"Ow," she complained.
"Are you all right?" Lawrence said.
“I’m fine.” Larissa hopped up. She took another step, wobbled. Her arms windmilled as she tried and failed to remain standing. She yelled “Ahhh.”
No one caught her. From the floor, she groaned.
“Why do I keep falling?” Larissa stood. She spread her legs and bent her knees. She spread her arms. Squatting, she took a step. She wobbled again but managed to remain upright this time. Slowly standing, she lost her balance again and fell.
“Oh, I see what it is,” Lawrence said. “Your tail is gone. Turning into a Night Elf removed it. Without the extra weight you’re leaning forward too far. You’ll have to relearn standing and walking and stuff.”
“What?” Larissa turned toward him. Her jaw fell. She stared at him, aghast.
“Unless the Program can turn them into a General Skill or something, most species mutations won’t transfer, it seems. Fire Breath, for example. Or, case in point, Prehensile Tail. Night Elves don’t have tails or breathe fire. Thus. . .” he trailed.
“That’s stupid.” Larissa scowled. “I should have turned into a drake. They have blue-scaled drakes don’t they? With tails?”
“They do.” Lawrence nodded. “But I can only do the ritual once a day using the chalice, and there’s a line of people ahead of you. I can’t just reverse the change either. If I make you into a drake from a Night Elf, you’ll have drake biology without demon skills. Yeah, you’ll get a tail and maybe a breath attack, but it won’t be prehensile. Turning you back into a demon won’t work, either. You’d be a Crossbreed-whatever again at level one, not your former level. I’m sorry, Larissa. Those mutations are gone.”
Larissa’s scowl deepened. She seized the leg of a nearby chair. She dragged herself into its seat before glowering at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before you did the change?” she snapped.
“In my defense, it was my first time. I did mention the mutations into general skills thing. And you did volunteer to be a guinea pig. Your corruption still got reset, so you’ve got that going for you.”
“You should have told me night elves don’t get tails.” She glared at him.
“I thought it was obvious from the picture. Night Elves are humanoids with weird skin and pointy ears.” Lawrence showed her the tablet. He brought up the picture he’d been using. “Differences are mostly cosmetic with a few Program and biological notables. Long-lived, for one. Magic talent. Et cetera. Again, humanoids with a few tricks. Humans with high magic talent. But no tails. No claws. No hellfire or fire breath attack.”
Larissa ground her teeth.
“I should go,” Lawrence said. And with that, he ran. He stood up to leave. He turned toward where he thought the door was and took off. He realized a moment too late the room was a lot darker than it was supposed to be. Did someone turn the lights off? Lawrence charged into the deepening gloom. He was certain this was the door. He reached out a hand to grasp the knob.
There was a hollow thudding sound as he promptly ran into a wall. Lawrence smashed into it without warning. He bruised his knuckles on the wall, then he bashed his face against the wood. His glasses pressed against his face. He felt the metal cut into his eyebrow. He felt the nosepieces go askew. Quick as a snake, he raised a hand to catch his glasses before they could fall, though not quick enough to stop himself from falling.
No one caught him.
“There’s a wall there kid,” Larissa said.
“Who turned off the lights?” Lawrence blinked up at the ceiling. The room grew darker still, until he couldn’t see anything.
“No one did.” Wormwood’s heavy boots shuffled over the floor. His voice emanated from somewhere high above and to Lawrence’s right. “Open your eyes.”
Lawrence kept his glasses pinned to his nose with the side of his finger. He opened his eyes wide. He saw nothing.
“I can’t see,” he said. He blinked. His eyes widened. “I can’t—AHHHHHHHH.”
Pain flooded. It felt like red-hot pokers were being driven into his eyes. He felt a burning, searing sensation. He smelled burning flesh and with a sickening jolt to his stomach, realized it was his. He took his glasses of. He folded his fingers around them for protection. With his other hand, he scrubbed furiously at his closed eyes. He felt tracks of something warm run down his face.
“Call a healer,” Wormwood ordered. After a moment of silence, he strode to the door. He yanked it open and stuck his bald, ugly head out. “MEDIC. WE NEED A MEDIC OR HEALER. CALL EMERGENCY SERVICES NOW.”
Silence reigned for a long moment, during which Lawrence wailed. A few people outside sat up a little straighter, but fewer still wanted to approach with so many demons present. These were not make-believe demons from the local alien world. People stained by magical blight and mutated with animal parts. Nor were they living shadows with glowing eyes. Nor spirits. Nor were they adorable, animated figures living in a hotel trying to better themselves while singing.
These were not fallen angels cast down from heaven. They were demons from the after-life. Upgraded, alchemized, genetically engineered, soul-devouring spawn. They were monsters in a real, tangible sense of the word all too often used for the mythical bogeyman. They thought nothing of humanity or its laws. They were here. In a human town. The only one keeping them under control was one dumb kid with a weird liking for a woman’s hobby: knitting.
As Lawrence screamed, no one came running. Wormwood looked out across the great open common room. He saw the half-filled tables with human adventurers and off-duty warriors—soldiers, policemen, retired tough-guys, and the like. None of them rose to help.
Wormwood retrieved a revolver. Lawrence always kept a small one on his person. Wormwood took the boy’s weapon. He opened the cylinder. It was loaded with six small rounds. Wormwood walked to the door. He marched across the room. The weapon was like a happy-meal toy in his plate-sized hands. He clutched it in his fist. He pushed open the door and placed one foot outside.
He adjusted the weapon. He had to pinch the stock between his thumb and forefinger. He held the weapon aloft, pointing toward the sky at an angle. With a broken nail from his other hand, he flicked the trigger five times. Five loud pops made his ears ring. He waited a beat for the sound to echo, then fired the last round. He walked back inside to see half the humans under tables, hiding. The other half had weapons out and pointing at him. Wormwood put the weapon in his pocket. Then he put his hands up, palms out.
“Get down on the ground,” the nearest human ordered.
“No,” Wormwood said, his voice flat. “Our human needs medical attention. See to it.”
“Police are on the way,” the human said.
“He needs a healer,” Wormwood said.
“Get down on the ground.”
“Can’t you hear him screaming?”
“Don’t make me kill you,” the human said.
Wormwood crossed his arms. He moved out of the doorway. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his chin. The silence stretched. Wormwood looked down on the mortals. He was ten feet tall. He wore no shirt, only a pair of ragged dark pants, and no boots. He slowly circled the perimeter. He made it back to his group’s room. The mortals glared.
