The red stone in the cave pulsated at a deep rumbling pace. With each thump of expansion, the stone forced out a wave of radiant red light which illuminated the dark cave. The regular waves of light shone upon the deep cave highlighting a flurry of floating objects stuck near the ceiling; a mix of rocks, books, cups, and other assorted paraphernalia found themselves oddly gathered above, ignorant of gravity’s whims.

Atop the glowing stone a girl lied on her back. Her arms were outstretched to the air holding delicately between her index and thumb a small splintered red pebble. The girl felt her heart synchronize with the stone; they both beat along with each other in a perfect calm harmony. Meanwhile, the small pebble stole her brown eyes, demanded their focus. A hollow obsession corrupted her glazed eyes who were so deeply enthralled by the pebble yet simultaneously not quite present in the room either.

She pocketed the red pebble and…

A pair of wide oaken doors swung ajar to let in the eager intruder. A servant who had hurried to welcome the guest paused halfway down a nearby staircase unable to hide the disapproving glare from their face. The girl entered into the massive entranceway of this noble estate, her shabby rundown clothes of frayed wool did not fit her surrounding scenery and the barely concealed ire of the servant didn’t help with the unwelcoming coldness. Despite the regal resistance against the destitute girl’s presence, she herself could not have been happier to be there.

The girl shot a smile back to the servant almost relishing within their disdain. She raised her arms to the servant revealing that they were being weighed down by a wide tray of fluffy dark chocolate; laced between her fingers was a small bag bloated full from the plentiful substances within. “I brought brownies!”

The servant weakly tried their best to be welcoming and guided the girl towards one of the mansion’s lounging rooms. The lounging room itself, many times larger than that welcoming hall, had a few other teenagers similar in age to the girl speckled around busying themselves with simple preparations for an upcoming event. The girl paid no attention to any of them though as her eyes immediately locked on to a special cube shaped object across the room.

Without a second thought the girl shoved her tray and bag haphazardly into the servant’s arms and strode off directly towards the wonderous toy. The girl unable to contain her excitement exploded in glee, her voice warped by the heavy accent of her poor upbringing. “OH MY GOD! Is this the Incalescent firebox!?” The girl blazed towards the box, sparing no second to encircle it and absorb every detail. It was a thick brown box slightly tapered at the back; its front surface was a flat black pane almost mirror like in quality if not for its darkened color. Atop the box a pair of long thin metal rods extended upwards and away from each other at strange yet observably purposeful angles.

A young boy only a year or two older than the girl but much broader and taller approached. Unlike her, his dress was richly colored and densely layered, his skin perfectly clear and hair smooth. He spoke with a practiced elegance such that every word was pronounced perfectly and acutely. “Yep, I was worried for a while that it wouldn’t come in time for the show tonight but luckily it came in just this morning. Turns out there’s quite a few technical difficulties in getting such a high-profile item out to some no name hamlet like this.” He couldn’t help but speak with his own elated mirth blanketing his face in a wide grin much to the servant’s disapproval.

The girl inspected the fabulous relic from a distance as much as she could before she needed more. “Well, are you going to turn it on? Let’s see this baby purr!” The boy felt hesitance within himself, he hadn’t actually tested the machine yet out of some foolish fear that upon activation it would not work. It was a silly concern for surely it mattered not whether he turned it on now or later.

He steeled himself and moved towards the side of the box. “Sure, the control dials are on the side here. Though nothing is being broadcasted so you’ll just get static for now.”

The boy was using so many terms and ideas completely foreign to the girl and she loved every second of it. “What’s static?”

The boy flicked the switch on and suddenly the black pane at the front of the box whirred to life into a scattering of white and black dots constantly moving in an unplaceable pattern all while humming out a constant shuttering drone. “That is static.”

As soon as the machine turned on the girl felt a vitalization flow through her. As if an extension of her own veins she felt the weaving flow of copper inside the machine, she could sense the power rush through in that hidden current working away to illuminate the scene on that once black pane. “This. Is. Amazing!”

