No Med Mania

As is my want to do, I am sat at work having run out of two medications I take to keep being a human being: Lexapro and Lamictal. While I wait for the pharmacy to refill them, I thought I'd take a snapshot in time and talk about how it feels to be off of them.

I like to call this my mummification phase. It feels like all my skin is tightly woven to a breaking point on my muscles, but I'm so tired and numb that I could care less. I'd call it serenity but it is more so like apathy. I haven't eaten yet, and I'm not concerned about eating, so that's nice.

Really, this is the "meh" mask. Everything is just meh. I don't even feel my fingertips typing or recognize the words pouring out of me. This is astral projecting without being able to look down at yourself while you sit in a stupor.

Stay in school, kids.

Resident Evil Monster idea

Name: Gemini

Infected twins with the virus who are granted powerful mental and hallucinogenic powers. Instead of assaulting players, roaring and screaming, one twin picks a player at random per campaign and mentally tortures them, making them see what isn't there.

Players will only hear their twin, not their partner's twin, nor see the others illusions. Illusions are not scripted and happen randomly throughout gameplay. No jumpscares, but optical illusions and subtle fear are put in place, such as a slow crescendo of tense music like in Insidious or a brief view of tormented faces in the marble tiles of the manor.

You can have that one for free, Capcom.

Discrepancy

This is word vomit from a sick person. A sick woman carrying a hereditary, fatal disease passed down from generation to generation. The bug roots itself when you're young enough to think for yourself. The symptoms are worthlessness -- they convince you that being a human is something you have to earn.

You're fat, your skin is bad, your mother had twelve good looking boyfriends and straight A's in school at your age. What right do you have to take up space?

The only treatment for this bug is the "why nots". Why not exist? Why not achieve what you please? I may not have Pietro, Oskar, Dominic, Vladimir and whoever else fawning for my attention, but I contribute something to society.

You see, I am a guardian. The sickness is dysfunction, and it is a scary illness to have, because there's a high risk of passing it on to your children.

I'm convinced that the sickness in my bloodline is going to die with me.

Black Cat: Chapter 2

Cy made no noise. The others that had been sent to be punished were doing enough of that, pleading their innocence, their cases, their life stories, and some even tried to struggle from the cages.

The older cogs stayed silent, as she did. They knew better. From the list the workers barked, there were five of them there today, and the death sentence was only for her.

She tried to hold the colors of the capital in her mind, yet all that came was gray. Her young memories fell like paintings ruined in the rain, the yellows, purples, oranges, and reds – all the color of Grimora rushing down into the whirlpools beneath.

Alain pawed at her side. “Do not fret.”

In response, Cy unclipped the basket from her sash and set it down on the slick ground before the swinging cages, cut into the cliff wall, and the only platform that could withstand the waves. “There is no reason we both should perish today, Alain.”

The cat crept from under the blanket and gave her a stern look, his amber eyes piercing her. “I cannot perish, and you will not die today.”

Two of the cages had been lowered. Judging from the screaming, they would only be lowered to where the water brushed their chins. The threat of drowning was small, but the waves beating the cages against the cliffs and the hungry predators beneath more than made up for it. If they were fortunate, they would come away with few shattered bones and perhaps a sting or bite.

There were always more slaves washing in from the East, looking to start anew behind the safety of the Grimoran walls. It didn’t matter how many the sea took, there would always be more.

“Even if I escaped the cage, the waves would crush me,” she murmured, listless. “Or whatever is down there would swallow me whole. I have never swum, my friend.”

“You are built for swimming,” Alain argued. “Why do you think Domirus never fully submerged you? He knows what you are.”

“And what is that?” Cy snapped.

“C’mon, cog.” One of the workers took her arm and led her to a cage. Cy felt Alain at her feet, even as she was strapped in. When the man went to get a syringe, she hissed at the cat, “Flee!”

“No.”

“You are just a little cat! You will die, too!”

Alain gently bit her ankle. “I cannot.”

