"Her name is Zhytln," Svette said, and the instant smiles and choruses of approval that the name put on the childrens' face was... worrying, to say the least.

"You're talking about the same Zhytln as earlier, right?" I asked. "The witch who fucks with people's memories?"

Svette shuffled in place, embarrassment crystallizing across her soul, and Jiaola shot me a disappointed look. Oops. Right. She had tried to infect me with one of Zhytln's living memories, but I wasn't entirely certain it was intentional. Considering that I'd fucking murdered someone, I didn't think I was in any position to throw stones about morality. Besides, she was just a kid.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," Svette muttered, shrinking back into the corner. That girl Jiaola had been comforting earlier shot me a glare and stepped up.

"Look, I don't know what you have against Zhytln, but Svette's trying to help you. Don't want to hear her out? Fine, but don't snap at her."

Alright, she got me there. I was just a tad skeptical that the woman who'd tried to forcibly invade and rewrite my mind just this morning would be willing or able to help with the fact that half of us were probably dying from a dozen cancers, but there was no reason to take that out on poor Svette. All the salesman's confidence she'd had when wheedling me this morning was notably absent beneath the eyes of this gathering of lost children. If I had cared, I would have speculated on why, but as it turned out, I just wanted to get a single damn lead on curing us before I zonked out for the night. I held my hands up, sand drifting off my soul, as Svette cleared her throat and continued.

"I... I know that she can change people. Their—their bodies, that is. I—" Svette cut off, glancing fearfully at me, but her girlfriend's gaze promised murder if I said anything and it seemed to give Svette the strength to continue. "I know it works. I wouldn't—this body isn't—it's not the one I was born with."

Ah. I felt those old thorns wrap around my soul as I nodded. "I hear you," I said.

Svette glanced up at me, surprised, then took a second look at me. "Y-yeah. I—I guess you do. But, uh, she's... if she can fix people's bodies, I thought maybe she could help you guys too. I guess."

"I don't buy it," Lucet butted in. Oh, Lucet. I mean, I got where she was coming from—it was suspicious as all hell that someone who Zhytln's mind-manipulating tentacles were in was suddenly recommending her for business—but was now really the time? "I've never heard of magic that can transform someone's body like that—and Zhytln's already a memory manipulator beyond anything I've seen. What's more likely: that she's also a master of a secret school of body-altering magic, or that she just messed with your mind to make you think she is?"

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Hey." I set one hand on Lucet's shoulder, and she flinched, oil halfway to her palms before she realized it was me. "I get where you're coming from, but, uh... try to tone it down a little, okay?"

Svette's girlfriend muttered something about pots and kettles, but Lucet pressed her lips together and nodded, sealing that black oil beneath a caprock of quartz. "Right. I'm still suspicious."

"You have," Meloai suddenly said.

Both of us turned to look at her, confused.

"The date is Feathers and Trust," Sansen helpfully added, "slightly after sunset."

"I know what time it is," Meloai said, irritated gravel grinding in her soul. "You have heard of magic that can transform people's bodies. Iola wasn't born an elf, was he?"

Lucet frowned. "Okay. Fine. Iola was flooded with fucked-up happiness, and it made him into a monster—but that's an emotion, not a memory. I've never heard of magic that uses memories to alter people's bodies. Happy now?"

Meloai tilted her head, and though she had a shapeshifter's perfect control over her expression, she couldn't hide the mold that crawled over her soul at Lucet's dismissive words. "What do you think I am, if not a body brought into existence by memories?"

Lucet blinked at Meloai. "You're not—you're not seriously suggesting that the woman who tried to invade our minds is a reasonable medical provider to turn to."

"I'm not. I'm simply saying that, given the precedent of the connection between soul and body, it's rational to assume that a sufficiently advanced memory manipulator could—"

"I feel like you're ignoring the part where she's a fucking memory manipulator," Lucet snapped, caprock geysering as her soul struck oil. "I didn't haul ass across the country just to find a second Silent Peaks. What is wrong with you all? I—"

Before Meloai could respond, before Svette could shrink into herself or her girlfriend lash out, I reached out to Lucet, remembered reaching out to Lucet, and past the passion and determination I struck the strongest emotion raging in her soul, used it to carve a rift between worlds.

Cobblestones became cardboard and all souls but two flickered out of existence as the power of Lucet's soul tore us into the Plane of Insecurity.

Lucet spun around, shocked, as I advanced towards her, arms outstretched—

And embraced her, the spell in her palms fizzling out in shock.

"I know," I murmured into her hair, "that you want the best for us. That you want to protect us, now that you can. I know that that's why you snapped at Meloai and Svette."

Lucet stiffened, opening her mouth to speak—then stopped. Then listened. Then thought.

Then stepped back, gently but firmly extricating herself from my embrace.

"I get it. I hurt them. I'll go apologize." Lucet held out a hand, the strange sheen of insecurity gathering in her soul, but I shook my head.

"It's not about them," I said. "An apology is good. Staying calm is good. But Lucet—I'm worried about you."

She scoffed. "Don't you dare, Cienne. I'm not that witch of sorrow you found crushed under Iola's thumb. I'll be okay. Just stop me if I'm being an asshole, okay?"

And before I could respond, Lucet slipped between worlds once more. Sloppily, still, with some bleed and wasted power. And yes, greater than the witch-in-training she'd once been.

But she was no riftmaw. Not invincible. Especially not from the sickness that had taken root in us all.

I held out a hand to cut a gate between worlds.

I found I had all too much power with which to do so.