“Excuse me Sir Yearn, where do you want to put the candy?” an unsure voice mumbled from behind the two gathered around the firebox.

As soon as she heard the question the girl had to stifle a chortle. “Sir? Hey Yearn, I didn’t realize you invited a jester to this party.” She turned to face the boy who interrupted their conversation. He too was covered in a multi-colored array of flamboyant costumes; he probably thought he looked like quite the handsome man, but to her eyes it merely added credence to her claim that he was a jester.

Yearn swung his hand up to hide his growing smirk from the boy who by no means was appreciating the joke as much as him. The boy’s face turned as red as his shirt collar on the verge to explode. “How dare a dirty pea- “

Yearn quickly stepped in between the two ready to deescalate the issue. “Woah Puce relax, she’s cool.”

“But she’s not even using any honorifics to address you!”

“And you don’t need to either, at least not while my parents are gone. Let me introduce you two. Puce this is Tiffany; you know, the one I talked to you about?” Yearn seemed to emphasize the end of his statement as if referencing to a very directed conversation they must have had earlier. The girl didn’t even bother to hide her joy in the idea that the snobby noble Yearn had to warn his friends about her before introducing them. Even better was the drastic shift in Puce’s attitude after Yearn’s clarification. “And Tiffany this is Puce first son of Earl Sorrel, he will be staying at this residence for the next few weeks so I hope that you can go easy on him please.”

A mischievous grin took hold of Tiffany at the very thought. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite… much.” She extended her hand out in an offering to shake his. Puce squirmed uncomfortably looking at her calloused hands and back to Yearn before holding his grimace and returning the gesture.

Tiffany released Puce’s hand looking over his shoulder to where he had come from earlier. “So what’s this about candy?”

Puce who had been frowning at his tainted hand turned back towards Tiffany in confusion. “You’re the one that brought them over didn’t you?” Tiffany moved her mind inward trying to understand what exactly Puce was talking about when it finally clicked together.

Tiffany jumped upwards wrapping one arm around Puce’s neck and squishing his cheeks with the other. “Oh my goodness he’s so precious! Yearn can we keep him?”

As soon as Tiffany took hold of him Puce tried his best to squirm out of her grip but somehow found himself incapable of matching her strength, not that she was particularly strong, but his own strength was withheld from him by some seemingly supernatural force. “Unhand me wench!”

Tiffany turned down to Puce with a quizzical confusion. “Wench? Okay at first I thought you were kind of a pansy but I take that back, Yearn this guy is a riot. I think I’m in love.”

Yearn merely shook his head in expected disappointment. “I thought you were going to go easy on him?”

Tiffany quickly released Puce pointing a firm finger at Yearn with a completely deadpan expression. “I never agreed to that.”

Yearn rolled his eyes and made his way towards a nearby table in which the servant who had guided Tiffany over was arranging a buffet. “So, what sorts of ‘candies’ do you have?”

Tiffany lit up at the question as if she had been waiting since her arrival for someone to ask. “Hey Puce say what.”

“…?” Taken by surprise Puce asked ‘what’ but as his mind moved his lips didn’t respond remaining completely still, as did suddenly his entire body froze in place for just that one moment. Out of the servants hands a small brown bag flew through the air landing gently into Tiffany’s cupped hands.

“I got everything you could ever want for a good party!” Tiffany excitedly began pulling out smaller containers from within the bag filled with a diverse array of pills, capsules, and powders of different sizes and colors. “I got molly, Venin, flakka, Fillip, coke, Xylose, Levulose, Odium, A whole bunch of papaver based goodness, Gore root, White nectar-“ Tiffany kept pulling out more and more bottles of the varied substances releasing them in the air where they idly floated for the completely flabbergasted Puce and stunned Yearn to watch in disbelief. Behind the group the servant froze in debilitated horror at the expanding pharmacy that they were witnessing.

Eventually Yearn shot an arm forward to stop Tiffany’s eager showcase interrupting her with a little concern in his voice. “Woah Tiff you went super hard this time. This is… a lot of…” Yearn’s mouth dried as he searched for the delicate words he required. ”…really intense stuff.”