She quieted at the feel of the belt tightening around her upper arm. The needle was in and gone before Cy could even whimper and the opiates banished her pain.

“You can still leave,” Cy told the cat and sunk to her knees, the barnacles crusting the rusted bottom scraping her legs.

He did not answer, but she felt his presence rest on her lap.

Death, she supposed, should have been terrifying. The drugs made it seem no different than a walk in the arbor gardens, surrounded by lilies large enough to sleep in; she knew from experience. Her fingers idly stroked Alain’s fur as the cage lowered.

The ocean roared and foamed at the mouth for sacrifice. Despite the crimson water’s beauty, Cy remembered the many warnings of the giant beasts in darker waters. “There are beasts that press their gargantuan mouths to the deep holes in the sea,” Domirus had warned. “They create powerful currents in the hopes to suck down careless swimmers and ships – your best hope is to close your eyes so you do not have to look upon the endless rows of teeth awaiting you.”

Now, as the water crept up to her waist and the chain groaned from the effort of holding the cage, the entirety of the ocean looked black to her.

Some of the older cogs hung nearby and sang the anthem of the Shadow King. They still believed in their King. In Grimora. 

            Cy tried to join them, but the words tasted like poison. Instead, she pushed out a throaty beat from her chest and gave the song a tune.

One by one, the words lost a single voice until it was only her singing to drowned patriotism. Then, the water filled her lips and the song grew silent. She was sure some still sang through the pain, but all her ears heard was the muffled roar of the ocean.

She didn’t bother trying to hold her breath and let the water fill her body. And fill, and fill, and fill. Cy did her best to keep Alain above her head for as long as she could, but he scurried from her arms and dove down beneath her.

‘He will escape,’ she thought, easing. ‘He will find another person to help.’ With her eyes closed, the quiet chaos of the ocean surrounded her, a blanket keeping monsters at bay as she waited to drift off into sleep. The opiates were the sort surgeons used for the nobles when they required something intensive, mixed to pull them into a soft slumber.

Alain pawed at her chest and she jumped. “You see?”

The opiates made it difficult to process anything, but Cy was mildly curious that the water appeared to do nothing to stop her breathing.

“Hold,” he instructed and ducked underneath her legs.

“Wait--,” she said, but only bubbles came out.

Beneath her the cage straightened and stilled. Confused, she turned herself upside down and hooked her feet on the upper bar of the cage. Somehow, her little cat had managed to tie the cage in place with tendrils of the sinuous ivory permanent fused with the bedrock.

“C’mon,” he slipped between the small holes in the cage while she stared blankly. “You know how to work a lock, do you not?”

Cy wanted to tell him that was a cog stereotype. Instead, she sighed and turned to the lock. She could have sworn the cat was smirking at her. It was a surprisingly simple mechanism – the workers no doubt expected them to panic too much to be able to handle it. The lock rested at an awkward angle from being beaten against the cliffs for so long.

Turning, she braced herself on the opposite wall and used her legs to push against the bracing for the lock. A few shadows in the darkness of the water gave her pause. There was no shortage of stories about cages that had descended with a cog in them only to be lifted with half the cage bitten off and no cog remaining.

“Pay no mind to them,” Alain barked. “You have limited time!”

With a nod, she kept pushing, face scrunched up. No good. She glanced back at the seabed and pointed down to a sizeable stone.

Alain nodded and slipped back down, rolling it along the cage by balancing it against his stomach and scaling along its sides

Cy crammed her arms as far as they would go and wrenched the stone inside. The water slowed her down tremendously, but she beat at the lock as though it was Domirus’ face. She had grown light-headed before, at last, the lock came loose and fell into the depths. With another few kicks, the door finally gave way. The current swept her up, flipping her head over heels several times before she managed to grasp at the ivory and wrap it around her wrists; it wouldn’t hold for long, but it was her only choice to stay rooted. The waves kept up their attack, and all she could taste in her mouth and nose was brine.

