Ceyda stared at the mirror, scowling. Her hair was growing in uneven chunks. Before it had been short enough to not bother her, but now it was getting in her eyes, but wasn’t long enough to push away! Hair was the absolute worst!

“Mother,” Ceyda said. “Do I have to go to this party? Might I remind you I am unwell?”

Another party. This time it was the Merristers. There was some dreadful rumor going around they had been burglarized, which was a stain on their legacy. So they were throwing a big party to show off how rich and wealthy and untouchable they were. Apparently they had gotten a new generator and had decorated the house in an array of multi-colored lights. It was going to be a whole thing and Ceyda had already been told five times she was not allowed to go into the viewing room to see the generator, as it could explode at any moment and kill everyone in the room. Of course, it was sitll vital she go to the party where apparently she could die, just not go in the room with the deadly device.

"Ceyda! If you do not interact with others how will you gain their positive influence? You will become despondent, and then you'll disgrace the entire family!"

Ceyda groaned. The worst part was that her mother wasn’t entirely wrong. She did need to leave this house, it had begun to haunt her with its walls and monotony. She just really didn’t want to, so she was at quite the crossroads.

Her hair was flattened as much as possible, and she was put into a dress. It was a dull blue-green dress that was significantly less expensive than the dress she had to wear at the Blanches. Was her mother starting a feud with the Merristers again?

A new servant brushed her hair.

She wished she could still expand her senses, or reach out to Dorskina, but she could not.

Ceyda blinked and she was in the car, being driven with her mother and her father.

The style for this party was glass. Even the multi colored lightbulbs were orbs of stained glass, creating hued lights that danced across the wall.

There was even a cloister of them in the center of the Merrister’s hall, covered in a purple cloth with holes in it, to create a psychedelic experience. Behind that was a brilliantly glowing door, leading to what was no doubt the cellar, where the new generator was hooked up.

Her mother was immediately wrapped up in someone needing her, leaving Ceyda to wander aimlessly, until she settled with the other nobles her age.

“Ceyda Lucrece,” Preston Montilyet said formally.

Ceyda yawned in his face.

There were six of them. The usual crowd. Preston, a spearhead with golden hair and a brilliantly orange jacket who liked to ride horses and challenge people to duels. Crystal Ignatious, a tower in a restrictive blue dress, with a blue gem encrusted headband that sparkled under the lights, and long, bony fingers that she hid with gloves. Crystal never talked because she was afraid of people hearing her stutter, so she just smiled a lot. Soren, a pale, wideyed gaslamp clad in white, who kept talking about how he was going to get engaged to someone in the royal court and become king. Rutherford Koswell, another tower, was short and had a complex about it, and often wore his riding boots wherever he went.

The other two were Twilus and Yone Arrete. Siblings about a few years apart, both notable by their thin, wispy hair, tied back into identical braids whenever they went to a party. Twilus, another spearhead used to be friends with Ceyda, until they had sex, which pleased Ceyda greatly, as Twilus was very annoying.

Yone, a lighthouse, was a ray of sunshine and once Ceyda had stopped hating her for getting to be a lighthouse, the two had something that could be called respect between each other, namely in that they both hated Twilus.

“I can’t believe you’re not dead in a ditch,” Preston said.

“I am quite surprised myself,” Ceyda responded.

“Oh, good, you’re here, I’ll have to start over,” Rutherford said. “I was just talking about the absolutely atrocious acts my parents have committed.”

A sense of familiarity washed over her. A routine she understood, a script to fill. “What happened?” Ceyda asked.

“I wished to change my room to my sister’s room, now that she is to be married. And can you believe this--they denied me for no reason! Those absolutely selfish, core betraying fools don’t even care about their own son!” Rutherford scowled.

“When I get married, I’m going to give my children to a tower to raise,” Soren sniffed. “Honestly this entire system is ridiculous. You know, I hear that in Haice, children are raised communally. This town is backwater.”

“Our mother absolutely refuses to let us expand a garden,” Yone chimed in. “I wish to make it my demesne and not only does she not care, she mocked me for it, openly.”

“That’s not nearly as bad as what she said to me. She said that a good spearhead should learn how to fix a car! It was absolutely humiliating,” Twilus hissed. “Honestly, I wish she was dead, I’ve been enraged all week.”

There was a string of gasps across the group. Ceyda couldn’t help but smile bitterly. She almost missed explaining these things to Doc. No doubt Doc would be confused by the entire conversation and ask about it. Maybe she would be shocked people weren’t already raised communally. Or something super obvious that Ceyda couldn’t think of at the moment.

“Of note, the Blanche girl is here,” Preston said.

