A day later, Jin brought her dinner. Raw fish and blood broth. She didn’t touch it.

He didn’t leave, either. He sat there watching her for a little while, like he was observing some feral animal. She ignored him.

“Mother and I had a talk,” he said. “I think… I think I understand better now.”

He was silent, expecting her to say something, but she gave him nothing.

He struggled on awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have blamed you for dealing with the cult. Just like I wouldn’t blame Mei—they tricked her. They tricked me. I—Hell, Rue.”

He closed his eyes. Silence.

“I thought I lost you. And I thought... I thought the demons took you from me. I thought it wasn’t you anymore, I thought you were a demon in my sister’s skin, pretending to be her, and I hated you for it. Does that—does that make sense?”

She said nothing. He took a rattling breath. “Mother says there’s more of you in there than I’d thought.”

She wouldn’t look at him; she curled up against the wall, back to him, as he spoke.

“Well…” he winced. “That’s why I was angry at you at first. But I was angry at what you’d done before too, I think. I was just angry. I guess I thought you’d done wrong, and I needed someone to blame. Really I think… I’m meant to be the Hero, Rue. I was supposed to be there for you, to be there for Mei, and I—”

He cut himself off with a frustrated growl.

“I was angry at myself,” he said softly. “I know that now. I think I have this thing where sometimes I need an enemy. I don’t know. I’m rambling.”

She still didn’t understand how she could be his enemy. She didn’t care how badly she was hurt, or how angry she got—she knew she would never, ever take it out on Jin. She would never do that to someone she really loved.

He blinked at his feet; anxious fingers ran through his hair. “That’s a long way to say, I’m sorry,” said Jin.

The silence was making him uncomfortable. She could see his shadow squirming on the wall.

“Say something,” he said.

“What?” She turned. She had gone very cold. “Did you think I’d say, ‘apology accepted’? You put a spear through my neck, remember?”

“That—“ He blinked. “I didn’t know that was you.”

“You still don’t think I’m me.”

“I know you’re…. I know you may have new urges, yes. But you’re still my sister, in your heart. I understand now.”

“Am I?” Ruyi stood suddenly and bared her teeth at him; his hands darted for his spear. She laughed mockingly; it didn’t sound like her at all, but she hoped it’d hide the hurt. She didn’t want him to see he could still hurt her.

“Rue,” he said, aggrieved.

“Come here,” she said, and she knew he could see the redness in her eyes. “If you really think it’s me, then come. Come give me a hug. I’m your sister, aren’t I?”

And she stuck her arms through the bars as far as they’d go.

He hesitated. He didn’t move.

“Good choice,” she told him, blinking fast. “I might’ve sank my teeth into your neck. I don’t think I could help myself. Demon urges, you know.”

“Sis—”

“I’m not your sister. I’m your enemy, remember?” “What do you want from me?” he said, stricken.

“I don’t want to see you again,” she said. “Next time, send Mother.”

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***

Mother brought her meat, and she ate. Mother also brought a bamboo mat for her, and lanterns, and extra clothes, and rags for washing herself, and fresh water, and editions of Alchemy Weekly when they came in.

When Mother asked what she wanted, she’d said nothing. But Mother brought them anyways. That was how she knew Mother still loved her.

***

She had nothing to do. She didn’t speak to Mother when she came. When Jin came with more useless apologies she pretended he didn’t exist. After a few days passed—it was hard to tell, she thought it was a few days, anyways—she decided she was done doing nothing; she could feel herself dissolving into the darkness. She needed to better herself, or the little parts that made her would lose whatever held them together, and she would become nothing. She knew it. She had to move forward.

She couldn’t do very much. Things like push-ups were nothing to her anymore. Gravity and her body just weren’t testing enough. The only thing she could do was play with her ice powers.

She sent frost creeping over the floor at a touch of her fingers. It wouldn’t go far—the closer it was, the stronger the freeze. But if she really tried she could make it travel the length of the room.