‘And now?’ She thought, dazed. Popping up to the surface would mean an arrow to the head. Swimming further into the darkness would attract one of those ominous gray blobs watching her. The current would already be bashing her against the cliff side if not for her grip on the cage. A shadow moved over her and she glanced up towards what had to be certain death.

Instead, it appeared to be one of the rowboat-sized black petals awaiting her. Caution was for people not on opiates. She shrugged and used the slimy footing of the jagged rock bedded thinly around the cliff to tumble inside where Alain waited.

He tugged the stem over them and hid them away with a curl of the petal. No arrows flew, no one shouted, but her heart ached as the current pushed them under the arching stone pillars supporting Grimora.

“Can we not help them,” she asked of the other caged cogs.

The cat settled beside her, wary. “Going back now would mean death. I cannot protect you from a hail of arrows.”

Cy cupped her hands over her ears to silence the cries from the others and curled in a ball, weeping. “What now?”

Alain paused before admitting, “I had not thought this far.”

“Gods.” Cy rolled on her back, blinking through the sensation of her mind swimming. She looked up at Grimora’s underbelly and managed to lift one hand before giving it as obscene a gesture as she could think of.

The cat chuckled. “Best rest. With that injection and being underwater for so long, your strength is surely sapped.”

She couldn’t argue, but tried regardless, “Alain, tell me what you are.”

After a long pause, the cat answered only with, “The same as them, I suppose.” He nodded out to the horizon.

Cy sat up with a groan, “You know I cannot see what you--”. She did see. What she was seeing, she had no comprehension of.

Bobbing along the waves were hundreds upon hundreds of lights in an array of boundless color.

It had been so long since she had seen purple, or green or yellow, or any of the shifting colors before her and her cry of delight turned into a sob. “Oh, Pantheon above. What are they?”

Alain climbed atop her shoulder. “They have never given me a straight answer, but I would wager they are the dead.”

Her awe turned cold. “The dead?”

“I told you that I cannot perish. I was under the water with you for just as long, and I am still here. I imagine that is because I am already deceased, as you would have eventually drowned.”

Words failed her as they watched the lights dance in silence. All she did manage was, “You told me you were a cat, you little git!”

“You never asked if I was a spirit,” he pointed out. “Besides, I am a cat.”

After a moment, she asked, “Am I dead now?”

“Probably not. You can still feel pain, right?” He put a paw on her shoulder and made her lie back down. “Then again, memory becomes irrelevant when you drift long enough. I remember finding you. You talked to me. You somehow knew I was there, and I have been with you since.”

“Can others see them?” She yawned, despite herself.

“Doubtful. If the Meij’ins could, there would be a petition to demand they drifted elsewhere. To be truthful, I’ve no idea why you can see them. Many of them are not aware of you and the rest cast a curious look or two. The only thing that has ever reacted has been the rifts”

Cy thought on the anomalies and shivered. “What happens if they keep happening in Grimora?”

“No longer your problem, is it?” Alain smoothed the hair from her eyes. “Please, rest. I will try to find a solution but I need you strong, Cy.”

She gave him an uncertain look.

“If I had wanted to do harm to you, I had over thirteen years to do so,” he sighed.

“I know. This is a lot to take in, Alain. I need answers.”

“Rest.” He moved to the end of the petal.

“Not until you have given me answers!”

The cat turned back towards her and his eyes reflected the distant lights as the eddies softened and the petal returned to the calmer waters further out. “I cannot promise I will have all the answers, nor that the drugs in you will be good for this, but I will try.”

“You said you know what I am,” she managed.

“Yes.”

She waited for him to continue but Alain held his silence. “And?”

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I just realized how insane all of this will sound. When we found each other, you were young and I’ve no idea what your life was before that, aye?”

“Aye?” Cy pleaded.

The cat stooped slightly, his face too burdened for any mere animal. “You are a Xen. You will not know the name because your people should not, and do not, exist anymore. They vanished thousands of years ago and I do not know anything more on that.” He paused, giving her a moment, though an eternity would not have sufficed for his words to make sense. “As for your ability to somewhat interact with the dead, that I cannot explain.”