“Oh, is she?” Ceyda said.

Ceyda had met the Blanche girl here and there, but she was Mehdi’s age, and thus she hadn’t really thought about it much. The Blanches kept to themselves after all.

“I do like her quite a lot,” Twilus said, grinning.

Ceyda rolled her eyes. Twilus was so fickle, honestly.

“Will she be joining us?” Ceyda asked.

“I assume so, she left briefly--” Preston gestured vaguely.

“W-what was being kidnapped like?” Crystal whispered.

The group snickered at Crystal’s brief stutter.

“Double dipping on the ruminations, eh, Crystal?” Rutherford snickered.

Ceyda took a deep breath. “Extremely uneventful and exhausting at the same time.”

“Did you have to piss in the street?” Soren blurted out. The group fell silent and stared at him.

“Don’t be unbecoming, Soren,” Rutherford admonished. “What are you, a pillar?”

Soren narrowed his eyes, and started to mumble to himself. Soren was breaking a social rule. Soren was going to be excluded if he kept this up. This was great, usually it was Ceyda, but being kidnapped meant everyone was now asking her questions instead of vaguely ignoring her.

“Nope, it was all very boring. I did however eat pillar food. It is frighteningly bland,” Ceyda said.

“Did you--” Preston looked up and around, most likely trying to avoid the trying eyes of any adult. What he was going to say, however, was never revealed, as moments later the group turned its eyes to another young individual approaching them.

A blurry, pale, blonde girl. Most likely the Blanche girl. She looked vaguely familiar. Probably because Ceyda had seen her at the party. She was wearing stark white, which meant she was a lighthouse.

What was with Mehdi’s year? All of them just getting the good cores, it wasn’t fair.

“Hello,” Ceyda said. It was possible this girl held information about the grimoire or Jesebelle and Andrea Blanche. This could be fortuitous. “I’m Ceyda Lucrece, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Amber Blanche,” Opal’s voice replied back.

“The flying fuck--ow!” Ceyda yelled loudly as her bracelet shocked her.

Opal, who was either impersonating Amber Blanche or had a very, very long story to tell Ceyda, leaped towards her, clapping her hand over Ceyda’s mouth. Ceyda buckled her knees, and the two fell down in an inglorious manner.

“What is wrong with you?” a much, higher, squeakier voice yelled. Ceyda blinked. Had she just mistook a random girl for Opal? Had that actually happened? She squinted, trying to discern’s the girl’s face. It was… cleaner. Than Opal’s. Which didn’t mean much. But the facial structure… the hair color… now that she was looking this girl was either Opal or looked startlingly like her.

Everyone was staring at them.

She squinted harder, trying to find some distinct trait of Opal that she could peg that wasn’t hair color or face shape. Oh what she would have given for her glasses or magic. And then it occurred to her that Amber Blanche had heard her curse in shock, and thought the most logical solution was to get her to stop talking immediately.

Amber who was definitely Opal shot up. “E-excuse me,”

She quickly ran away.

“Excuse me too!” Ceyda yelled, chasing after Opal. She knew this mansion better than Opal, she had robbed it for Dorskina’s sake! Opal didn’t stand a gods damn chance!

Ceyda was shorter than Opal, but that didn’t matter, Ceyda had angry passion on her side and she didn’t care what other people saw either. She caught up, grabbed Opal by the arms, and pushed her into the wall of an empty hallway.

“Explain! Explain please!”

“I’m--I’m undercover,” Opal rasped. “Get off me you crown blaspheming freak--”

Ceyda started to let go of her, sheepishly, but paused.

“I’m sorry, how are you undercover?”

“I’m pretending to be nobility.”

“Yes but how. Does Amber Blanche exist? Surely someone’s met you before? How long has this identity been going on? The Merristers wouldn’t just let you in because you wore a dress and said you were,” Ceyda narrowed her eyes. "Did you sneak in?"

Opal shifted uncomfortably. “Unhand me!”

There were many, many possibilities here, but as Ceyda stared at Opal, in that nice dress that fit her perfectly, her hair done in soft ringlets, interwoven with white and gray threads for an accent, a process Ceyda knew took hours even when it wasn't her own hair, her skin soft, smooth, and uncalloused in Ceyda's grip, there was a much simpler, obvious answer.

“You’re not a house servant at all, are you? You’ve always been a noble. Like me,” Ceyda continued. Her brain hummed with satisfaction, the words weighing on her as if a weapon.

“Ugh, yes, fine, you got me, congratulations,” Amber Blanche hissed. “Now let go.”

Ceyda let go, and placed her hands on her hips. “You shamed me for being a noble! You--you--”

“Well, yes, I might be of noble blood, but I know your kind,” Amber said.