“Kid,” A voice said nearby. “Let me see.”
Lawrence felt furry paws on him.
“Get away from him, Hyene,” Wormwood ordered. “If the humans see you over him when they enter, they’ll assume we did it. Get away from him, now. Everyone else, stay back.”
Lawrence sensed the furry demon move away. The other demons played musical chairs. Lawrence kept screaming. It felt like the pokers were scraping the inside of his sockets. He thrashed.
“What’s going on?” a deep male voice demanded. The door banged open. “What’s—mother of God. Hold him.”
Multiple pairs of hands seized Lawrence. Someone strong pried away his hand from his face. Lawrence opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing. He felt agony. He kept screaming.
“You bastards,” someone shouted. “What are you doing to him? Stop it right now.”
“It’s not us,” Larissa screamed. “It’s not us.”
Hands dragged Lawrence onto a stretcher. Someone strapped him down.
“Sorry, kid,” someone said. Lawrence heard a whoosh of air. Something hard hit him in the head. He heard circling birdies. He moaned.
“What is your skull made of? Iron?” a cool female voice said. Something hard smacked him again, and then he felt nothing.
-
Lawrence gasped. He opened his eyes. A campfire sat next to him. He was lying on a sleeping bag. He felt the warmth from the campfire. He saw the yellow, orange, and red flames. He saw umber wood topped with emerald leaves. The fire radiated warmth and comfort. Lawrence smelled burning cedar and summer. He heard the wood crack as it burned. He was alone beside the fire. He looked up toward the sky. He saw stars. He heard crickets chirping.
Lawrence rose from the fire. The campfire lay in the middle of a small clearing. A few trees ringed the clearing. Beyond them lay utter darkness. Lawrence did not think going into it was wise. He looked around. An oak sat at one end of the clearing. Someone had made a ladder out of two-by-four planks nailed to the trunk. Lawrence moved over to it and climbed.
The ladder wasn’t high. Lawrence poked his head over the lip. He half-expected something to rear its ugly head and attack him, but the campfire below radiated shelter. Instead, the treehouse was empty. It was small, not much bigger than a plastic clubhouse. No furniture. Nothing on the walls. The ceiling was a black tarp thrown over a beam and nailed down along the sides. The front and back had big windows opening to the trees. Lawrence curled up on the floor, disappointed.
A white exclamation appeared in his peripheral vision. He mentally clicked on it. A new window added itself to his status.
Congratulations, you have been blessed with a pocket treehouse. This miniature shelter is a fully functioning home-away-from-home for the adventurer with money and bling to spare. The treehouse is upgradeable and can be toggled to allow or prevent visitors. While breathable air is constant, water and food upgrades must be purchased. We, Ecru-and-Fulvous, hope you have many happy years in your new home.
Lawrence opened his status. He had the basic model, which was a level 1 Children’s Playhouse. A glowing plus sign sat next to it. Lawrence clicked the plus sign. He could upgrade various parts, but they all cost money. Money, or experience. As Lawrence gained experience toward his jobs, he could instead spend it here in place of dollars or gold. The ratios seemed fair enough, though they were far from equivalent.
He went down the list. Initial upgrades were simple. A second floor. A rope swing. An aluminum pole in the rear for sliding down. A surface area increase. The box for more upgrades was grayed out. Lawrence could not access it. He supposed he must buy all the upgrades before it would allow him to see the next version. Not much different from a regular job rank up, he realized.
Well, whatever. He’d grind his jobs and skills to respectable numbers. Any extra money he had lying around could get funneled into this place, which wasn’t much. Once he got his jobs to the point he could be self-sufficient, then he could start throwing species job experience at this place.
Lawrence also noted he could see without a problem. It was nice. He’d have to do more research. For now, he curled up in the tiny space. The floor was smoother than the walls, being sanded. But it was still a cramped floor. Lawrence’s feet jammed up against the opposite side. He was forced to keep his knees bent, or prop his ankles on the windowsill. He made a mental note to increase the surface area soon. He took a deep breath.
Lawrence tried to open his eyes. A thick bandage lay across his face. Sight was out. Touch then. Smell. Hearing. Taste?
He smelled antiseptic. Alcohol. Cool air. Was that touch or smell? No, air conditioning had a smell. It was both. Anyway, cotton sheets, paper. . . clothing… covering his front from neck to knees, but not his back. He could feel the sheets under him. Hospital gown. Hospital room. No thick cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Yet. Key word.
Hearing. Steady beeping of the heart monitor. Air conditioner clicking. His own breathing.
Touch. He had four extra arms coming out of his back. They were jammed between his shoulder blades and the thin mattress. Uncomfortable, but not painful. Fine hairs covered them, a result of his Natural Armor Skill, though not enough to provide much.
Someone exhaled. Clothing moved over skin. Lawrence lifted his head a fraction. He looked in the direction of the sound.
“Hey, you’re awake,” a male voice said. “Your vitals are lookin’ good, son. You got a name?”
“Doctor Lawrence,” Lawrence mumbled.
“Your parents decided your first name should be ‘doctor?’ Lifetime of therapy,” the man mumbled under his breath. Louder, he added, “Okay, Doctor. You play any sports?”
Lawrence cleared his throat. “I like knitting.”
“Knitting,” the doctor repeated. “Huh. Okay. Well, the paramedics aren’t sure what happened. Looks like your eyes were gouged out or something, but the paramedics and the bad guys didn’t see anyone. Not to worry though, we’re gonna take good care of you. Your parents are on the way. Do you need anything?”
“Some food would be nice.”
“You’re supposed to stay on liquids for now. Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.”
“Thank you doctor.”
“Oh, I’m not a doctor.” The man sounded amused. “I’m a nurse.”
He left. Lawrence leaned his head back. A male nurse. And he seemed to find Lawrence’s hobby unusual. Whatever. This was. . . a setback. Being blind. He’d known Aurelio’s curse would activate. He just hadn’t known when. It was inconvenient. Horrible, even. The painkillers turned the pain in his eye sockets into a kind of fuzzy feeling, but they were not good for thinking.
Carmine’s blessing would let him see at night. All Lawrence had to do was relax until sundown. Then he’d become nocturnal. He’d miss seeing the sun. Miss seeing sunsets and sunrises.