Cy fell silent for what felt to her years. The word Xen had no meaning, and she could do little with the information for now. “Could Xen breathe underwater?”

“For a short time, I believe. They were a water-based society. Your former master knew as much.”

Her heart skipped, “Oh! Perhaps he meant to set me free this way?” A smile broke free, near maniacal from the drugs, “Oh, he did love me! He even said this was the best he could give me!”

Alain put a paw to her shoulder and eased her down without response. “I am going to find somewhere safe for you, but I need you to sleep off those opiates.” He paused again, “Forgive me for not answering you in our time together until now. I was afraid that you might banish me or think I was a demon.”

She squirmed with glee. Everything else seemed meaningless. “Ha, ha, it is fine! Master loved me enough to set me free!”

His rustling and the sickly sweet scent of the petal won out in the end; the opiates did her no favors. Even with the questions swarming her mind like an angry hive of wasps, Cy found an uncomfortable sleep awaiting her.

Fifteen years with her master floated by in her dreams. Fifteen years of his voice guiding her in the dark, of each command being executed like a swift slash of a sword, and fifteen years of her loving each moment with him. So many wished to escape his side, but Cy had never understood it. Didn’t they realize that Grimora would fall apart without her master? Her kind would ruin it—ruin that glorious beauty.

Cy thought about writing him when they were safe and that gave her enough comfort to ignore the blackened hands trying to reach through her dreams.

******

Captain Damian Samhiel Bourdeaux perched on the railing of his ship, the Maelstrom, and watched the gelatinous beasts in the sinkholes try to suck her down.

“Can’t manage it, can ya?” He called, tossing a long, mussed mane of white curls behind his shoulders. With a grin, he gave a sympathetic shrug, “Sorry beasties, better creatures than you have tried!”

He popped one slimy tentacle as it grasped at him with a deep laugh. His amusement was cut short when he turned and saw his crew all gathered on the other side of the ship, peering over the edge.

"I best not walk over there and see a bunch of slack jawed idiots watching a sea falcon wrestling with one of the maws again!" He grabbed his whopping stick, just to be safe. The splintery old broom handle had left many a sailor with a welt over his many years aboard.

His first mate, a tanned young man that Damian simply called Azim for his blue eyes, was the only one who faced him. "We're not idling, cap'n. We're trying to figure out what in the seven pits of the underworld is clawing at the side of the ship.

The captain pushed through his men and glanced down. What had been indignation turned quickly to confusion. "Issat a cat?"

There indeed appeared to be a black cat pawing incessantly at the side of the ship and yowling over the waves. It sat with an unnatural calm on one of the large black petals that often crossed the barrier reef where the crimson waters met with the emerald green of the Hynlean Sea.

 “Go on and pull up the damned thing," Damian barked.

None of his men said anything and hurriedly rushed to his order. Damian set his whopping stick aside with a bit of disappointment.

"Whole petal!" Azim yelled. "Damned thing is sogged and heavy!"

With grunts of dissent, five men hefted the petal up with a fishing net. It took some effort to haul the petal over the railing, but they managed to drop it to the deck with a unanimous sigh.

Azim tried to pick up the cat but stopped. The cat had a look in his eye that conveyed everything and the first mate shivered. He unfolded the petal instead and his eyebrows near vanished into his hairline. "Uh, Cap'n?"

Damian paused from his boxing match with the stubborn beast and glanced over. Within the petal, folded into a huddled slumber, lay a pale woman. He had no words at first and then managed a, "Well!"

Examining her, he frowned at her long, pointed ears slanting sideways. A gentle tuft of bright yellow frills tapered from underneath the fold, covering her lobes. "And again, well!" He motioned over what passed for his ship's doctor, "She alive?"

The tight-lipped, stern Farrell examined her while the rest of his crew tried in vain to pretend they weren't gawking. At last, he sat up and announced, "She is alive. Dehydrated and hungry, no doubt, but alive."