“I know.” She giggled in elation as she popped open one of the bottles and tossed an orange capsule into her mouth. “I also have some more basic stuff for those that want to remember tonight.” She pulled out a smaller pouch and revealed its contents to be a series of small paper rolls with various different leaves packed within them. The paper rolls each had a number carefully inked on its surface to represent which grass was used within. She pushed the pouch forward towards them in offering which Yearn silently declined and Puce had still yet to move since the ‘candies’’ revelation. Tiffany shrugged her shoulders pulling out one of the paper rolls for herself then stuffing the pouch into the larger bag and pointing back to the table “Also I made some pot brownies because…, pot brownies.”

Tiffany puckered her lips around the paper roll and placed her thumb and middle finger together; a loud snap emanated from her pinched fingers though they did not move; the end of the paper roll in her mouth was suddenly set alight and she let out a satisfied sigh which carried a thick blue smoke with it.

Puce’s mouth moved slightly as if finally finding the will to speak again though his voice still choked for a second in search of the specific words he desired. He swallowed heavily and then spoke. “Should you be mixing drugs like that? Or taking them at all?”

Tiffany’s brows furrowed at the perceived insult. “Hey! I make only the best quality stuff you got that? Like for example…” She quickly shoved her hand back in the bag pulling out a simple clear vial which had a thin metal veil dividing the tube into two sections; one side contained a small splintered red pebble and the other a perfectly symmetrical blue prism. Tiffany happily pointed to the blue prism. “This right here is my magnum opus! An actual real arcane pill, this stuff is so pure that if you don’t drain all of your essence before consuming it, you will literally die! It’s amazing.”

Puce took a step back from the increasingly terrifying bag of horrors. “And the red rock?”

Tiffany’s smile fell away to an irritated scowl and she shoved the bottle back into the pouch. “Don’t worry about that.” She quickly pushed her scowl away returning to her usual upbeat mood. “Instead, what we should be worrying about is where the alcohol is!”

Yearn was content to show Tiffany around the preparations that he had made for the party on his end, including the plethora of snacks and of course: alcohol. It didn’t take much longer for more people to start arriving and the party to properly kick off, though by this point Tiffany had already partaken in more than a fair share of her own goods.

Within an hour or so the large empty chamber became cramped with Yearn busy welcoming all the new arrivals leaving Puce as the sole noble surrounded by a mobs worth of inebriated peasants. Without Yearn to act as his social barrier, Puce soon found a soft couch hidden in one of the corners of the room to try and keep away from that chaotic filth of raucous peasantry swarming about. He had no place to complain as a guest to this estate himself, but his family had never been one to mingle with the subjects of their fiefdom so casually. Despite the loud and dishonorable jumble that had conquered the atmosphere, Puce insured to keep his noble demeanor, even if it was only manifested by standing perfectly still as small as possible at the couch’s edge.

The only issue with his plan of being out of sight and out of mind was that the increasingly befogging mind of Tiffany had found a strange magnetism with the poor boy and with her movements there always carried a significant crowd.

At the moment, Tiffany was laying on the same couch resting her head on Puce’s lap, much to his discomfort, though he dared not speak out with all of these begrimed ruffians around; and the crowd was only getting larger.

A young heavily built man with broad shoulders and tested muscles approached the gathering crowd by the couch. “Hey Tiff you’re still here?” As he approached Tiffany was already searching through her bag for her companion’s usual order.

She handed him a short paper roll with the number two on it. “Are you kidding me Stark? I wouldn’t miss seeing a firebox for anything.” Stark happily took the paper roll biting down onto it; the broad man leaned forward placing his thumb and middle finger together and furling his lips away from the roll. Tiffany smirked at the reaction. “What, don’t trust me?”

Stark’s response was oddly mumbled by the strange contortion he kept his lips at. “You don’t have the best track record.” Stark snapped his fingers and though the sound rang out his fingers did not move; the paper roll in his mouth was spontaneously set ablaze singing his upper lip before dimming down to the regular ember. “Ouch! Jeez Tiffany what did I just say!?”

