[b]Kazelia![/b] "I'm in love," your father says, and somehow doesn't burst into flames. Your Mother stirs inside you, a roiling wrath. [i]Lies. Lies. Lies.[/i] The number of lies, one wrapped in another! The lie that he is in Love, that he is nobly pursuing his heart, rather than just wanting and wanting and [i]wanting[/i], and not being able to let go when his desire is denied. The lie that this justifies anything that he will do in pursuit. The lie that his desires are more important than hers, that anyone who would get in his way just doesn't understand his cause... All these lies he is telling to himself. [i]Undo. Unmake. Take apart.[/i] He has never had the truth told to him, his lies dismantled and torn apart. It would be dangerous. Those lies are what are keeping him on track with a wedding, are what keep him from lashing out at you, are what stop him from crumbling apart. Your Mother is selfish in her own way; she rages and roars in your chest, itches your palms and your fingers with the desire to disassemble, to lay him bare and show him that he is layering his true and beautiful Want inside so many lies-- No. That's her thought. His Want may be pure, but it is pure like the hunger of a sea monster cutting through the water. It is True, but it is not Good, and it is not Beautiful at all. There is more to life than just Truth. Your father touches your cheek, and this too is a lie. The gentle look he gives you, an errant lock of silver hair hanging over his temple, is a lie. They are lies that say: I will forgive you completely. All that you need to do is obey me, and help me devour this world, and together the two of us, no, the three of us will go on and see things you haven't even dreamed of yet. The name of this lie is: I love you, snowflake. And the ugly truth looming behind it is that he [i]will[/i] have you cheering him on at his wedding. He doesn't know it yet, but you can see the shape of his Want. He will have you in your proper place as his daughter, and he does not care whether your mind comes along. *** [b]Alina![/b] Diana's voice is dead and even. "You didn't need a spy." You don't even need to look at her. This wasn't even Oberon's doing, there's no question as to whether he did something to make Kazelia's heart go cold. This was all on you. This was your fault. You did this. "He asked you to [i]acquire[/i] me, didn't he?" She's burning up under your hands. When she tries to push away from you, it's like having a newborn kitten bat at you. "Oberon pulled my magic out of me," she says, and her voice is sharp as a glass knife, as crisp as fresh snow. "He [i]ripped[/i] it out. There is a hole inside me where it was, and there's nothing left. I can't feel our world. I can't hear the crystals. I can't even do something as simple as..." She coughs, and it goes on too long. She's too light. She's too [i]light[/i]. "...potion concoction," she concludes. Is that simple? Apparently! Haha! That's a thing to focus on! Just think about, wow, you didn't know that making potions was simple, or maybe you just need the bare minimum of magic you get from being born in Hyperborea? The magic that Diana doesn't [i]have[/i] any more? Oh, whiskers. Now you're back at the bad thoughts. She goes quiet, and you hold her closer, and she is too still, and you're so afraid until her chest rises ever so gently, and breath mists on her lips. She doesn't have the strength to speak any more, but you can [i]feel[/i] her glazed eyes, blue as a lake, tearing through you. There's nothing to arrest them. You're a hollow princess, and Oberon was right. You're nothing. Nothing but fluff and cotton candy and tickle fights and [i]betrayal[/i]. "HMMMMMNNUHH!" You jerk your head up, your vision fuzzy with tears. Ourania is [i]glaring[/i] at you. And you deserve it! You failed her, and you failed Diana, and now she knows, and... why is she jerking her head over at the wall? The wall. You're inside Argossa. And it's tainted and corrupted and terrible, but... but it's also the wellspring of Hyperborea's magic. You don't have your lights, you don't have any protection, you don't have any formal training as a witch, but... but Diana is going to [i]die[/i]. And you made a promise. You can give her more [i]time[/i]. *** [b]Princess Hornet![/b] It is the first time you have ever been at the Bazaar and it is too loud. It is [i]disorganized.[/i] But that's okay! You are fixing it. +Excuse me, um.+ You look down through your goggles. And, oh. your. gosh. There's a [i]dragon[/i] there! Fascinating! She just spoke directly into your mind! Wouldn't it be nice if you could do that? You should start researching dragon telepathy, so that you can just let people see what you're thinking. Like, right now, you're thinking about how the Bazaar will look once it has been sorted and organized. Everybody is going to stop screaming and they'll thank you for making its urban planning logically consistent. Is the dragon telepathical node inside the brain, the heart, or the liver? It would make sense for it to be more centrally located, given the inefficiency of having the vocal cords so relatively exposed. (It is Carnival, and you are brushing Axonian lacquer over your Best Friend Contract, using precise and even strokes. It is the first one you have ever had signed. No one back home will sign a friend contract with you, citing concerns that you are a princess, and none of the princesses will, for a variety of reasons you hypothesize boil down to "you are Hornet, and we don't like you." But you have one, and it's your favorite princess of all time.) "Can I see your brain??" +What? No! I mean. I'm here to issue a citation.+ Curses. You'll have to construct a theoretical model of a dragon instead. She's so... she's so much of her! Her biological design is so [i]efficient[/i], so streamlined. You consider what it would be like to be a dragon. You would need to construct fine manipulators, possibly telepathically-powered, in order to assist with construction, but you would be able to use all four limbs for walking. That just feels natural! Two legs are, frankly, not enough legs. Anybody who's anybody knows that. "Oh. Am I in trouble?" +Kind of? You're rampaging through the Bazaar.+ Rampaging, ha! You're not [i]rampaging[/i]. That's what other people do. Still, she might have a point in that nobody seems to be appreciating your Unstoppable Bazaar Organizer. If only you had built in a stop lever, but that would have been ridiculous! You don't need to [i]stop[/i] an Unstoppable Bazaar Organizer. It's in the name! (Your Fascinatingly Avid Printer is chugging along, and as usual, you can't look away. It's Fascinatingly Avid, after all! The way it uses those little brushes you spent weeks picking out hairs for, the tiny pincers that assemble the sticker sheet, and the design, well. You drew it yourself. You drew [i]her[/i] yourself. [i]#1 Lab Assistant.[/i] This is what having a Best Friend means. It has to be.) +Please come down!+ And maybe it's because you feel the desperation and confusion in her [i]please[/i], the one that's so familiar, because you feel it all the time talking to people, that you hop off the Unstoppable Bazaar Organizer and into her talons. "Hi," you say, over the sound of reconstruction. "I'm Hornet! I'm a princess. Are you a princess too?" [i]Please say yes,[/i] you think, hoping she can hear you.