He’d miss a lot of things, but it was the price he paid to get what he wanted. If he could do it all over again, he was certain he’d do it different. But that was then. Now, he had Access. No magic, but he could function without it. Magic wasn’t everything. It was just everything he’d ever wanted.
In the end, nothing changed. He was now blind. He could go talk to a recruiter, but he doubted they’d let him enlist. Technology existed for some soldiers to circumvent blindness. Cybernetic eyes and such, but they were expensive. Recipients of prosthetics were already soldiers. They often had medals.
He could go talk to a captain about Reserve Officer Training Corps, as a prelude to a commission, but he doubted they’d even make an appointment. Sorry sonny, Uncle Sam needs people who can see. Stop wasting my time. Er, I mean, uh, thank you for calling. Your dad’s a bigwig an’ all, real important. One-star General and colony governor. Look, I know what you’re feeling, you’re angry an’ desperate. Between you an’ me, it ain’t gonna happen. We cool? Cool. Don’t mention it to the big boss, okay? Take a sucker on your way out. Ooo, lemme get the door for ya.
Officer, soldier. Half the options for a guy growing up in the bloodlands colony were gone. He could become a farmer, but the thought did not appeal. He could go back to Hell and work his way up. Mutations existed to circumvent Aurelio’s curse or use loopholes. More eyes, for example. But he’d be trapped. Again. The chalice might allow him to escape, but it wasn’t a sure thing.
Lily’s fate was unknown. Even were she alive, she’d be neutral to him at best. Lily liked her independence. She may help him, but she didn’t like him. She wasn’t a friend who would move mountains. How well did he know Lily? Not well, he realized. Thus, not a friend. An acquaintance. A contact.
Auric Cat had something on his mom. Lawrence made a mental note to ask Lily about it next time he saw her. He could head to the Seventh and join Auric Cat, but something told him it was a bad idea. He could go back to Black Licorice or Blood Well, but he didn’t think either would be happy to see him. They wouldn’t help a blind man. Thus, a mercenary life? Rank-and-file demons were unpredictable. A better option was the Free Cities. Any of them would take him in and have him draw wards or defend the walls or something. It wouldn’t be a fun life, but he’d be alive. No, Hell was a last resort.
Final option was knitting. Continue grinding. Maybe sell sweaters or cable-knit stuff. Maybe take up weaving with Claret and become a professional. He could design his own clothing, though he doubted anyone would buy it. Modern knitting was done by machines. Much faster, much more complex patterns, much more profit.
However, he still had the suit of elven mail. He still needed to reverse-engineer it. He’d been looking forward to the project. He’d just needed to learn how to work with spider-silk beforehand, then he’d be able to copy its design. Well, he had the time now. He didn’t have the item, but he still needed to practice.
Lawrence sat up. He rolled his shoulders. He had to learn how to use new muscles. It was an arduous exercise of ignoring pain and trying to make his body work. Trying to make his extra arms bend and lift was like walking on his foot after it had fallen asleep up to his calf. Still, he had nothing but time.
–
“You need to rest, Doctor,” the nurse told him. “I still can’t get over how that’s your real name. What? Did your parents both have doctorates?”
Lawrence remained silent. Mom was a grand witch and Dad had a doctorate in agriculture and a masters in military science. Dad oversaw a colony in a hostile biome local aliens called a Death Zone. Dad’s efforts kept the place self-sustaining and protected.
“Hullo, Doc. Good to see you’re up and about,” a cool female voice said. “I’m Doctor Gupta.”
Footsteps entered the room. Heels clacked on the linoleum. Someone walked around the bed to its opposite side. Lawrence sniffed hard. Perfume, something fruity. Shower soap. Anti-bacterial hand soap. Metal. . . metallic smell, very faint. When cheap metals like brass, iron, or copper mix with one’s sweat, they produce a metallic smell. Therefore, this person wore cheap and gaudy fashion jewelry. He or she liked to appear rich or well-off but perhaps could not afford real gold.
“You smell nice,” Lawrence said.
“Oh, thank you,” Dr. Gupta said. Her voice was higher with a strong accent. “Your vitals are all good. We’re not sure what happened with your eyes. It looks like someone gouged them out of your head.”
The male nurse made a distressed sound.
“What?” Gupta said. “It’s the truth.”
“Your bedside manner needs work,” the nurse said.
“Moving on,” Gupta said. “Your bloodwork came back. Is there anything you wanna tell me?”
Lawrence shook his head.
“We’re not the cops,” Gupta said with emphasis. “Our job is to help you. If there’s something you’re not telling me. . .” she trailed.
Lawrence sucked in a breath. He hesitated. Female, brutally honest, and her job was to help. Lawrence didn’t smell any cops, but they could be masking it. For all he knew there could have been ten people in the room.
“I’m part demon,” he said, quiet. “Uh, beast breed. Boosted physical stats, inherent armor.”
“Fast healing,” Gupta commented. “Your eyes are gone and it’s like they were never there. I was going to recommend implants—not to see, just have something to fill the space. You can get a few nice glass ones. Without implants, well, let’s just say you’ll want sunglasses.”
Lawrence felt moisture come to his eyes. Horrible images of gaping, empty sockets filled his imagination.
“Once they’re healed up they’ll look like the inside of your lip,” Gupta continued, oblivious. “Pinkish-red and horrifying. There’ll still be a little socket in there. Small, but a depression. You can open and close your eyes normally. It’ll look like something out of a horror movie. You can still cry.”
“I would like to be alone now,” Lawrence said. It was too much to bear.
“Okay.” Gupta left, high heels clonking.
Lawrence turned his head. The male nurse hadn’t left yet. Lawrence waited.
“I’m sorry,” the guy whispered. “It’ll be okay.” Then, he left.
Lawrence took a deep, shuddering breath. He covered his face with one hand. It was time to cry. Lawrence took slow breaths. Gnat’s words kept repeating in his head. Kill your weakness. Lawrence had thought getting eaten alive had beaten the weakness out of him. But no. He refused to let the tears fall. He needed to harden himself. He had seen trials, he would see more.
Cambions, half-demons. He would see more. Much more. Mom needed a son who was strong. Lawrence needed to be strong. He took a deep breath. Having no eyes hurt. He wouldn’t be able to read regular books. Play video games. Many careers were now closed. The one he wanted was gone forever. He needed to find a new Adventurer or Combat Job. He couldn’t even see to shoot a gun. Kill your weakness. Crying was weakness. Indecision was weakness. He needed to think.