Stark’s pain only set Tiffany into a barrage of entertained giggles. “Sorry Stark I’m suuuuuuuper high, or am I wasted?” She turned her head up to face Puce who was staring intently at a blank wall trying to keep as far from the group as possible. “Puce…, Puce, hey Puce! Puuuuce! Hey! Hey! Hey Puce!”

Puce released a tired sigh, any ferocity or resistance long since drained away. He turned to see the rose cheeks and reddened eyes of an elated Tiffany. “What?”

Tiffany struggled to ask through incessant snickers. “Am I high or wasted?”

Puce had no idea what she found so funny, or how any of this could seem enjoyable to anyone. “…both.”

“I’m Highsted!” the apparently hilarious comment set Tiffany into a rowdy chorus of laughter. Stark too joined in the laughter but seemingly less so from her actual ‘joke’ and more from an intimate understanding of the state she was in.

Stark was quick to resume his questioning though. “What I meant to say Tiff was, weren’t you supposed to go to Ersatz university or something?”

Tiffany jolted upright as that irritant title poisoned her ear. “All right!” She paused briefly to take a sniff from a thin vial filled with a clouded gas that she had been nursing for a while. “Don’t get me started on those little bourgeois stooges! Are you getting me started?” Tiffany started pacing harshly across the sofa.

Stark turned to a few people adjacent and gave them a soft grimace to show his concern of the violent reaction to his simple question. “Yikes. I didn’t mean to get you started on anything.”

“Well too late. No backing out now Starky boy you got me started! So, I hitchhike my way over to Proselyte right?” Stark found a clear space in the huddled circle of people and sat down preparing his ears for the incoming rant. “I had to run some gigs with the adventurer guild to pay for inns, carriages, food, and whatever cause like traveling is expensive you know.” Puce gave Tiffany a doubting look. “Keep it to yourself ivory boy, It was expensive for me. And REALLY expensive, Proselyte is far away okay! It took like two weeks with all the breaks I had to make to get the money needed to even travel. So, I make it to Proselyte four days before my interview.” She took a moment briefly to seethe at the mere recollection of the memory.

Puce inched his way further off the couch to try to escape her uncontrolled stomping of pacing feet. “Remember how I made money by working with the adventurer guild!? Well even with all of that I couldn’t afford the cheapest inn in Proselyte, and there were literally no job postings that would let me get the money I needed in my time frame. LITTERALY no way to pay for a bed! So I stay calm, I’m a reasonable person. I go to Ersatz university, takes me like two hours to convince the moronic prejudiced security to let me in. I’m walking around this giant maze trying to find some kind of clerk or teacher or someone to help me with this housing issue and the whole time I feel like a devadoot or something with all these rich arrogant snobs staring at me as I walk by!”

Tiffany took a few laps of the couch in silence to quell her anger. “SO finally, I find this help desk type thing and explain things to them and you know what they say? Do you want to know what she told me!?”

The enthralled crowd listened carefully to the enraging story being regaled. Even Puce found himself feeling a little embarrassed for the behavior of his compatriots. Stark realizing she was actually waiting for someone to play along with her asked. “What did they tell you?”

“They told me that due to some of the high-profile members of the university they could not jeopardize the safety of its faculty by housing the unaffiliated peasantry! Can you believe that!? I spent almost half a week homeless in the Proselyte ghetto. I was assaulted seven times in that interim! Seven! Sure, none of the assaults were particularly successful but still. The traffic in and out of the city was so bad that I couldn’t even get to a lake to wash so I showed up to the interview with some rando’s blood on me. Took me more than two hours to get in the university on that day! Turns out security isn’t too keen on homeless people drenched in the blood of multiple strangers.”