“What’s my kind, exactly?” Ceyda asked, blinking. It was very strange hearing Opal’s voice waver in each sentence. Amber’s normal speaking voice was higher pitched, and a little less refined than Opal’s voice. Her real voice made her sound younger too.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“A vapid unthinking idiot. Which you proved, over and over again, every second of those hellish days you were playing pretend,” Amber replied.

“I was kidnapped! You ordered them to keep me kidnapped! I was trying to help everyone until Rembrandt--” Ceyda paused. Up until now, she had just assumed the mages had sensed the beacon. And that made a lot of sense. But there was another, far more insidious possibility.

“Amber, did you call the mages on me?” she asked bleakly.

For a moment, there was no reply, Amber's jaw hung open, as if she was trying to speak, but no words came out.

“Did you?” Ceyda pressed.

“Gods you’re so stupid, of course not!” Amber hissed. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”

“Stop insulting me! If you didn’t want to have this conversation you should have ran away when you were walking towards the group,” Ceyda hissed back.

Amber rolled her blurry eyes. “Believe me, I tried. I didn’t notice you until it was too late, and when you didn’t even blink at me, I just thought you were too blind to know what was going on.”

“That is besides the point!” Ceyda replied hotly. “The point is you are a Blanche. You can get me back with everyone. We can get the grimoire back!”

Amber was silent.

“You have to know where it is, right? Is Merlin okay? Do we need to stage a daring rescue mission?” Ceyda pressed.

“This isn’t a game, Ceyda,” Amber replied curtly.

“Fine, do we need to attempt a normal, realistic rescue mission, to save Merlin?” Ceyda asked.

“Everything’s fine, Ceyda. You can return to your life,” Amber said.

“My life? What do you--what about everyone else? The rebellion? Doc--”

Amber held her hand up. “It was never going to happen anyway. You got almost everyone killed by acting like it was going to happen. Honestly--”

Amber lowered her voice and looked around to make sure no servants were overhearing. “Stealing from the Merristers? Getting Rembrandt’s attention? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking you were leading a group of rebels who wanted to overtake the noble rule!” Ceyda replied hotly. “Or was I mistaken?”

“Oh my skies, Ceyda, use your brain. Do you really think anyone like that could fight trained mages?” Amber asked.

“We could with Doc--”

“No. Even if you taught them all magic, it wouldn’t be the same. They didn’t earn it, they weren’t born for it. You were giving them false hope. False hope that would get them killed,” Amber said.

“And what were you doing?” Ceyda spat.

“Realistic hope! Before you showed up, I was helping a group of bored, unfortunate pillars have meaning! And if I had gotten the grimoire, then maybe I could have changed things. But I can’t, so instead we’re back to the main plan, which is just keep my friends occupied until they’re old enough to grow out of it.”

Ceyda took a deep breath. “So you could overthrow everything with the grimoire. I couldn’t.”

“Oh my gods you’re so creepy, you know that? War is a serious thing, Ceyda, people die. You can’t just have power and make everything better,” Amber hissed.

“What were you planning on doing with the grimoire?” Ceyda repeated. Her bracelet was vibrating intensely now. It hurt, but Ceyda couldn’t let this opportunity slip by. She was sure if Amber got away from her now, she’d make sure to never talk to Ceyda one on one again.

“I was going to use my grimoire to follow the path of my grandmother, Andrea. My great grandfather created that grimoire for his daughters. If anyone was going to know what to do with it, it would be me. I was going to inherent my father’s land, and I was going to purchase all the lands from the surrounding nobility. I’d have completely rebuilt the city, and use magic to increase crop growth,” Amber recited like it had been said in her head a thousand times.

“I would do away with currency entirely. The servants barely use it anyway, so why not just do away with it and focus entirely on providing amenities? Rebuild the houses in Bricketfriar, so each one is safe and not falling apart, and give the excess food to the servants. And then everything would have been. Safe. And good. No one would be short on food, and no one would complain any more.”

Ceyda scuffed the ground with her shoe. That was an admittedly nice plan. It would mean no one died. There’d be no war. It would be completely peaceful. And no one would go hungry.

But there was something… weird about it.

“So what happens then? Like, what would everyone from the town proper do?” Ceyda asked.

“Well, they’d have medicine and food, so actually be able to work and play in their off time, instead of slowly starving?” Amber said.

“But what if they didn’t want to?”