Diana came as soon as she could. Lawrence had no way of telling time. She hugged him and put his clothes on the bed. She drew a curtain and went outside. Lawrence got dressed by touch. He didn’t have too much trouble. It was just strange and difficult having to keep a mental map of everything in his head.
“I’m ready,” Lawrence said. He took a deep breath. Diana took him by the arm and led him to the counter. Paperwork got signed. She took him home. Scott left work early to come see him. Scott was still in his uniform, or so he smelled.
Sweat, leather, gunpowder, oil, blood. The copper-stench of blood suffused every part of the colony. Not even the best air scrubbers could completely get rid of it. He hugged Lawrence. Lawrence felt a military jacket envelop him. Rough canvas. Yes, still in uniform.
“What happened?” Scott demanded. “Did the demons do this?”
“No,” Lawrence mumbled.
Talking about it was too painful. Lawrence figured one of the others would explain things. Josephine or Ferg. Lawrence didn’t have Lily to speak up for him. He remained silent. His lower lip trembled.
He went toward his room. There was a line where the carpet ended and the wood floor began. Ah, yes, right there. Not to worry though, as Dad took him by the elbow. Lawrence hated it, but he tolerated the treatment. He spread his four spider arms until they touched the walls. Holes needed to be cut in his shirt. Until then, the arms came under the hem and up, which Lawrence bet looked weird.
Having four extra arms coming out of his spine made him look freaky, he thought. Demons were supposed to have one breed, not two. Mutations led to some bizarre monsters, but most demons at least looked somewhat normal. They did not look like eldritch nightmares.
Lawrence would be lying if he said he didn’t wish he was a fiend some days instead of a beast. Or, heck, even an incubus. Beauty with a horniness aura. Something with wings. One pair of legs could morph into wings, the other pair remain legs, he could keep his opposable thumbs, and he could fly. He was getting off track. Yes, his room. Here it was. Lawrence felt around for his bed.
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“Need something?” Scott asked.
“My knitting needles.”
“Right here,” Scott said.
Lawrence held out his hand. He took a seat behind his desk. He heard a pile of plastic and aluminum needles hit the desk in front of him, along with a few thumps. He moved a hand over it. Needles and yarn.
“I have to get back to work. Stay safe. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Lawrence said, quiet. He fished out a pair of aluminum needles. Too thick, too short. These were double-pointed. He sorted the pile based on touch and size. Here they were. One pair of 14-inch-long, size 8, single-pointed needles. Material could have been anything, but Lawrence preferred the feel of aluminum.
He supposed a traditionalist might prefer bamboo or possibly a deer’s antler or rib bone. Lawrence preferred aluminum’s light weight and the smooth finish. He hated people who called it ‘aluminium.’
Thin yarn, thick yarn. Yarn with a two-ply, yarn with a triple-ply. This part was easy. Lawrence went by touch. He found one of the larger balls of bulky yarn made from wool. He had no idea about the color, but that wasn’t important. It just needed to be wool, and it needed to be somewhat thick. The pattern called for bulky, but Lawrence was less picky.
He bound off a knot and slipped his needle through it. He cast on ten stitches. He worked in garter stitch, knitting every row but not purling. He had to go tediously slow because he couldn’t see where the needle point was in relation to the hole. Garter or knit stitch. It created a stretchy or ribbed fabric. It was flexible, which was important for this project.
With the left-hand needle held, he took the point of the right-hand needle and slipped it inside the loop of yarn nearest the end. He took care to position the right-hand needle’s point under the left-hand needle and pushed it through. He then took the trailing yarn in their right-hand and looped it from the back, between the needles, toward the right. He took the right-hand needle and brough the tip back and through the loop, taking care to move the point from the back of the left-hand needle to the front, without dropping the errant yarn (thus creating a dropped stitch), and pushing it up along the side of the left-hand needle. Done correctly, a loop would be formed sort of like chainmail. He then used the right-hand needle to push the loop off the end of the left-hand needle, whereupon it would transfer to the right-hand needle. Knit stitch, the most basic.
Still complicated for the uninitiated, requiring multiple motions, movements. Much room for mistakes. When Lawrence had been learning, he considered learning crochet. Crochet was easier because the singular tool was a small, plastic hook. Lawrence saw its value as a hobby. He disliked regular crochet patterns because they had holes. Patterns could be modified not to have holes, but it was more difficult.
Lawrence measured the length of the yarn strip. It was supposed to be five inches. He had a ruler but. . . Instead he judged by the length of his hand. His hand was more like seven or eight inches, but it would be fine. He slid the yarn from his needle to a stitch holder. Then he cut the yarn, leaving a tail a few inches long. One part done.
He cast on another ten stitches and did the same pattern. He made it the same length by counting the number of stitches. Once it got to the same length he added the ten stitches from the first rectangle. He started with the stitch connected to the tail of yarn. He now had twenty stitches on his needle with two rectangles hanging down. He kept working in garter stitch until the square made by the rectangles measured about four inches. At least, that’s what the pattern required, if his memory was correct. He made the square the length of his middle finger because it was the longest.
At the edge of the project he cast on twelve stitches for another rectangle on the side. He knitted across all thirty-two stitches. Then he cast another twelve stitches for a second rectangle on the opposing side. He now had forty-four stitches. He counted twice to be certain. He ran his fingers across the project. He smiled.
Lawrence continued working in garter stitch until the side rectangles measured about. . . one and a half times the length of his middle finger. Measurements felt all right. This was the hard part. At the beginning of the next row, he bound off seventeen stitches. He had twenty-seven remaining on the needle. He knitted to the end of the row. At the beginning of the next row, he bound off seventeen more so he had ten stitches remaining. He knitted to the end.
Last part, side one. He kept working in garter stitch. Garter and knit stitch were not the same. A knit stitch was one side of fabric, typically the right side. Making a garment in knit stitch resulted in the material developing a slight curl at the ends. Garter stitch was both sides, front and back, or right side and wrong side, being knit stitch. Garter stitch is durable. Garter stitch did not curl.
He kept using garter stitch for eight more rows. He made sure to count twice. With each new row, he cast on an extra stitch, ending up with eighteen stitches. He worked in garter stitch again for twelve straight rows. He was making a circle on top of his jumble of shapes.
First the square and two rectangles had to be drastically minimized. Then he had to add one stitch each row to make the sloping sides of the circle. The middle part was fine. Therefore, it was more of an oval. At the end of the twelve rows, he knitted eight more rows decreasing by one stitch at the beginning of each. He ended up with ten stitches on his needle. To decrease by one stitch, he knitted two stitches together.
