Connie Harper lived at the center of attention. When all eyes were on her, watching, awaiting her next move, that was when she thrived. Addison had her fierceness, and Clarissa had her beauty, and Skye had surprising cleverness under her giggly outer shell, but Connie had her charisma, and that had always been enough.
Had been. Until Verdanturf. Until she'd been thrown into a big pond filled with coordinators more talented and magnetic than she could ever dream of being, and faced down judges that found her wanting, and performed for a public that was unimpressed. That had changed things. It had hurt. She'd never in her life been not good enough, until then.
Dressing for her hearing now was like dressing for a contest. She had to get it just right. Look respectable, her lawyer had told her, and mature, but not too mature. Remember, you're young. You're vulnerable. This wasn't your fault. Make them see that. Connie set her glasses on her face, brushed out her hair, and pinned it back with a simple hairband. She pulled on a white button-down blouse and ankle-length pleated skirt—clothes that had been bought just for this hearing and would be thrown out when it was done. They didn't suit her. She wasn't a kid.
Play the part. Dazzle the judge. She took this seriously, of course she did, but it was so much easier to think of it as a performance. A game. Think about impressing everyone; think about winning. Don't think about what would happen if she screwed up. Don't think about being charged with assault. Don't think about losing Marcie. Don't…
Comfort and security draped around her mind like a warm blanket. "I will not let them take you." Connie's fingers unclenched from the edge of the sink.
"Thanks, Marcie."
No makeup today. Okay, a little makeup. Up in a corner of the ceiling, Anima appeared, spinning off the last of the anxiety that Marcie hadn't been able to dispel. Anima's mood-eating was colder than Marcie's empathy, and the result always left Connie feeling a little off-balance, like there was an important thought that she'd forgotten but that still lingered in the corners of her mind. More importantly, though, it made her feel calm, and calm was what she needed right now.
Just as Connie finished up, her phone rang in the bedroom behind her. Shared synapses fired, and Marcie telekinetically lobbed the phone towards Connie. Connie extended one hand backwards and caught it without looking, then pulled it up to read the caller ID. Addie. She put down the mascara that was still in her other hand and tapped the screen to answer.
Addison's face blinked into view, and so did Skye's. They were sitting side-by-side in a white-walled room—the hospital. "How're you doing?" Addie asked, not wasting any time. Connie flashed a small smile in response.
"I'm fine." Above her, Anima cackled. Connie exited the bathroom and sat on her bed, where Marcie immediately shifted over to attach herself to her thigh. "Mostly fine. I just… want today to be over with."
The phone buzzed again. Now Hayley was calling. Connie conferenced her in, splitting the video screen in two.
"Hey. I'm—oh." Hayley's voice broke off, and her eyes drifted to the image of Addie and Skye on her own phone. "Sorry, am I interrupting?"
"You're fine," Addie said, in the tone of a gracious host forgiving a faux pas. "We were just checking in."
"Sorry we couldn't be there in person," added Skye. "But with Clarissa and all…"
"How is she today?" Connie asked. Addie sighed.
"She's… She had her eyes open for a while this morning, and she knew we were there. We think. But she still couldn't say anything."
On the other half of the screen, Hayley bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I hope she gets better soon."
"She will," Skye said, a little too quickly. "The doctors said she's doing better, and that all this is normal, just that they don't—don't know how long it'll take."
Silence. Connie reached out for Marcie, who flooded her with protectiveness and love. "It'll all work out," she said, as much to herself as the rest of them. "Once the hearing is over, Reese is going to go to trial, and—we can all tell her about how he's going to rot. I bet that'll wake her up."
"Yeah." The corners of Hayley's mouth twitched, but immediately fell back into a flat line. "Speaking of, I was calling to say I'm ready to head down to the courthouse, if you are?"
The nails of Connie's free hand dug into her palm. In her head, her two Pokémon played tug-of-war with her emotions, sorting out anger, and fear, and righteousness, and vengeance. She breathed in deep, pushed all her thoughts to the side, and nodded. "I'm ready."
"Okay. My mom's going to drive me over, I'll meet you there."
"Good luck," Skye said. "Not that you need it."
"They already know you didn't do anything wrong," Addison agreed. "And if they try to screw you anyway, we'll all make them pay."
The call ended. For a minute longer, Connie sat in place, fighting for composure. This was all just nerves, she told herself. The same as the anxiety she felt before going on stage. Once she stepped into the spotlight, it would all go away, just as it always did. She would shine. She would win.