His first mate kneeled beside the captain, avoiding the vigilant feline. "Ser, what are the orders on this? Chances are someone is hunting for this one." He pointed to the marks on her wrists, "Back in Grimora, this means she's a cog, a slave, and valuable property."

The captain scratched his chin and reminded himself to shave later. "Law of the sea, my friend. Castaways are abandoned goods as far as most honest traders are concerned."

Azim perked an eyebrow, "Honest traders, eh?"

Damian shrugged with the carelessness that Azim loved and loathed. "We are better than the scoundrels who sail the seas, taking boats and slitting the throats of anyone aboard, no? In my experience, people would much rather trade their goods and supplies for their lives, and I expect our pale little ocean flower will do the same." He paused and grinned, "Besides, the men will riot if they have to do laundry after shore visit again."

"Aye," Azim couldn't argue that one. A night in a brothel with fifteen drunk, randy men was not merciful on their already beaten clothes.

"Farrell, try some smelling salts." Damian ordered.

The makeshift doctor opened a case riddled with slashes from a few unexpected sword fights and waved the vials under the girl's nose.

With a clogged cough, the girl convulsed.

"Calm yourself," Damian told her and sat her up. The moment he did the woman heaved up a stomach worth of sea water, splattering his dark blue coat.

Though the sea roared, there was dead silence amongst the crew.

Damian looked to his soaked coat and idly shrugged, "Got that out of the way, at least." He patted her back to release the last few hiccups and then asked, "Alright?"

The woman looked at him, eyes wide and gently glazed like the sheen on a rare vase. She had no pupils, and Damian guessed that she was blind by how she stared past him.

"Cap'n, you're speaking native." Azim advised. "Doubt she speaks Alvoran."

"Oh, for the gods' sake, of course." Damian cleared his throat and tried again in the trader's tongue, "Alright?"

The woman squeaked and shook. All she managed was, "Where-?"

"Why, you are aboard the Maelstrom, my dear!" The captain gestured with gusto. "You've the pleasure of meeting Damian Bourdeaux, high devil of the seas and saver of pretty ladies."

She turned scarlet and his laughter filled the sea. The little cat stared him down, fur bristled.

"You must have been adrift for several days, my dear. You've hit the waters of the Hynlean, far past the crimson waves of the capital." He smiled as her stomach affirmed his guess. "Best get you fed."

"You are not taking me back?" He couldn't decide if she was hopeful or disappointed.

"Nay, lass. We're too far out, I loathe Grimora and its heat and I figure you--," he paused and asked Azim for the name again, “--cogs would be glad to be out of reach of your slavers."

"Yes," the woman remained neutral. "Thank you."

Damian shrugged again and lifted her over his shoulder without effort or concern for her cry. With a few steps, he had her inside the lower quarters and set on a bed.

She pet the surface, stunned. "What is this?"

"A bed."

Her eyes widened, and he frowned. "Are you putting me on, lass?"

"No, no! I have never been on a bed before," the word rolled off her tongue as though it were a foreign delicacy. She smoothed out the blankets and pillows, near cooing in delight. "Oh, it is wonderful!"

A lopsided smile crept over his face, "That's the best response to a bed I've ought seen, lass - and I've got fifteen lads who work in the sun all day. Course, I know all their names."

She straightened, angry at her show of weakness. "Oh, mine is Cy."

"Cy? As in-," and he heaved a deep sigh.

Her blush deepened, “Yes. My master named me that for the noise I caused for him, but he spelled C-Y.”

“Ah. I thought it might be short for the Bas word ‘Cyreina’.”

The frills decorating her ears seemed to bristle. “Cyreina?”

“Aye,” he frowned. “Bas for moon flower. My Bas ain’ the best, though, but I do remember a little.”

“Wait, what is this language?” Cy forgot herself and almost interrupted him. “I have heard many languages but never Bas.”

The captain leaned his weight into the archway, “Shite, lass, I figured you’d know it better than I would. You’re Xen, aincha?”

Alain had been inspecting the room nearby. At Damian’s question, he whipped around and sprang into Cy’s lap.