Tiffany got a chuckle out of herself as she remembered the debate she had with the guard for entry. She opened the lid to her thin vial and snorted the rest of its contents before continuing. “Next to no one is willing to talk to me, so it takes me forever to find where I’m going but eventually, EVENTUALLY, I get to the waiting room for all the scholarship students. Obviously, I’m the only person there who doesn’t have a diamond spoon rammed up their rear looking mega out of place. I wait forever for my turn constantly being approached by security and staff questioning what I’m doing here. Like lady I’m here for the interview why else would I be sitting in this silk prison.”

Much of her listening audience found themselves lost in disturbed humor at the relatable struggles of dealing with nobles. Puce just felt uncomfortable. “I’m about to break loose you know but I’m so close to finishing this stupid journey so I keep chill. Which I’m sure most of you here already know isn’t really my style.” She hesitated before continuing and turned to see Puce trying his best to be out of sight in the corner. “Just so you know Puce, keeping chill isn’t my style.” She said trying to keep Puce in the loop but in all honesty, she didn’t need to tell him, he could pretty much make that assumption on his own.

She turned back to her audience and continued with the story. “So finally, it’s time for the interview and I get invited into this greater than thou over the top office and of course if it isn’t the mighty Ken Ream himself looking just like you’d expect someone whose nicknamed themselves the preeminent. He gives me this look over, the whole toe to head shtick, complete with the classic chest pause and everything like the shriveled pervert he is. And don’t even try to convince me that he wasn’t staring at my chest, dude has a massive painting of some twenty something girl on his wall so dude obviously got hella creep in him. Anyways, after he gives me the look over, after all I’ve been through, he tells me that he’s never had an interviewee looked so ragged before.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did what anyone would have done in my position. I spat on him and I left… oh yeah and I took his hat before going.”

Puce had met Ream the preeminent once before and let alone the prestige that the man carried, he was not the type of person one would dare disrespect. The entire story sounded ludicrous, and Puce found himself easily convincing himself that it was but a fabrication of Tiffany’s addled mind, the rest of the audience however weren’t as dismissive as him. “How did he react?”

“He didn’t, no one talked to me or even DARED approach me and I just stormed my way out of Proselyte as fast as possible hoping to never see the place again and came back here. Screw that stupid university and its pretentious ignobles. I snuck into one of the courses during my stay there and it was all baby stuff anyways, would’ve been a waste of time.” As Tiffany paced across the sofa her leading foot fell into one of the grooves between cushions causing her to inelegantly catch herself from falling off the sofa. “Besides there’s no way I could party like this in that stuffy place. Speaking of which someone get me another drink! Chop chop minions!”

Tiffany kicked her feet out from below harshly plummeting to the couch but just as she was about to crash down she suddenly stopped midair briefly before gently sitting down. The quick movement sent Tiffany’s befuddled mind in a swirl and she spent a few moments just trying to psychologically right herself. The bitterness that she had manifested through her heated memory then instantly vanished away as her mind zoomed on to the next topic. “Oh, Stark I almost forgot! I wanted to wait to show you but check this out.” Tiffany rummaged into her pouch and then once again pulled out the vial containing the blue prism and red pebble.

The improbable creation didn’t register to Stark in any meaningful way. “What is it?”. No matter how many people she had to repeat her description to and how many times she was asked the same stupid question it gave her the same excited humor. “This, my grasshopper, is an arcane pill.”

The familiar term sparked through Stark’s sensibility and with such a revelation his face finally lit with the surprise that Tiffany so desired. “You finally made one!?”

“Told you I could do it, that will be five copper please.” Those of the crowd who had not been present the last time she revealed the pill all erupted in amazement. Tiffany knew that the actual specifics of why this pill was such a fantastic fabrication certainly escaped all of their dim minds, but she had been hyping up this product and her efforts towards making it for so long that surely everyone in this small town understood that it was impressive.

Stark couldn’t help but lick his lips, he had spent many of the passing weeks with Tiffany and though most of her mumbo jumbo went straight over his head he knew keenly that he wanted that pill. “Let me have it.”