Amber blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Do they get manors like us? Or what if Danette wanted to join the army as a pillar or--”

“Okay, stop. Just stop. You’re so immature. You can’t just use magic and literally change how the world works. We need pillars, or everyone dies from starvation. Not everyone can be a mage, Ceyda. Not everyone can have a special core and a title, " Amber's face vaguely wrinkled into disgust.

And at that moment, at Amber's disgust at the very idea, Ceyda understood. What had she told Doc? That if someone else had gotten the grimoire, it would have been logical and sensible for them to hold onto it? That Ceyda would have bared them no ill will, because she would have done the same thing?

Yeah. Well. Turns out that was a lie. It sure felt nice in theory to talk about the fair game of luck and competition, but it felt a lot different now. Before Ceyda could only see it as something to gain. Magic was a bonus, a good thing, but not for everyone. She didn't lose anything by not having magic, because she never had magic in the first place. But now, there was a new feeling. She had been robbed. Ceyda could cast magic. She could. And it had been taken away from her.

And Amber's plan was robbing magic from everyone but her. She would be the one to decide how everything worked. And Ceyda had been fine when she had been in that position, but now she was staring someone down she hated, realizing what would have happened if the situation had been reversed.

What did Ceyda look like in Amber's world? What happened to Ceyda in Amber's world?

Amber continued her explanation, her voice laced with condescension. "If they did, no one would work, no one would breed, and we would die out, all because we let everyone become selfish and lazy. They would go corrupt with power, and kill each other. And if you honestly think it would end with everyone holding hands and putting aside their base ruminations for the greater good, For the love of everything, grow up.”

“I am grown up!” Ceyda said fiercely. “And I can’t pretend I speak for them--to be honest I barely speak for myself. But you lied to them! You lied to me! And there’s a rebellion, a real rebellion out there, we could join them!”

“...what? Who told you that?” Amber asked.

“Doc did! I met a man named Reiner in my dreams--”

“Mm,”

“--and he wasn’t surprised I could cast magic, and he was fighting with the other thief who tried to steal the grimoire, and then the thief killed him--” Ceyda cut herself off. She had no good way to end this train of thought.

“So, so--” Ceyda stumbled over her words. “If we find them, we can help them.”

“Where are these rebels, then?” Amber asked.

“I don’t know, but the world is large, and if I had my grimoire I could find them!”

“My grimoire is never being returned. It is being guarded twenty four-seven, and will be taken to Nevan to my father’s external vault within the month," Amber spat bitterly. "You have ruined it for the both of us."

Ceyda wilted. “You could at least try--”

“No.”

Amber folded her arms and stared Ceyda dead in the eyes.

“Why not? We could do your plan if you wanted,” Ceyda pleaded.

“I’m not enabling your creepy little power fantasy so you can prance around and talk about how special you are,” Amber said.

“I’m not--fine. Fine. Maybe it is a power fantasy! So what? What does it matter if we do actual good? That grimoire chose me! Doesn’t that mean something? Shouldn’t we at least find out why?” Ceyda asked.

A slow smile stretched across Amber’s face. Ceyda brightened. Yes, she had gotten through to her! She had appealed to Amber’s base curiosity, that all humans had, and they could finally get on the right track!

“Oh I already know that,” Amber said. “Clearly the grimoire is inhabited by the god of insanity.”

“You mean Zebidiah?”

“What?”

“What?”

Amber stared at her. “What are you even saying?”

“You said god of insanity. That’s Zebidiah, the Avatar of Insanity,” Ceyda recited. “Their domain is space, and involves teleportation. Why do you think it’s them?”

“By the crown, I was trying to insult you!” Amber shot back. “You speak to voices in your head! You say things that are literally insane, and you have absolutely no awareness of what reality is like!”

“I don’t--I don’t speak to voices in my head,” Ceyda said quietly. “I speak to Doc, who was situated in my grimoire, it was just a telepathic link so--”

“No it wasn’t, Ceyda!” Amber cried out, exasperated. “I have pored over my grandmother and great aunt’s diaries. They described in detail how the grimoire worked before they died. They never mentioned any weird voice. It works as a spellbook and nothing more! You’re either lying or you are so insane and stupid that you actually think you can talk to a gods damn book!”

“I… I can. Well I could--”

“No! No you can’t! You act like a five year old with an imaginary friend. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is? I can’t believe everyone else fell for it! You are literally emblematic of every horror story of a chatelaine left untrained,” Amber said, her face filling with disgust.

“...why are you so mean to me?” Ceyda asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Amber blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why--” Ceyda took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. “Why are you so mean to me? I’ve never been mean to you. I don’t even really know who you are. But ever since you met me you’ve been mean to me. Did I hurt you by accident? Do you hate me?”