This was a difficult technique. Being blind made it exponentially more difficult. Lawrence made several mistakes. He dropped one stitch. He had to use a crochet hook to pick it back up. Hooking the yarn without sight almost proved impossible. Almost, but not quite. Lawrence took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He inserted the hook into the loop. He snagged the loop, twisted, and dropped the stitch over his needle. Once he got down to ten stitches on his needle, he bound off the yarn. He had made the rough outline of a man. Side A was finished.
Side B was the same process, with the same measurements. Keeping the measurements the same was almost as difficult as catching dropped stitches. Lawrence spent the rest of the day working on his project. He kept checking the number of stitches and rows. After an eternity, Side B finished.
Before sewing the two halves together, Lawrence fished out two small buttons from a container. Using a needle and what he hoped was black thread, Lawrence carefully poked the needle through a yarn loop, from the bottom of the head up through a hole on the button. Then he poked the needle down into the adjacent hole and through the yarn. He repeated the process four or five times with each of the holes. With this complete, he had sewn two small eyes in the approximate location where eyes should go.
Lawrence took a thicker piece of string and an embroidery needle. He pushed the needle through the yarn in a rough approximation of a crescent. The original pattern had optional features like curly hair and bear or bunny ears. Curly hair was good for a girl, as was a piece of clothing like a vest or shirt. Lawrence could make them all, but he wasn’t certain how they would look, or if they were necessary. If he made a girl’s doll, then yes. Curly hair and a vest would be essential. But a boy’s doll? Boys—Men did not have dolls.
Two eyes and a mouth must work for now. Lawrence could always add more parts later. Such was the beauty of cloth creatures. Lawrence rethreaded his sewing needle with the same yarn he used to make the doll. He sewed the legs and torso together. He paused. He got some stuffing he had bought for the last time he did this project. He filled the little man’s legs and body with it. Then he sewed the arms together. He added more stuffing. And finally the head. A little more stuffing to pad the thing’s face, and he sewed the top together. He laid his creation on the desk. Finished.
You have created a Garter Stitch Doll: Gingerbread Man (Fine).
Knitting level: 3 (+2 SKL, +2 AGI, +2 PER).
Knitting level: 4 (+2 SKL, +2 AGI, +2 PER).
Knitting level: 5 (+2 SKL, +2 AGI, +2 PER).
Knitting Skill unlocked: Gauge Swatch
Lawrence felt his senses sharpen. Perhaps the effect was enhanced because he couldn’t see. He could hear a little better. Mom was in the kitchen making something homemade. The sun was still up, though it was sinking. The yarn felt different under his fingers. A little more texture. Not a lot, the stat gain wasn’t much. But a little.
Now for his next trick. Lawrence picked up the gingerbread man. He moved to the place on the floor where his summoning circle lay. He wasn’t going to use it for summoning. Before beginning, he opened his journal.
He couldn’t read it. All the knowledge he’d stockpiled was now useless. If Aurelio’s Curse had activated, undoubtedly the other stuff had also activated. Long story short, Lawrence was certain Carmine’s Wrath would also activate. The fact it hadn’t meant human sacrifice was being practiced somewhere in the world. Lawrence sighed. Night Sight would not work until no sacrifices were made. Lawrence could not afford to wait. He had to perform this next task—one of the most complicated and tedious—from pure memory. Worse, he intended to cast it in reverse on himself, rather than forward on another demon. He exhaled.
Lawrence pressed his palms together. He could not wait. This ritual or malefic art had a chanting time—of three hours. Three. Freaking. Hours. Not including all the components required: an iron chain, SOL units, and Malefic Arts Prowess ranks. He needed 18, plus mastery of four different rituals.
Doing it forward killed the target. Lawrence did not want or intend to die. If he was an Enchanter, this would be easy. He could use mana to imbue rudimentary behaviors into a thing, like a programmer. While True: Learn (). Turning a stuffed animal into a live, sapient golem was a task for an accomplished Wizard. It required powerful spells, incredible amounts of mana, extensive training, and perseverance. Lawrence intended to accomplish much more using much less training.
However, Faustians were, generally, of a higher caliber than mages, in his biased opinion. A single soul unit resulted in a much more powerful effect than a single unit of mana. Besides his mother, Lawrence was fairly certain he had few peers. ‘I am the most humble,’ he thought to himself. He was not going to make a golem. Another Wizard did a long time ago in a world far, far away. Lawrence had a different idea. It was dangerous. Foolish. Stupid. Judging by the list of spells in his journal—which were many, if his memory was correct, and his memory was excellent—it was original. Or near enough, anyway.
But it would take three hours. Lawrence sniffed. He smelled hot food. Standing, he felt around in his closet for an umbrella. He took the gingerbread man with him. Using the umbrella, he felt around for the baseboards. He made his way down the hall to the kitchen.
“Hello?” he called.
“Lawrence,” Mom said. Wet dirt, plants, sunshine, spices, cooking. A thirty-something’s voice, female and sweet, like honey dripped on sweetbread. Well-tended garden, vegetables not flowers, used for cooking, Lawrence’s nose claimed. “Are you up? I made a casserole for dinner. Do you want some?”
“Yes, thank you.” Lawrence kept his eyes closed. He felt for the chair he normally sat in. His nose burned. He sniffed. Mom had a candle burning. Spiced Pumpkin, Yankee’s most popular scent.
Scent – Lvl. 2 (+2 PWR, +2 SKL, +2 KNW)
“Who’s your friend?”
“I made a gingerbread man today.” Lawrence held up the doll.
“Does he have a name?” Mom opened the stove.
“Not yet.” Lawrence cradled the doll. “Can’t think of one.”
“How about Cosmic?”
“No.” Lawrence lowered his chin. He kept his eyes closed. He tuned out.
Dad came home. Kissed his wife. Polite to Lawrence.
“What did you make this time?” Scott leaned down. Thick boots on linoleum. Lawrence could smell wet earth and blood on them, the distinctive stench of the bloodlands. He grabbed Lawrence’s shoulder in a supportive gesture, which Lawrence appreciated.
Lawrence held up the gingerbread man.
“Oh,” Scott feigned interest. “Does he have a name?”
“He does not. What color is he?”
“It’s silver. Silver with orange and yellow eyes.” He paused. “Are you gonna call it Silver?”