"If anyone tries to harm you," Marcie said, "I will strike them down." Connie smiled.
"Thanks. But try not to think like that in the courtroom—we don't want anyone to overhear."
She would win. For Marcie's sake, and Clarissa's, and her own.
----------------------------------------
"Marcie, you have to be brave."
The little Ralts leaned her head back to look at Connie from under her helmet. Connie flashed her a beaming grin, and after some hesitation, Marcie mirrored a shaky smile back. But anxiety still gnawed at the corners of Connie's mind, and she knew the feeling wasn't her own.
"I know you're scared. But I'm not scared. See?" She pushed a flood of happy thoughts to burn away Marcie's gloom, just the way the breeder had told her to do. The way pre-performance jitters melted into exhilaration when she faced the crowd and the music began. The joy she felt at every movement and step falling into place one after the other. The adoration of the crowd washing over her in cheers and applause. "See? Think about how great it'll be to feel all those people loving you—"
The wrenching pain of a turned ankle. The panic of her mind going blank and forgetting which step came next. Hateful eyes, judging, hissing and booing and urging her off the stage. Connie sighed. "Marcie, that's never happened. Seriously, who taught you how to be so negative?" Where had she even gotten those images from? They couldn't have been from Connie's own mind. She was never afraid. But if it wasn't her…
"Clarissa!" Over on the other bed, Clarissa glanced up from her phone. "Stop feeding bad thoughts to Marcie! You're scaring her!"
Clarissa tilted her head, her golden curls falling just so to perfectly frame the side of her face. "I'm not feeding her anything."
"You are. Or, well, maybe Ciel is, but I don't think she's smart enough to do that." The Snorunt looked up at hearing her name, clacked her teeth, and went back to burrowing in the comforter. "You're sabotaging me. You keep telling her I'm going to fail."
Clarissa gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'll admit I am thinking that you're going to fail, but it's not on purpose. You're making it hard not to think about that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I already told you. The performance you're working on—"
"—is great—"
"—has zero beauty components, and anyway, there's no way Marcie will be able to pull off a double team for that long—"
"You're jealous. You're jealous she knows double team and Ciel doesn't yet—"
"—and she's too young to filter out the crowd, so she's going to be distracted the whole time. Really, you're just asking for embarrassment."
"I am not!" Connie jumped to her feet, only to stumble as she was hit with a new wave of apprehension. Clarissa raised a thin eyebrow.
"See? How are you going to perform when the two of you don't even have that under control?"
"Shut up! We're going to go out there, and we're going to beat you! We're going to win the whole thing!" She turned around and bent down to scoop up Marcie, who flinched from the sheer level of emotion coming off of her. Connie shut her eyes and breathed in deep. Good thoughts, good thoughts. Elation at winning the contest. Confidence in knowing that the power to do so was within their grasp right now. Smugness and satisfaction at shoving their victory in Clarissa's stupid face. Marcie reacted with confusion at that last one, but still relaxed enough to let Connie gather her in her arms. "Come on. We're going somewhere where her negativity can't get to us." She glared daggers at Clarissa the whole way out, only stopping when the door finally closed between them.
----------------------------------------
"The day I got Marcie was one of the happiest days of my life."
From the bench, the League judge peered down at her. This wasn't a trial, just a hearing, but this building was still a courthouse, and their freedom was still on the line. To the judge's left was a panel of four League officials, and to her right was a wizened Alakazam. As the judge questioned Connie, it would be questioning Marcie and keeping watch for psychic tampering. To Connie's own left, Marcie sat at the table in a boosted seat. Connie hadn't been allowed to hold her on her lap. On her right was her lawyer—though she wouldn't be speaking on Connie's behalf; she was just there to make sure everything went by the book. And behind her, her parents, and Hayley, and Hayley's mom, all sat in the audience and offered silent support. Even so, with Marcie withdrawn as far as possible from her head and out of arm's reach, Connie felt vulnerable and alone.
"I… The breeder warned me that Ralts were tricky to raise, but I told him I could handle it." Her voice faltered. If this was a performance, she was botching it. "Eventually he said that since Marcie was already attached to me, we could give it a shot."
"And at that time," the judge said, "were you informed of the dangers inherent to the Ralts line?"
"Yes. He said… He said that once they're fully bonded with their trainers, they'll do anything to protect them. And that Gardevoir, especially, might attack anyone they see as a threat."
"And did he give you instructions on how to prevent that from happening?"
"He said to try and only think good thoughts around her, and to only show her beautiful things. And that that would help her grow up to be more peaceful and less violent."
