I grab a rag from the edge of my workspace and wipe the sweat from my brow. The components I’m working on putting back together right now are unbelievably delicate. Bundles of hair-thin metal rods connect microplates that might as well be paper clippings. It’s nerve-wracking, working with components this small, but I’ve got to keep at it if I’m to continue learning.
Looking at the microplates through a magnifying glass, I can see that they’re covered in almost-microscopic lines, channels for cosma to run through. Penny told me about this the other day, during one of the increasingly rare moments when she took a break from working on the data Alice and Victoria got her to cook dinner with me. Cosma, the energy magic runs on, is a bit of an enigma. All we really know about it is that it’s all over the place, it has some kind of connection to every piece of the rest of existence, and its properties change depending on the vibrations it picks up. This is how we manipulate it, we give it whatever frequencies will produce the desired results, and bind it to the materials we want it to power. Traditionally this is used for ensouling cores and powering doll frames, but theoretically you could do almost anything with it.
We should be, if I’m being honest. It feels wasteful to be using this stuff the way people do. Doll frames and halos, we could be doing so much more with it. And without having to subjugate people in order to do it. There’s no real reason why things should be the way they are, cosma doesn’t seem to be a limited resource. It gathers in higher concentrations in some places, sure, but it’s everywhere if you actually look. Penny’s only taught me the most basic of detection methods and even I can see that. There’s no need for it to be treated the way it is, hoarded, jealously guarded and used only to enrich oneself and bring others under one’s thrall. There’s plenty to go around and it could be used to enrich everyone so far beyond where we’re at now. It’s disgusting, honestly. I already wanted to learn this stuff just out of personal interest, but the more I come to understand the more urgent I feel about it. There’s no justice in how things are distributed, it isn’t right, and somebody should do something about it. I don’t know enough magic to fix it myself, but like I said, cosma isn’t a limited resource. It’s everywhere, anyone can take it and use it if they know how. I can keep learning, and the more I learn the more I can change. I can challenge the systems that put me where I am and dictated that I spent the past decade and a half suffering and struggling. With enough knowledge, I can seize the power to tear them down and replace them with something new, something fairer, something better. There’s no reason I can’t, it’s everywhere. I have as much a right to it as anyone else. In fact I probably have more of a right to it than some of the people currently holding it, people who have never had to see the world they’ve created with it from the bottom.
That’s all a long way off, though. For right now, I need to focus on learning the basics. Simple cosma detection spells, the fundamentals of adjusting and shaping their wavelengths, and of course figuring out how it all fits into the mechanics of doll frames. And that means working with very tiny, very fragile parts. I’m gonna have to learn how to do it sooner or later, anyway, if I’m gonna stick with this. Might as well get it out of the way.
It’s not as hard as it looks, anyway. My hands are pretty steady, and under the magnifying glass I can more or less use tweezers as easily as my own fingers. It’s just stressful, a lot higher-stakes than taking off an entire finger assembly. I can’t apply too much pressure to a piece, or it could easily bend out of shape, and at that point I’d just have to get Penny to make a new one. I’d rather avoid that. I was already hesitant to bother her with this stuff when she was just tending to her regular housework, and I certainly don’t want to interrupt the much more important work she’s focused on now. Neither of us has a full picture of what’s going on here, but we know enough. Whatever they’re doing, it’s clear that a lot of innocent people are getting hurt, and all so that those who are already in power can expand and maintain that power. It’s exactly the kind of thing that needs to be ripped out at the roots, by any means necessary.
I notice that my hands have started to shake. I shouldn’t be getting myself worked up like this while I’m working. A quick glance at the clock reveals that the afternoon has been wearing on for a couple hours. Time for a break, I should make some food anyway.
I make my way upstairs, taking a right at the top and coming immediately into the kitchen. I’m starting to get the hang of bringing the house around to where I need it to be, like Penny does. It’s a weird process, magic always is. You can teach it to a degree, but ultimately it’s something you feel, not something you know. Practice helps a lot more than instruction does.