“Yes? I mean, I believe so?”

He scratched his chin, keeping an eye on the cat. “Bas is the Xen tongue. You ought know it better than I do.”

A flurry of questions near burst from her. Alain stopped them with a well-placed claw into her upper leg. What she did manage was, “You know about my race?”

“Xen ain’ really a race. Species, more like. I’m no scholar, moon girl, I only know what I’ve heard from the waves.”

Cy pulled Alain up and ignored his gnaws of protest. “But they’ve been dead for thousands of years, no?”

Silence filled the room.

The captain cleared his throat and excused himself with a quick comment on bringing her supper in a moment. The door shut behind him and Cy was left with the floor rocking gently beneath her and a parade of lights swimming outside.

Good to his word, the captain sent someone down with supper for her. His voice was a bit gruffer than the rest of the crew, she noticed.

"Are you Meij'in?"

The voice laughed, almost coughing, "Nay. I'm from Hanner'ok."

"Oh, you're Nuburan!" Cy tried not to let her stomach give her away. "Forgive me, it has been some time since I spoke with one of the Clans." From her understand, Nuburans were people who were born tanned and developed characteristics of animals the more they embraced the aspect of their Clan.

"Ah, don't worry yourself. If you could see me, you'd never guess I was Nuburan anyhow. No aspect tells: no tail, no pointed or unusual ears, not a single thing from my family. Never did bond with the whole leopard aspect, so I suppose that's normal."

The food smelled of fish simmering in a broth. She couldn't even smell rotting vegetables hiding anywhere. "Leopard, eh? I met a rat aspect once. He was a merchant."

"How'd you know he was a rat?" The man asked, an air of suspicion in his voice.

“He told me." Cy smiled, sheepish. "He introduced himself as 'Gideon Gyrehand, rat bastard, merchant and smith extraordinaire. Even with barely a seis to my name he talked me into buying a little moon charm."

"That is a silver tongue and a half! I am Azim, as it were. First mate. The captain asked me to make sure you weren't going to get the deep sea madness or anything." He slid the food in front of her. "Go on, then."

Cy broke from her stiff pose and ate so fast that she was astonished she didn't choke. Between bites of bread and the stew she blurted out 'thank you' to the first-mate repeatedly.

"Been out there for a while, eh? Only time I've seen anyone eat like that was when they'd been out at sea for a few days." He took the bowl back when she had finished. "Your cat sure is a protective little bugger."

"Alain?" Cy finished chugging the water with a gasp of relief. "He and I have been together for a long time."

The cat, almost on cue, crept into her lap and stared Azim down with wide amber eyes.

"Mind if I ask something, lass?"

She did but shook her head.

"You one of those Druids?"

The look on her face answered before she did, "Forgive me, I am not familiar with that term."

"Right. A Muse? It's a slur to call one of you a witch, right?"

Her ears practically flew up and her frills flushed red. "What? I am no witch!"

Azim held up his hands for peace and almost immediately wanted to shake his head at his own stupidity. "I'm not accusing, lass. While you were out, you kept muttering in some strange language and the tide got rough without any real cause. No storm clouds, no irritated beasts, just you and your cat."

"That is odd, but I can assure you that I was not casting spells in my sleep and neither was my cat."

"Alright, no need to get in a huff. It's not like we send them to the dungeons here."

Cy hesitated while he clanked about with the dishes. Finally, she managed, "Ser? What is to happen to me?"

"Ah, don't worry yourself too much, lass. The captain might be a stubborn, infuriating man, but he's got a system of honor. No one is going to hurt you aboard this ship. Though, if you are the sort to hate working, this probably will end up with you being returned to the sea."

"Oh." She had no idea whether she should be relieved or not. "I am not afraid of work."

"Figured you wouldn't be with those markings. Take the night to rest up. I'll drop off some more suitable clothes for you tomorrow morning. And, ah, please get a bath."

She nodded, blushing. Seaweed and dried gull droppings was not the worst aroma she had worn, but it came close. "Thank you, Azim."