"Did you follow that advice?"
"I did. I did… everything I could. I tried to always be happy, and when I couldn't be happy, I recalled her."
Hayley's voice played in the back of her mind: "Just because you're smiling a lot… It's not working." Connie shook her head. "I did the best I could. And up until Reese, it was fine. Everything was fine."
----------------------------------------
"One two three, one two three, one two three, lift your leg higher! One two three—no, look at me, Marcie. See what I'm doing with my arms?" Marcie looked up at her, eyes wide, panting breaths coming from her tiny mouth. Connie stretched out her arms again to demonstrate. "You have to use your upper body to balance, or else you'll fall over. That's what happened during the contest."
It had been a disaster. Connie had avoided starring in any cringe compilations after her first performance, but after Marcie's fall in her second, she was all over the coordinator web. This was not how she wanted to go viral. Making it into these sorts of videos was inevitable, given how ubiquitous they were—every coordinator had their turn at the pillory. She knew that all too well. She'd spent many, many nights in Petalburg guiltily watching them and giggling to herself. But she hadn't expected it to hurt so much when it happened to her. The gasps and laughter of the crowd, played back through her phone screen, still rang in her ears.
Her stomach twisted with the sick shame of failure, coupled with the guilt of letting someone down. She sighed, dropped her pose, and sat down next to Marcie. "It wasn't your fault. It was my fault. I knew you were having trouble with that move, and I pushed you to do it anyway. Maybe it's even good that it happened. Now you know that failure isn't the end of the world."
It felt like the end of the world. Failure hurt. Was this how people like Hayley felt all the time?
"What matters is that we're going to do better next time. Come on, let's keep practicing." Don't think about failure. Think about success, about landing the move perfectly, about ranking above Clarissa and all those coordinators who had laughed at her and watching them cry and beg for forgiveness. That made her smile. Okay, so there was a tiny bit of viciousness to it, but happiness was happiness, right? And when Connie was happy, Marcie thrived.
----------------------------------------
"You said that whenever you got upset, you would recall Marcie."
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
"Yes."
"What are some examples of when you needed to do that?"
Okay. She'd prepared for this one. "When I was feeling stressed about contests, and didn't want her to know. Or when something bad happened to one of my friends. When Jin killed Corbin's Taillow and the video came out—I had to recall her for that, but I probably did it later than I should have." An admission of fault, just a small one, to make herself believable, while also reminding the judge of how cruel the world could be. Her lawyer had been the one to suggest it. The judge's stern expression flickered, and Connie's heart leapt. It had landed. She was still in this.
"Psychic-types generally retain some level of consciousness in their balls. Marcie certainly does, based on her actions the night of the attack. Were you ever concerned that after recall, she might remain aware and continue meditating on your thoughts on her own?"
"Yes. That's why I never recalled her for very long when I was upset. Ten, fifteen minutes at most, however long it took for me to get myself under control. I kept her in her ball longer for other reasons, like if there were too many people around or she needed some rest, but in those cases I always made sure she was happy before I recalled her. Except, again, after Corbin—but I know that was a mistake."
The Alakazam's eyes were narrowed, and Connie knew that it was questioning Marcie about the same thing. Connie wasn't worried. The recall records would back up her story, and Marcie would never contradict her.
----------------------------------------
"We're getting the hang of this. We are." The terror of falling behind. "Look, I know we still didn't rank yesterday, but so what? Neither did Clarissa." The creeping knowledge of not being good enough. "I'm telling you, we'll rank next time. You've almost got your misty terrain down, and my parents are going to send me a flash TM, and that'll get our beauty scores up. Believe me." A tightness in her chest. Failure. Failure—
"Don't think like that!" Connie hugged Marcie closer in her arms and thought of sunshine and happiness and light until the bad feelings ebbed. She told herself, as always, that the negativity had come from Marcie and that she had upheld her own responsibility in driving it away. But the truth was, it was starting to get hard to tell whose emotions were whose.
Down in the hotel restaurant, where she'd intended to grab a late brunch, Connie's face darkened to see Addison, Skye, and Clarissa already there. They weren't eating, though. Half-finished eggs and crepes had been abandoned on their plates in favor of all three of them clustering around Skye's phone. They stared at the screen, practically unblinking, as soft, tinny sound played from the speakers. Connie watched them for a moment, deliberating, until finally her curiosity won out over her desire not to talk to any of them.
