal and standing on two legs ending in pyramids. My face softens. I pick them up and pet them as we walk away from my abominable creations.

I lean in close and whisper to Facet, "You are best birb. Who is? Yes! You are! Such a good birb."