Lawrence shook his head.
“Maybe Ken?”
Lawrence shrugged.
“I’m gonna go change.” He patted Lawrence’s shoulder. He took his boots off before tromping down the hall.
Lawrence put the gingerbread man in his lap. He did not know what to say. Fortunately, Mom didn’t ask. Lawrence concentrated on brainstorming his ritual. Mister Silver wasn’t a bad name. It sort of fit, as long as Lawrence could swap out the eyes for black. Black went better with silver. Black went well with anything.
Lawrence had been considering a different name. Mister Silver was better. It went well with the name for the skeleton he always wanted to make, Mister White. Like all wannabe mages, Lawrence dreamt of becoming a necromancer. Learning to raise the dead wasn’t considered creepy by the colonists. It was cool.
Lawrence had always wanted to make a skeleton knight and have it follow him around. It would have been his protector, his bodyguard. A fighter, and a mage. Now, though, he doubted he’d ever see—he sighed.
If the ritual worked, everything could change. If it failed, he’d be trapped in the body of his creation, possibly forever. He could try a lesser version of the malefic art, but then the binding would only last for twenty-four hours. It needed to be the strongest binding.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom called.
Dad came down the steps. He got himself a water and sat at the head of the table. Mom sat on his right. Lawrence sat on his left. Dad scooped out a helping of casserole and salad onto Lawrence’s plate.
“Here’s your fork and silverware,” Dad said, awkward. He rapped a knuckle against the table.
Lawrence dragged his fingertips over the table. He found the edge of the plate. Silverware next to it. He sniffed. Hot food. Chicken, bacon, cheese, lettuce, dressing, human, cambion. Mom smelled a little like sulfur—rotten eggs—even in human form. Lawrence scooped up a bite of hot food and blew on it. With his left hand, he slowly felt his way around his plate. He managed to find and hold his glass without knocking it over. He raised it to his lips and sipped.
“So,” Dad said. “You spent the day knitting?”
“Yup-puh,” Lawrence said. He took a bite. He chewed. He expected Dad to say something else, but the older man waited until Lawrence swallowed.
“Any progress with the demons?”
“I turned one into a Night Elf. Larissa, her name is. She and some others are going to take up adventuring. The rest will assimilate, I guess. Some want to become businessmen. I told them to run.”
“Why?”
“They’re demons. We’re colonists,” Lawrence said as if it was obvious. “There are things in Hell we don’t have here. Soulstone, certain metals, and stuff. If the government finds them, they’ll be locked up and studied.”
“Not necessarily,” Dad said, but he said it such even Lawrence knew he was lying. “I haven’t let the Marines take them prisoner. Word is getting around, but they’re safe for now. I give it a few days before I get orders to take them in.”
“I need about thirty days to get them all switched to mortals,” Lawrence said between bites.
“Thirty days? You don’t have a week,” his Dad said. “Why do you need thirty anyway? Is there a secret ritual they’re using?”
Lawrence told him about the chalice and the species transmogrification ritual.
“The brass will stare,” Dad said. “You can turn anyone into anything? Any person into another species? And change them back? And you can do it for free?”
“Once a day. One free ritual a day, give or take.”
“The chalice is bound to you? You’re sure?”
Lawrence snapped his fingers. It appeared in his hand, as if he’d always been holding it.
“Normally it shrinks down small enough I can fit it in my pocket. I can change the size to a degree. Not a lot, it’s a chalice not a goblet, but some chalices are tiny little decorations. Others are like big pitchers.” Lawrence shrugged.
He reached for his glass without thinking. He misjudged the space between his fingers and the cup. He knocked the cup over. Ice water went everywhere. Lawrence dropped his fork. It clattered to the table. He snatched up the gingerbread man before it could get soaked. Shame settled on his shoulders like a wet blanket. Hearing his parents stop and quietly groan made him feel awful.
“It’s okay,” Dad assured. “I’ll get some napkins.” He left. Lawrence heard a drawer open. Cloth rustled. Dad returned with some towels.
Lawrence felt worse. He mopped up the area around his plate as best he could. He felt so bad he got up to leave.
“You’re done?” Mom said.
“Mm-hmm.” Lawrence nodded.
“Doc, it’s okay. It’s just water,” she said.
Lawrence turned his head away. He made his slow, careful way along the baseboards back to his room. Once inside the relative safety, he shut the door.
He took his place on the summoning circle. On it, not outside it. He put the little gingerbread man outside it. Lawrence debated lighting the candles. He decided against it. If they tipped, a fire he had no way of stopping could start. Although, not having lit candles would make this more difficult.
Lawrence rose. He changed out of his normal clothes. He pulled on the scratchy, dark, wool robes Black Licorice had given him. He wondered where Black Licorice had found sheep in the Maelstrom. He retrieved the wand and his chalice. He enlarged his chalice to its maximum. After a moment’s thought, he dispensed with the wand. He was a chalice-guy, not a Hogwarts graduate. He resumed his seat.
He began chanting.
Being blind, he couldn’t rely on his notes; he had to go by memory. From memory, the ritual required SOL equal to twice the level of the target. Given it referred to demons, Lawrence was going to assume it meant one’s Species Job level. His was two. The SOL cost was four. For once, Lawrence was glad to be low level.
He needed 18 ranks of Prowess in Malefic Arts, which he had. He did not have the prerequisite rituals mastered, but he didn’t need them. Evidence had shown mastery was not necessary. The casting time was a little less than three hours, but not a lot less. He could shorten the time by 20% at the cost of a -5 penalty to his casting chance. He opted not to because of the penalty to casting. For this to work, he needed all the bonuses he could get. In addition, he wanted to grind Blasphemous Chant EXP.
No result on failure, except the SOL cost was gone. No result on a Resist, either. If the ritual succeeded, the hapless victim had no defense against the result.
In hindsight, Lawrence supposed he should have used the Obsidian Elegiast’s Boon before attempting this crazy thing. It would have been a good idea to bind the doll as a familiar, first. Alas, hindsight is 20/20. Besides, if he bound a stuffed animal as a familiar, he wasn’t certain the result would be desirable. An animal familiar, yes. Any animal or bird or pet or llama would be uplifted and gain partial sentience. Animal intelligence upgraded. Still an animal but could interpret commands and follow orders. To an extent, even communicate.