"What are you looking at?" she asked. Skye looked up and actually jumped at seeing her, dropping her phone on the table. Connie's eyes followed it, but before she could make out what it was showing, Skye snatched it up again and shut the screen off.
"Oh. Hey." Skye gave a smile that was way too big to be natural. "We were just, uh, checking the internet? You know."
Addison groaned. "Skye…"
"Anything good?" Connie stepped forward, but stopped again when a fog of apprehension settled over her. There was the perplexity of being tongue-tied, and the uneasiness of dancing on conversational eggshells. Secrets. Now she was even more intrigued. "Did a coordinator mess up again or something?"
"You… Could say that…"
"Skye," Addison warned again. Skye laughed nervously and tugged a lock of hair around her finger.
"It's really nothing. More of the usual—"
Before she could finish, Clarissa plucked the phone out of her hand, unlocked it, and walked over to hand it to Connie. Behind her, Addison mouthed "Seriously?" Despite not seeing the protest, Clarissa shot back with "She's going to find out eventually."
On the screen was a TrainerTV video of a man with mousy brown hair speaking into a microphone. In the background was a home studio with a Delcatty napping on a raised bed. Just another vlogger, Connie thought—but then she saw the title: "This new coordinator is the season's ABSOLUTE WORST." Ouch. The season was barely a month in, who could he have possibly picked as—
It was her. It was her. The video switched to a clip from one Connie had put up, where she'd filmed herself teaching Marcie how to dance. "And this is why contests are appalling," the voiceover was saying. "You get these clueless kids thinking that style is any substitute for strength, and so they take a Pokémon that could have real potential and turn them into a sideshow." It cut to a clip from last week's contest, showing Marcie falling down mid-dance. "And it's bad enough when they do this with something like a Kecleon or a Pikachu, but a Ralts? A Pokémon that reads the emotions of everyone around them? You're going to put them through these awful performances, and make them feel just how much everyone hates them? That's basically abuse."
"Connie," she heard Addison say from somewhere, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the screen. In her head, something horrible battered at her protective dam of positivity. Marcie cried out—
Marcie. She couldn't let Marcie feel this. The phone fell from Connie's hand, and she nearly followed it to the ground. Instead, she turned on her heel and stalked off at a speed just under a run. But the feeling followed her. Don't think about it. Think about happy things. Laughter, friendship, love, sunlight. Victory, joy, success.
All the things she wasn't good enough to achieve.
She threw herself into a single-occupancy bathroom and recalled Marcie just as the dam broke. Her body went limp, and she collapsed to the floor and sobbed.
It was just a video. It shouldn't bother her. It was just a video. Just another video on top of the growing piles of clips and reaction vids about how she was terrible and a fraud and—
They were right. They were all right. She had no idea what she was doing. She was in over her head, and she was dragging Marcie down with her. An awful noise broke out of her; she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle it. Tears streamed down her face, and her shoulders shook. She let herself be consumed and carried away on the currents. And she might have stayed that way for hours, if there hadn't been a knock on the door.
"Don't come in!" Her voice was gross and wet, and the sound of it made her shiver and tear up all over again. But the door swung open anyway, and then Clarissa was standing above her, looking down with an inscrutable expression.
"You didn't lock it."
"Go away." Connie drew up her knees and buried her face in them, obscuring the mess it had become. There was the click of the door shutting and the snap of the lock, but Clarissa was still there. Peering with one eye around the edge of her legs, Connie saw her delicately lower the toilet lid with a thumb and forefinger, then sit down atop it. "Go away."
"I wouldn't take the video personally," Clarissa said coolly, as if she hadn't heard her. "Evrard—he picks a new coordinator to hate every year. It was just bad luck that this year, it was you."
"But he's right," Connie mumbled into her legs. "I'm a terrible coordinator, and I'm hurting Marcie."
There was a long pause. "I don't think you're hurting her," Clarissa said at last. "She likes you, and she likes making you happy."
"But if everyone who watches her hates her—"
"They don't hate her. Evrard's blowing it all out of proportion."
"You don't know that."
"I do, because unlike you, I have a manager whose job it is to figure out what the judges and audience are thinking. True, the two of you are far from being fan favorites, but based on your scores and the buzz online, people think you have potential. You just need polish."
"I don't believe you."
"Fine, don't. I probably shouldn't be giving you this information anyway. You're not the one who paid for it." Clarissa made to get up—
"Wait." Clarissa settled back down and crossed her legs. "Why are you telling me this? You don't even like me."
She shrugged. "Would you believe me if I said it's basic human decency?"