Amber gave a low laugh. “ This is ridiculous. I can’t believe you’re asking me this right now--”

“Please! Just answer it! It’s okay to hate me! I hate a lot of people for very silly reasons! I just want to know why! What did I do wrong? Did I miss a social cue? I do that a lot, it’s not anything personal,” Ceyda babbled.

“You’re going to make a scene. You know, after the first two scenes where you cursed in public and pushed me into a wall,” Amber said stoicly.

“Please! Just tell me! I don’t--I don’t understand!” Ceyda hiccuped, trying desperately to not raise her voice any higher. Why did this always happen why did this keep happening.

Amber glanced back at her. “I don’t hate you, Ceyda. I pity you. You’re this small, stupid little chatelaine. You’ll be someone’s useless wife one day, and you’ll die, knowing deep in your heart, that you never accomplished anything worthwhile your entire life. You can’t even imagine the scope of the world out there--and you never will. But I can. We are a trapped, dying species, Ceyda. There is a literal magic wall across the ocean, to protect us from the poison fields. Without it, we'd be dead, and humanity itself would perish. And yet you want to waste your time blubbering like a child and wondering why I opposed war and the loss of precious lives? Do you even know what I'm talking about, or did you simply ignore the going ons of the world?"

"I am well aware," Ceyda mumbled, not about to mention she had learned a mere few days ago about the poison fields.

"I don’t hate you, Ceyda. It’s just that you could never, ever engage with me on any equal footing. Your only redeeming quality is the circumstances of your birth, and the fact that you got lucky with a random antique, once.”

Ceyda’s hand curled into fists. “If you do not hate me, I fear to see what you do hate.”

Amber gave a faint, smug smile. “Perhaps it is because I experience the full range of emotions from empathy to rage, while your eyes grow dull with complacency, no?”

What an annoyingly specific insult! Was Ceyda emotionally deficient? She had never done well emotions, but she liked to think she had them! If anything, she had too many emotions. She had done far too much crying for her like, and right now, she was fairly certain she was fully experiencing rage in all of its entirety!

She needed to focus and not get lost in the insult war.

“At least tell me if you know of Merlin’s--”

“Ehem,” another disgustingly familiar voice cut in.

In the deserted hallway, a few feet away, stood a mage with white streaks of hair, a waistcoat, and black sunglasses.

Rembrandt.

“Miss Blanche, are you being harassed?” Rembrandt asked.

Amber took a deep, heaving breath. “Hardly.”

She wrenched herself away from Ceyda’s grip and walked away, re-entering the Merrister’s grand hall.

“What are you doing here?” Ceyda spat at Rembrandt.

“Such an unbecoming tone, little chatelaine,” Rembrandt mused coolly. Gone was the emotional edge when they were trapped with Teractus. He was acting stoic, frightening, and Ceyda hated it.

Ceyda went to follow Amber, but Rembrandt stepped in front of her.

“Excuse me!” Ceyda glared at him.

Normally Ceyda was an expert at moving past people, but the way Rembrandt stepped forward overwhelmed her, and all she could do was step backwards.

He took another step forward, and another. Ceyda’s back hit the wall, and Rembrandt slammed his hand mere inches away from her head.

He leaned down, and lowered his sunglasses, revealing the dual irises in each eye.

“I don’t know who you are, little chatelaine, but if I were you, I’d think about behaving.” the last word hung in the air like a weapon. His breath smelled like smoked brisket, only gross.

For a second, Ceyda wondered why he didn’t recognize her--and then she realized. This was a threat. He was threatening her. He was using his magic, superior body mass, and position of power to intimidate her, and she hated it so much.

“I do plenty of behaving, thank you very much,” Ceyda replied. It was a terrible comeback, but it was all she could muster at the time.

Rembrandt smiled, straightened his back, and patted Ceyda on the head. “Good girl.”

His other hand brushed its thumb against the spine of his spellbook. His grin widened, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. Saying nothing else, he left her in the hallway, alone.

Ceyda sat on the carpet, and buried her face in her hands, her bracelet pathetically zapping her with each heaved breath..

What a terrible set of events. Why hadn’t she at least tried to bite him on the nose? It had been mere inches from her face, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before! She could have just blamed it on being unwell, it would have been fine.

And Amber… Crowns and Avatars combined, what in the world was she supposed to say to that?

Doc would know. Doc would have known what to say.

Maybe something like “you’re a stupid hypocrite, you stupid hypocrite.”

Or… “you act like a savior, but really you’re just dressing up in a peasant’s garb so you have someone to feel superior too.”

Yeah. That one sounded good. Next time she’d use that line.

But for now, she was just going to silently cry behind the curtain and hoped no one found her.