Tiffany scoffed at him dramatically shaking her head. “No way, with your pathetic potential essential flux you’d just immediately die. And I can’t just waste a perfectly good pill like that.” Stark frowned at Tiffany’s unapologetic slander. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care, most likely both, as she channeled any residual essence within her into dewy drops of tainted arcana that seeped out of the pores of her hands. The liquid crystals dripped out of her open palm and wetted the floor with a colorless glow. Tiffany shook her head dismissively at Stark. “No, no, this special little child is for me.”

The crowd around stepped away from the growing puddle on the ground which rather than spread out like a regular liquid rose upwards instead. Even Puce, once shrunken in a corner found himself curious and fearful at the action. “What are you doing?”

Tiffany smiled turning to Puce. “Oh, welcome back to the club Puce.” Everyone turned towards Puce finally noticing his noble elegance and rich clothing, the attention made him uncomfortable, and he felt that Tiffany had intended for so. “I am purging my body of any essence and contaminants. A proper arcane pill requires prep.”

Stark blurted out into laughter at her informative answer. “Purging any contaminants? Well everyone, we’re going to be here awhile.”

Stark’s comment brought with it a round of laughter but Tiffany could only role her eyes as she retorted. “Arcanal contaminants obviously.”

Stark deadpanned in response. “Obviously.”

Finally, with the liquid crystalline structure piled up to knee height Tiffany’s body was readied, and just in time for Yearn to announce out. “Hey everyone! Poetaster’s play is about to start, gather around the incalescent firebox!”.

Tiffany uncapped the vial and popped the arcane pill into her mouth. “Let’s go.” And she swallowed.

An echoing light harvested her muddled sights. A conscientious sway of disordered stimulus rocked along with wreathed weavings of wrong wiles. It was a dance, she was dancing with phantom children, their elongated silhouettes biting down on her fortitude’s manifest. The darling dance angered pace brought her an auspicious levity, she felt a fleeting lightness hollow her body. The songs played by sleeping demons were sonic umbrellas which barred her brain from the raining poison which once wormed through her thoughts.

She felt the dance play, a sparking call flitting about through that odd box which spoke to her unlike any had before. A unique energy similar to that of the rare warring sky but controlled in a content placation to unknown masters.

Her luminant dance partner’s face was a recast progression, a play, a dance of its own. It’s attention so demanding that eyes became lovers, depth buried to the heart thumping along.

A heart snatched, she was thrown from her dance, encircled by those phantom children, no they were dolls for their eyes had no weight. The phantoms whose hands held eggs, pushed her, tossed her as they did her dance partner, both presented with a new hand. An intruding character of embryonic portraits demanding the next song. A lie, she wanted her former, she wanted the spark to once again play on her heart.

A heart, she remembered that. Lost in a cave with a lulling red glow. The heart was too big for her, she couldn’t carry it. She wanted it but the heart hated her, it didn’t want her, no one wanted her, not even the embryonic portrait, not really. The old glow was walking off on light steps to another anatomy no longer illuminating a familial fuel.

In darkness she vegetated as a hollow tunnel in hypertension. Her flesh a cowardly chick desiring escape through wings it did not have, leaving only ablation of the procession to instead wait for a comely mother. She held dearly to that flesh, begging rest for her feet had turned to a shadow’s root. She carried an empty beggar’s cup that chained itself on the unloved tongue hidden in huddled warmth on another’s garden.

The rose, a ghost imposter in a sanguine flower bed of lies, or maybe just mistruths. Their running ichor a kinetic heat sealing the holes and searing atop her a faux flesh. The artificers built from her foundations a puppet; a ghostly doll who strings though directed fell on quiet stages. Her eyes without weight were set ablaze.

A cool fire in another room awoke her eyes to an unspoken truth. She crouched under linens embraced in proactive regret. The doll, even when purchased was assailed by hefty witches whose nags sounded not like butter flying eloquently on honorable ears but like caterpillars waiting on a future cry. She died.