"Yeah, right."
"Okay, then it's because I don't want to deal with you sitting around the hotel room blubbering for the rest of the day." Connie snorted, and realized that at some point, she'd stopped crying.
She should probably get off the floor.
"Anyway, I know we need 'more polish.' We're working on it—ugh." She'd caught sight of herself in the mirror, and the picture made her wince. Every inch of her face was puffy and blotchy, and her mascara had run down her cheeks. She plopped herself right back down again. "I'm staying in here until my face looks better."
"You should wash it. Did you bring your makeup with you?"
"Yeah, but I don't really feel like doing it right now."
Clarissa sighed. "Well, that might be a good thing, now that I think about it. Your contouring is a disaster."
"What? No it's not!"
"It is, and the sooner you admit it, the sooner you can start getting better scores." Connie's argument faltered and died halfway out of her mouth. Clarissa smirked and flipped her blonde curls over her shoulder, then reached into her purse for her phone. "That's what I thought. Let me show you exactly what you're doing wrong."
They wound up watching makeup tutorials for the next hour in the dim, cramped bathroom. By the time they were done, Connie was able to release Marcie again, look her straight in the eyes, and smile.
----------------------------------------
"Let's proceed to the night in question."
This was it. Connie dug her nails into her palms. "What do you want to know?"
"In your statement, you said that this man, Reese, approached you at the contest hall before the two of you once again encountered each other on the street. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And you said he made you feel uncomfortable."
"Yes."
"Why is that?"
"He was just… off." The judge stared at her. Connie didn't look away. "They give us all those trainer safety courses in school, and tell us how to look out for suspicious adults. But even without that, just from the way he acted, I knew he was bad."
"But you didn't inform security, or the police."
"All he did was touch my shoulder. You can't call the cops on someone for that. And he left before security could come over. Clarissa texted her manager, though, and said she'd get him banned from the hall."
"And Marcie was in her ball for this encounter, correct?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't release her between your first altercation and the attack?"
"No. I didn't want her to feel how he made me felt."
"Had you ever spoken to Reese before that night?"
"No."
"Did you have reason to believe he would come after you the way he did?"
"Of course not. If I had, then I would have gone to the police."
"Okay. Afterwards, you went to get dinner with your friend, Hayley Summers. According to Miss Summers' written statement, you talked about Reese, contests, Marcie, and your general level of stress, and then you got upset and went off on your own. Is that correct?"
Dammit, Hayley. Well, she hadn't had the benefit of a lawyer to help write her statement; Connie shouldn't hold it against her that she'd said too much. "Yes."
"In your own statement, you only said that you talked about Reese."
"He's what I was thinking about. For obvious reasons."
"But you agree that you also talked about Marcie."
"Yes."
"Can you explain in detail what you discussed?"
Just much had Hayley said? Connie had to play it safe. "Just that, it's hard to raise a Ralts. And that I was doing my best, but I was worried it wasn't enough. I kept thinking about Reese, and how I was going to explain what happened to Marcie—how do you explain a feeling like that to a Ralts, you know?"
"I see." Had she bought it? It looked like she'd bought it. Connie's stomach unknotted just a little bit. "Now, I know this will be difficult, but let's go over the attack itself."
----------------------------------------
"You said I wasn't hurting her."
"You aren't."
"You said I wasn't hurting her! But I am! Hayley said that I am, and she's right!"
"Hayley doesn't know what she's talking about!" Under her stage makeup, Clarissa's eyes blazed. "She hasn't watched you or Marcie for the past three months, the way I have! All she's seen are a few bad days."
"It feels like every day lately is a bad day." Connie's eyes watered threateningly; her throat clicked as she tried to drive them back. But then Clarissa reached out and touched her shoulder, and that was too much. They started to fall.
"Connie. You're good at this. You beat me today, remember?"
"By half a point," she choked. "It doesn't matter. If it's hurting Marcie—"
"Contests aren't hurting her. You're hurting her, by letting every little thing someone says get under your skin."
"How can I not? I…" She shut her eyes, leaned her head back against the wall of the alley Clarissa had accidentally sheparded her into, and took a shaky breath. "I used to know… whether I was good at something or not. Whether I was doing the right thing. And now everything's a mess. I don't know who to listen to."
"Listen to me. Because I know this world, and Hayley doesn't. The higher you climb, the more people are going to try and stop you, and you need to shut your eyes and cover your ears and ignore them."
"Like you do."
"Yes."
"I don't know if I can."