She had to be a lion again—she’d felt so powerful then. When she’d opened her mouth she’d nearly coated the room in snow. So in the dead of night, when she was sure Mother and Jin wouldn’t disturb her, she tried to transform.

She could feel her demonform inside her. It felt like flexing a new muscle—one it was easy to forget she had if she wasn’t paying attention. At first she’d felt afraid to think about it. The first few hours before Jin had come she’d had this fantasy that maybe they wouldn’t know. Or maybe if she said the right things they would understand, and it would all be okay, and they could go back to how things were.

She’d been so stupid.

She told herself she wasn’t scared of herself anymore.

She reached for it. Her bones began to shift and crack and bend, her skin began to bulge and grow, sear bright-hot with pain—

She gasped. She lost it. Her bones settled, her skin shrank back, the fang-nubs in her mouth melted away. She was left hacking and shivering on the ground.

She’d flinched.

She had to try again, but as she set to it the thought of it brought up a rush of bile, a choking sense of dread. She didn’t have to. She could try her magics here, now, couldn’t she? Why did she need to feel that—that—the thought of it, the feeling of her bones breaking apart, nearly made her vomit. And she’d only just begun the transformation, it’d get worse from there, so much worse, she just knew it. Her breathing grew fast and ragged—

She caught herself, heart hammering.

What was she thinking?

She’d thought she’d left the Cult behind—she’d thought the only thing the’d kept was this shard of a demonform, but they’d hidden something else inside her too, and it horrified her. They’d put a weakness in her—it’d gotten everywhere, like an awful sticky slime, even in her thoughts. They’d made it part of her, a reflex, put it so far under the skin she couldn’t reach it, and the thought made her feel nauseous—she wanted to claw it out of her.

She knew what to do against enemies; but it was her, it was a part of her. She didn’t know what to do.

She made herself try again. She got halfway through the transformation—so far she felt her ribcage expand—before it was too much and she cried out. She was seized by a sudden terror; it felt like the whole world was bearing down on her and she felt small, smaller than an ant, so easily crushed; she lost everything; she was mumbling, sweating, shivering. It took her half an hour to pick herself up again.

She made herself try again.

Again.

Again.

Something had settled in her chest, and she didn’t understand what it was at first. She’d always thought of anger as something hot and heady, but this was something cold and insidious and hard. Anger had always made her stupid but this felt like a shock of cold water. She knew what she had to do.

It took two days and two nights, and thrice she gave in, promised herself she’d never, ever try again, but she knew that was the rot they’d put in her. She always crawled back to herself. In the end she managed it.

A lioness greeted Mother the next time she came.

Mother was shocked, but she didn’t flinch. She came down with a bowl of blood soup. Her gloves were still spotless when she set it by the cage. “Rue?” she said uncertainly.

She sat upright until she towered over Mother, nearly eight feet, and raised her head high and proud. Look at me, she wanted to say. Aren’t I beautiful?

“Do you understand me?” said Mother.

She nodded.

“Do you want to transform back?”

She shook her head. It had been hard enough doing this once. She was worried if she went back she could never do it again. She was ready to spend the rest of her life like this. She was done hiding.

Mother produced some letters. “Sen has been writing. I’ve told her that you’ve been ill, but that you’re safe. She really wants to see you.”

Ruyi groaned. She sank to all fours.

She began to shrink. When she was pressed up against the cage she was herself again.

She wasn’t sure she was ready to see Sen again. She wasn’t sure she could be a good partner right now; she wasn’t sure it was fair to Sen. But she wasn’t sure she cared either. She missed her so bad it physically hurt. She’d been tricked too often lately—she desperately needed someone simple, someone good. Sen couldn’t, wouldn’t lie to her if her life depended on it. And Sen didn’t know. Maybe with Sen she could be herself again.

“Let me out,” she said. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Mother nodded. “Yes, I think it’s past time.” She reached out for the lock. She hesitated looking guilty. “This was for your own safety, Rue. We couldn’t know if you were okay or not. You… you understand, right?”

“I understand,” Ruyi lied.

“Good,” said Mother, visibly relieved. She set Ruyi free.