When I arrive in the kitchen, there are already a couple of dolls chopping vegetables. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to their uncanny knack for knowing exactly what help I’ll need, and when, before I even do. Honestly I’m beginning to feel weirder and weirder about the dolls in general as time wears on. They seem to be alive and sentient, Penny has certainly never said anything to suggest they weren’t, but they’re always perfectly willing to do whatever is asked of them, perfectly enthusiastic to be helpful in whatever way they can. It’s unsettling. Penny said they bear the mark of the purpose they’re created with, which I guess explains why they would be like this? It’s not a comforting thought. I’ve spent the past couple weeks watching what that can do to a person. I mean, I suppose it’s not exactly the same as what happened to Alice, binding someone to a role that they never used to have any obligation to, but it doesn’t feel completely uncorrelated. Sure, the dolls don’t have any other life to compare this to, and they seem… Well, they don’t seem unhappy. Content, at least. I don’t know that that really makes it better, if they were made to be like this. Not that I have any real ideas about what to do about it, I’m still very new to all this, but it’s hard not to have misgivings.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
A knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts and back into the house. I glance at the clock, which reads 8pm. What day is it? Sam’s expected at 8pm on Friday, but I’ve never been the best at keeping track of days of the week. Just to be safe, I take a look through the peephole before opening the door, and sure enough, there they are.
I quickly unlock the door and swing it open, gesturing them inside. “Hey, Sam, come on in. I need a moment to fetch your prescription, I completely forgot we were expecting you today. Feel free to help yourself to some soup in the meantime.”
They nod and head for the kitchen while I scurry down the hall to the medicine room. Fortunately, Penny did not forget, so it doesn’t take long to grab the package of pills she’s prepared for Sam, slip it into a bag, and carry it down to them. When I arrive they’re already seated at the table, sipping away at dinner.
“Here ya go, sorry about the wait,” I say as I drop the bag onto the table next to their bowl and head over to the stove to prepare one for myself.
“It’s not an issue, Jackie, I’m always here long enough to eat anyway,” Sam replies placidly.
“Fair enough,” I reply with a smirk and sit down across from them. “So how’ve you been lately? Any news about your screenplays?”
They grimace and swallow a mouthful of soup. “Another rejection. I’d rather not try to count how many that is in a row.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. It’s a shame, I watched that one that got made and it was pretty good.”
They seem genuinely taken aback. “Oh, did you? I’m glad someone did, it was a bit of a flop.”
“Well, either way, it must’ve felt pretty good to see your name in those opening credits, yeah?”
“Oh for sure,” they nod. “I’ve kinda been chasing that ever since, I think. And I’ve never once come close to catching it again.”
“I mean, I’m sure you’re at least making progress.”
“Hard to say. I don’t really get a lot of concrete feedback. When you’re operating at my level, there’s so much competition. Every publisher is just inundated with pitches, they don’t have time to give everyone notes. You either sell your script or you don’t. If you want them to help you improve it, you gotta make a name for yourself first, show em you’re worth it.”
“Same bullshit as everywhere else, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s the fucking worst. Give all the help to the guys who have already made it and don’t need the leg up, great idea guys. I don’t know why I even fucking bother.”
My brow wrinkles. “Well, you like writing, don’t you?”
“Maybe. I don’t know, I definitely used to. It’s getting harder and harder to hold onto that. I’ve always got a voice in my ear telling me to quit, these days. And not just writing, quit everything. Leave it all behind, never look back. I can’t say it isn’t tempting.”
“C’mon, I’m sure you can do it. You got one made, you can do it again.”
They don’t say anything, focusing instead on finishing their soup. I don’t really know where else to take the conversation, so I let the rest of the meal pass in silence. Once we’re finished, they stand up and grab their bag of medicine. “Thanks for the food, Jackie, and my meds. Sorry I wasn’t very good company.”
“Hey man, don’t worry about it, I’ve eaten way worse than the likes of you. You didn’t even try to stab me or anything.”
That gets a little ghost of a smirk from them, which I’m gonna take as a win. It’s not much, but it’s not nothing. I’ve seen that look in their eyes before, the bone-deep despair that’s been around so long they’ve started to get numb to it. It never leads anywhere good, and if I can do anything to help someone who’s stuck in that, I’ll consider that worthwhile.
I watch the door close and lock itself behind them as they leave, and move the dishes into the sink. I already know that if I just leave them there, the dolls will take care of them shortly after I exit the room. I briefly consider doing them myself anyway, a feeble, petty protest to express my misgivings about the situation, but if I do that they’ll just busy themselves with some other task. If they’re going to be working either way, they may as well work at something that frees me up to get back to my studies. Besides, they’re definitely more efficient than me at this particular task. Still, I can’t help but feel a twinge of something akin to guilt as I make my way back down the stairs.