"You'd better learn to." Clarissa hmfed, took a step back, and crossed her arms. "You've come this far; it'd be a shame if I lost my rival now."
Connie's lips twitched. But before they could spread into a smile, a shadow fell over the mouth of the alley.
----------------------------------------
The panel deliberated for nearly an hour. During that time, Connie's parents hugged her, Hayley told her she'd been amazing, and her lawyer said she'd done everything right. Connie barely heard them. Marcie had reentered her head in full force, and Connie was drinking in her presence the way a person rescued from the desert gulps down water. According to the doctors, the level of separation they'd kept during the trial was the level they were supposed to maintain all the time, but Connie couldn't imagine living like that. She'd take being fused forever, if it meant not being alone.
Finally, they were called back in, and the verdict was read: Marcie had shown no sign of being dangerous before the exceptional circumstances of that night; it had been Reese's actions alone that led her to kill, not negligence or malice on Connie's part. Marcie's premature evolution and attachment to Connie meant she was still unstable and potentially dangerous, but removing her from Connie would only make things worse. Connie's license would be reinstated, and the League would mandate that they continue separation therapy and undergo regular behavioral screenings to make sure they stayed on the right track.
It wasn't a perfect victory, but it was still a victory. Eight out of ten. Connie and Marcie had done their best; it wasn't their fault that the League didn't understand.
Afterwards, they went back to Connie's house, where her parents served everyone cake. Addison and Skye, joining the celebration by phone, offered their congratulations and asked if she would be coming back to Slateport.
"I'm staying in Petalburg until I can at least put Marcie back in her ball." Not her choice, but a choice her parents and doctors had made for her. "Then, I don't know. My dad thinks I should go to Mossdeep and work with some of the experts there."
"Do you want to go to Mossdeep?" Addison asked. Connie shrugged. Honestly, right now, all she wanted was to burn this ugly skirt, go to bed, and sleep for a week. Hayley, though, had had her eyes light up at the idea.
"We can both go to Mossdeep when you're ready, then. And tag battle Tate and Liza, just like we planned."
"I'd need three Pokémon for that," Connie said, and Hayley deflated. "But since you've got two psychics, maybe we can take some classes together. Assuming I go at all."
"What about contests? Are you still… What?" Skye turned and glared at Addie as Addie shoved her. "I'm just asking!"
"I definitely need to be able to recall Marcie for that, so not for a while. But yeah, maybe. Master rank's going to be a bust for this year, but maybe ultra…"
She trailed off. Hayley was nudging her in the arm. "Speaking of needing three Pokémon—have you caught Anima yet?" She spoke in a whisper so Addie and Skye wouldn't hear.
"Not yet."
"Well, let's go and do it now. I want to be there in case she attacks."
"She won't attack. But fine. I'm not telling anyone about her until tomorrow, though. If they freak out like you did, it'll ruin the mood."
"Fine. But you are telling them tomorrow."
"What are you whispering about?" Addison asked. "You're being really rude, you know?"
"Hayley just reminded me about something I have to do," Connie said, giving an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "I'll call you right back, okay?"
Without waiting for a response, she ended the call. Then, she and Hayley slipped out of the dining room and walked up the stairs to her bedroom.
----------------------------------------
There was a theory that Connie had read on the internet, once. Ralts, Kirlia, Gardevoir, and Gallade were creatures of emotion. Their brains molded and shaped themselves based on what they were feeling, and what the people around them were feeling. Normally, the process was gradual and slow, like a trickle of water eroding its way through rock over millions and millions of years. But there were exactly two moments in each Ralts' life where the division of cells and reconnection of neurons made their brains become malleable, where the influence of emotion turned from a trickle to a raging flood wiping out everything in its path: evolution. The theory said that a Gardevoir who evolved in the middle of a difficult battle would have a brain built on strife, and that it would become ferocious and brave; that a Gallade whose evolution was triggered among feelings of happiness and joy would be unusually gentle and upbeat; and so on and so forth.
Connie had asked her neurologist about it, and her neurologist responded that there was no hard science behind the theory, only anecdotal data, and that Connie shouldn't draw conclusions from pop science she found online. Still, Connie found herself thinking about it more and more. If it was true, what then? What would it mean for a Kirlia who'd evolved before she was ready, in a moment of pain and fear, to save her trainer from a miserable fate?
"If anyone tries to harm you, I will strike them down."
Well. Like her neurologist had said, science had never proven anything. It probably never would. And the fact that Anima hadn't been attracted by Connie at all, but by Marcie, could remain their little secret.