"Tub is down the hall. Knock first, aye? Wouldn't want anyone taking it as an invitation." He laughed and shut the door behind him while Cy was still floundering for a response.

Alain waited until his footsteps were gone before speaking, "Holding up alright?"

"There is food in my belly, that is more than enough." Cy stood and swayed. "The ship is slippery!"

"You haven't gotten your sea legs yet." Her cat sounded amused. "Well, this isn't ideal, but the first mate seems honest enough."

"He called me a Muse."

"You are a Muse."

Cy found the bed and threw herself on it with a dramatic flair she had learned from the fussiest of nobles. Instead, she all but flew over the side and wedged herself between the wall and the bed. She tried not to give Alain the satisfaction. "A Muse is a witch! Those creatures that were hunted to extinction, Alain!"

"Deny as you might. The dead still follow you, and I doubt they would be seen by a person lacking your gift."

She followed the glow from outside and watched the lights dance. "Why do they follow me?"

"You keep them safe, I imagine."

"Me?" Her heart leapt.

"I am no expert, but I believe those rips were trying to drag in the spirits. Whether they feed on them, revel in making them suffer or are avid collectors, I cannot say. You've seen how it grows darker around the torn area, correct? They are trying to flee." He sat at her side and laid his paw on her hand.

"Alain," she paused, "what really are you? No more nonsense!"

The cat stretched in response. "I've no idea. A cat, maybe some poor sod unfortunate enough to be caught in this form. You can imagine more colorful explanations, I am sure."

"I am not so certain that I am not mad and imagining all of this," Cy murmured.

"Do you remember the old man who would stop by when you were digging graves at the bluffs?" Alain asked. "Did you never realize that he was dead?"

She thought on it for a good stretch. "I did think it was odd that he kept getting barked at by the guard dogs but never nipped. Those nasty things bit anyone who got too close to the wrought iron."

"His head also fell off," the cat reminded her.

“He might have been a very good magician?” She argued.

"You're very good at denial," was his answer.

Cy fell silent before she struggled to her feet and muttered, "I'm going for a bath. Perhaps I can drown myself in there and avoid anything else that is insane."

She didn't need to see to know Alain was smirking at her as best a spectral cat could as he said, "Xen can't drown in a bath tub."

With a huff, she found her way to the heavy wooden door and crept out. Fortunately, the hall ended to her immediate right so she only had one direction to flounder. Each door, she found, had a small metal plate engraved with its purpose. She passed by the kitchen, two quarter rooms, and the office. Finally, she found the wash room. When her knock went unanswered, she hurried inside and found the tub. It wasn't dissimilar to the one that had once held the scalding hot water they disinfected cogs with.

Cy stoked the fire trapped underneath and changed the water, letting it heat before she submerged. She didn't care if she accidentally boiled a layer of skin off so long as all the grime came away. She was surprised to find that baths were much more pleasant when there weren't accompanied by people scrubbing every inch of her with bristle brushes and throwing on disinfectant powder after.

The soap gave her chance to do something she'd always wanted to do. Play with the bubbles. She popped a few and ducked back under the water in case they decided to retaliate. The bubbles, Cy decided, didn't mind being popped and so she popped everyone that she could find.

It felt filthy, but she couldn't help herself. The only time she had ever felt so devious was when a smith she had worked for had snuck her a sugary treat that crumpled in her mouth and made her cough powder for hours after.

Her smile faded as she thought of Grimora. Her poor master, she thought. He must be struggling with his paperwork and no doubt the other cogs would wrinkle his fine suits and over spice his meals. Cy sank into the water and remembered how Domirus had cupped her tiny hand in his own long ago.  

It occurred to her that she had no idea what tomorrow held now. Before, it had been simple to let her body toil while her mind played. A whimper escaped.

"Alright. We can do this. Just get up and work. They will grow to expect you to do certain tasks and you will be fine," she told herself. Still, the uncertainty paralyzed her until someone knocked and she had to bolt from the now cold waters and into a bed where hazy dreams waited.