A stuffed animal was still a stuffed animal. It did not matter how much its intelligence could be “upgraded.” It had an effective KNW score of zero. The doll needed a KNW of 1 before it could start learning. Even as a bound familiar, Lawrence was certain it would still be just a doll.
A little less than three hours came and went.
Blasphemous Chant – Lvl. 3 (+3 MNT, +2 SOL).
He had twenty units of SOL, double the number available to regular humans. Much more than the number available to demons for his level. Being a Faustian paid dividends in the soul department. Who knew?
Lawrence felt the ritual activate. As the user and the victim, his interface changed. He selected what he wanted and the target: the stuffed gingerbread man. A notification beeped. The Program accepted the change. Lawrence would not die, nor would he inhabit the doll’s body. Golem Physiology had its appeals, but he liked being a human more. In any case, the ritual passed. The one thing preventing the result from happening was the gingerbread man not having a name.
Lawrence had once cut out a little man from yellow-brown paper and given it to Dad. Scott had then taken it to one of his “business” conferences on Earth, where he met with other top officials in the US military. Lawrence had no idea what happened at these meetings. Orgies, he supposed. In any case, Flat Stanley had returned after having an adventure. Lawrence got an S instead of an A, because first grade did not give out real grades.
He thought about naming the little man Stanley. He had a vision of Stanley riding around on his shoulder acting as a sort of seeing-eye dog, Long John Silver-style. If the gingerbread man was truly made of gray or silver yarn, then naming it Stanley just wouldn’t do. Mr. Silver was way cooler. But if the doll was not silver, if it was bubblegum pink or cyan or fulvous or ochre, then Mister Silver would not work. Stanley was more applicable. Because Stanley was a human name, it would work with any color.
The box hovering in the air was a Program. Despite having no eyes, Lawrence could see it. He saw it as an illuminated window on a black background. Once the decision was made, it could not be changed. As with most things, it was permanent. Lawrence decided to trust his surrogate father. The gingerbread man would be named Mr. Silver.
The Program accepted his decision. Lawrence saw a single unit of SOL disappear—not from his current, but his maximum. He permanently lost one unit of his soul casting this ritual. It was a priceless treasure. It could not be regrown. It was gone.
Ritual learned: Binding 4. Ritual Mastered: Binding 4.
Faustian – Lvl. 9 (+2 KNW, +2 MNT, +2 SOL).
Ritual unlocked: Greater Ritual Preparation.
Ritual mastered: Binding 5 (variant).
Faustian – Lvl. 10 (+2 KNW, +2 MNT, +2 SOL)
Faustian Skill unlocked. Skills available: Mana Shield, Sorcerer’s Will, Conceal Status.
Lawrence smiled. Mana Shield took 10% of his max mana and used it as a shield. All types of damage would be subtracted from the shield first before his health. Most mages took the Skill but did not bother to grind proficiency. At max level, the Skill would consume 30% of one’s max mana to make a shield. For a defensive caster or a tank battling other mages, it was excellent. Most mages preferred to keep the shield small so they could use their mana for casting.
Sorcerer’s Will increased his total SOL by 5 but made him unable to alter fate. Fate was a strange mechanic in the Program. All mortals could change their fate by spending a few SOL units, but few had the training to do so. If Lawrence was ever in a hopeless situation with his death charging toward him, altering fate would save his life. However, the additional five points of SOL were not going to be useful.
For a low level Faustian or a demon, having five extra SOL on top of one’s base ten was excellent. Demons had low SOL reserves. If Lawrence ever completed a Change Species ritual to become a full demon, having extra SOL would be welcome. Demons could not alter fate. Except, Lawrence was power-leveling. His base SOL was at 19 and growing fast. Once he hit level 50, he’d have 100 SOL minus 1 at minimum. More, if he used Binding 5 on demons to steal their units.
Conceal Status would allow him to disguise his Status from Appraise and Identify Skills. Therefore, when the Guild of Hunters finally showed up to murder him, he’d be hidden from their gaze. Many hunters had a skill allowing them to check the Status of their prey, so they could confirm they had the right target. Conceal Status was therefore best for hiding.
In Hell, concealing one’s status was unhelpful. From his brief time in the Giant of Giants, Lawrence knew having his reputation on display would tell others he was a threat to be avoided. Given his path, he thought it more likely he’d end up back in Hell at some point. Oh sure, he’d put it off as long as possible until he had a combat job and could survive. But it was inevitable. If the Hellgout could not claim him through Mom’s wards, it may try to claim the entire colony. To remain free, he’d have to roam.
Thus, defense, more food, or stealth. Defense was best.
Mana Shield selected. (+2 KNW, +2 MNT, +2 SOL)
He opened his eyes. On the black nothing, Lawrence saw his max mana drop by a tenth. A shimmering bar of white light overlaid his health bar. Good. More defense was always good. More superpowers meant more proficiencies to grind, more tools to remember. Mana Shield was a simple and useful little Skill. Now, he had a use for his high intelligence.
Binding 5 variant created: Gift Life
Description: Gift Life allows one to imbue one or more units of their soul into a willing recipient. Having a Contract with the recipient is optional but recommended. While the connection exists, both parties can draw from the other person’s hit points or SOL if theirs are reduced to zero. Both parties may telepathically communicate with each other. The one imbuing their soul can break this binding freely at any time.
If the recipient is an inanimate object, the object animates and becomes a sapient copy of the giver.
Cost: SOL equal to twice the Species Job level of the one making the binding plus SOL equal to the Species Job level or, if not applicable, the highest Job level of the one receiving the binding.
Components: binding circle, candles, accoutrements, focus, and receiver of binding.
Requirements: Malefic Arts 18, Binding 5.
Time: 1 hour.
Resist: Malefic Art fails.
Failure: Nothing.
Program’s note: creating an original Faustian Ritual is exceedingly rare. You are the first in more than a century to do so. Congratulations. You have automatically mastered this ritual and earned a free level up. You may choose the next ritual you unlock.
Ritual unlocked.
Faustian – Lvl. 11 (+2 KNW, +2 MNT, +2 SOL).
Lawrence smiled. Though blind, he could read the information clear as day. It was beautiful. Something warm stirred in his heart. As for his free ritual, he thought long and hard on it. While free, he still needed to complete the requirements. The one he wanted was Corruption Manipulation. He could raise his COR to 50, use Fruits of Corruption, then let the first ritual expire. When it did, his COR would be reset to what it previously was. This would circumvent Fruits’ drawback of resetting his minimum to whatever it was when Fruits’ was cast. Lawrence could gain powerful mutations without becoming condemned.
Corruption Manipulation was available as a Corporate Skill. Lawrence was a member of Blood Well. Perhaps, a member in name only, but the more he brainstormed which corporation to join, the more he set his heart on the military demons. Even if he had the right corporation, he still needed Purify Soul and Blaspheme Soul. He had the first. He was somewhat certain he could duplicate COR Manipulation without taking it as a Skill.
The worst part of choosing was that he knew most rituals already. He just lacked the time and resources to cast them all and prove it. At this stage, a free ritual was a waste. Even so, he could not “bank” it. Thus, the best option was to pick a restricted Corporate ritual, for which he could otherwise fulfill its requirements.
Stat Drain. Those were the best. They were variants of Binding 5, given they ripped apart a demon or mortal and stitched the best parts onto the user’s body. More focused than Binding 5, with fewer drawbacks. The subject did not normally die. Then again, perhaps a utility ritual would be better? He could hang it and use it whenever. Right now, he had a base, but time was not always a luxury. Furthermore, he needed a way to be useful in the present.
Invisible Cloak was an excellent option. The design of the ritual meant he could imbue or enchant an actual cloak with invisibility, but only a cloak. His poncho might not count. It would not last long, perhaps a day, in addition to the hour or so it took to make. Loading the art would make it last until he needed it, instead of just using it right away. Still, it took an hour to use and then was used at once. Those two facts limited the usefulness of all his rituals. He’d never be a mage casting useful spells on reflex.
Thus, the best option for a free ritual was one which he’d not normally have access. Corporate-locked rituals and mutations. Uncle Winter had some, one of which was Corruption Manipulation. Lawrence could use it, get his COR to 50, get a good mutation using Fruits, then let the first expire. He’d have a solid, powerful mutation, and his COR would be lowered to something more pleasant. It was a powerful ritual, but it was only available to Faustians in the Order of Merlin. The other option was Mutation Selection.
All types of demons gained random mutations. The most optimized demons focused on a few mutation chains instead of thirty. Being able to have it as a ritual instead of a skill allowed him to use it on others. He could offer it as a service.
Ritual Selected: Mutations, Not Left To Chance.
Two arms of cloth encircled Lawrence’s knee. The gingerbread man was trying to hug him.
“Aw, I love you too.” Lawrence put his hand around the little creature. He circled the doll’s torso with his thumb and fingers and lifted it to his chest. He felt the little creature hug him with all its might. All fifteen and a half inches of cotton stuffing. “Bind Familiar,” Lawrence intoned. A second notification appeared.
You have bound a new familiar. You have bound Mr. Silver, the Wool Gingerbread Man (Fine) imbued with a shard of your own soul. New interface unlocked.
Your familiar acts independently of you but obeys your commands. While within 100 feet, it can communicate with you telepathically. Additionally, you can see through its eyes and hear what it hears. While using this ability, you are deaf and blind. You cannot have more than one familiar at a time. Because you imbued this familiar with a piece of your own soul, it has your personality. This personality may evolve.
Mr. Silver, 10 minutes old, male.
Wool Doll (Fine).
Living Doll – Lvl. 1.00
Soul-Imbued Familiar – Lvl. 1.00
Lawrence smiled. He carefully stood. Without letting go, he felt around for his umbrella. Using it as a cane, he navigated to the bathroom across the hall. He closed the door. He turned the light on. He set the doll on the counter and made it face the mirror.
He didn’t know the action he needed to take. It was like with his spider arms. He needed to learn to use a muscle he never had. He got an uncomfortable feeling. It wasn’t precisely a headache; it did not hurt. The best way he thought to describe it was to say his brain was creating new neural pathways at warp speed.
(Allow me,) a voice said. It seemed to project from his head, as if he wore headphones.
An image appeared in Lawrence’s mind. All sound died. Lawrence saw a little gray man standing on the counter. It was the color of burnished silver. It had a yellow eye and a pink eye. The doll put its stump-arms on its hips, hugging Lawrence’s fingers.
(I am handsome), the doll said. (Could use some upgrades, though. Black eyes would look sharp. Ears, so I can hear. A mouth, so I can talk. Wings, so I can fly. Claws, so I can fight. Paws, so I can hold tools. Status.)
A window appeared in the air. Both of them saw it.
Living Doll: Living Dolls have no organs, are resistant to magic, adorable, and are immune to many of the things which kill people with organs. They gain experience by being cute, playing with their person, and defending their person from enemies.
Living Doll Skills:
Doll Body – Lvl. 1
Magic Resistance – Lvl. 1
Sapient – Lvl. N/A
2 Job Slots.
Natural Weapons – Lvl. 1
Spark of Life – Lvl. 1
Familiar: Familiars are bonded creatures. Often beginning life as animals, the process of becoming a familiar awakens them into something more. Not every bond must be arcane, many simply possess a deep and personal relationship to their handler.
Soul-Imbued Familiar Skills:
Limited Telepathy – Lvl. 1
Stats:
5 PWR, 5 SKL, 18 KNW, 18 MNT, 8 VIG, 15 FCE, 10 LCK, AGI 5, PER 10, SOL 1, 5 ARM.
I’m very happy I made you, Lawrence thought as he picked up the little doll. Mr. Silver wasn’t an action figure (yes I am). Lawrence would have to make some new parts for him (I hope it won’t take too long.)
Lawrence buried his face in the thing’s yarn. It was just a doll. Not even a good-looking doll (excuse me?). And yet Lawrence had parlayed his experience into some new levels. He didn’t know when Carmine’s Night Sight would activate (Boons have manifested means Wrath is active but sacrifices are still happening. For all you know, it’ll only work at night). It did not matter. Lawrence had a way to see. Even better, he had another familiar.
(I’m not going to be a slave), the familiar said. (I am you and you are me. Just because you have more soul units than me doesn’t mean you get to be the boss. We’re basically equals.)
“You’re no Cosmic Creepers,” Lawrence whispered.
(I--.) There was a long pause. (No. . . I’m not, am I? Does that make me better or worse?)
“It doesn’t matter.” Lawrence turned the doll around and hugged it tight. “You’re me, and I’m you. You’re a friend. That’s all I really need. Not this endless parade of adults. I need someone I can talk to. I need a friend.”
(Then I will be your friend). The doll hugged him back.
Living Doll – Lvl. 2. All Stats +2.