A splitting pain ran through Tiffany’s disheveled scalp forcing her groggy eyes open. She found herself in a familiar bed entangled amongst unfamiliar bodies. Surprisingly, Puce had been among them and Tiffany found herself entertained by whatever mysterious series of events incited for such. She was not given long to enjoy the thought as a warning gag with boarded vomit set Tiffany in search of a toilet or at least a bucket. It was times like these when she was truly grateful that Yearn was such a magnanimous host with the foresight to match. She found a bucket right next to the bed and just about managed to crawl over the naked masses to hurl her venomous stomach and grant her liver some respite, even if miniscule.

A discomforted grunt rumbled from the naked mass alerting Tiffany of her jabbing knee. “Oh sorry.” She unlatched herself from the mass taking the bucket with her and making her way to the dining room. Even with her head buried in the metal container and her mind feeling as if it was continually being carved with a chisel, she still cleanly made her way through the winding halls through habitual instinct alone.

“Well, if it isn’t the woman of the hour!” Yearn’s chipper whistle grated against Tiffany’s aggravated nausea and she could barely manage to raise her head from the bucket and throw the bushy tailed boy a scowl.

Tiffany spoke with a mumbled groan, each word and thought equally painful, and her phrasing stunted with withheld retchings. “How are you so energetic?”

Yearn’s laugh came like hail, she could physically feel each syllable jostle her brain. “Though you did make the idea seem tempting, I had to go cold turkey for the party. There was no way I was going to let the incalescent firebox get damaged. My parents may leave me with uncaring abandon, but they wouldn’t be so hands off if I let THAT much money disappear. Good thing I did too, you almost broke the firebox a couple times.”

Tiffany tried to muster the memories to match his story, but nothing was coming up. A servant walked into the room carrying a silver platter of fatty foods and aromatic coffee. The servant stopped in place as they watched the naked Tiffany awkwardly sat on a chair hunched over a bucket disgorging her stomach’s contents.

Yearn coughed into his fist to gather the servant’s attention before speaking. “May you please give my breakfast to Tiffany and cook another for me.” The flustered servant bowed to Yearn then slowly approached Tiffany, jolting slightly when Tiffany suddenly roused in motion unleashing another torrent of vile phonics. The servant gently placed the silver platter on the table in front of Tiffany and quickly made their way out of the room.

As soon as Tiffany found a break between shallow heaves she gorged herself upon the starchy mound given to her. The heavy meal abided Tiffany’s raging stomach for long enough to allow her to ask out. “Why am I the girl of the houuuuuuu!?” The breakfast was denied entry and she just barely managed to toss her head into her rapidly filling bucket. In a churning moment of disgust Tiffany swept a sweaty hand through her hair pulling it out of the viscous congruence of half-digested pills, molten brownies and rancid amoebic cocktails.

Yearn winced away from the sight of his usually immaculate companion displaying the most undesirable aspects of her essence. The dissonant mélange between her beauty and raw vile appeared quite appalling to Yearn. “Well, how much do you remember from last night?”

Tiffany laggardly pulled her head out from the bucket to glower at Yearn. He’d perhaps regret laughing at her karmic anguish, but he couldn’t help himself. “Fair enough. Your loss though, it was quite the event. Set this whole party to watch Poetaster’s play but all the excitement came after. At the end of his play Poetaster got an invitation to The Tournament! Not just any Tournament but THE Tournament!”

An unquestionable giddiness colored Yearn’s voice and he thought that such an outstanding revelation would be able to raise Tiffany’s crippled spirits, but she seemed completely disinterested. “What does that have to do with me?”

Yearn broke into an unrestrained smile. “Well this is the best part, when Poetaster got his invitation, at the exact same time YOU got an invitation!”

This time Yearn was really expecting her to jump to his levels of enthusiasm but instead he got another round of vomit echoing out of the bucket. After squelching her gut, Tiffany lifted the bucket in the air towards Yearn “Can I get another one of these?”

Yearn nodded his head and pointed at a servant standing off to the side to fetch another bucket. “But what about the invitation?”

Tiffany dragged the large mug of coffee towards her cupping its gracious warmth giving a satisfying sniff of the mug’s enticing aroma. “What about it?”

Yearn visibly recoiled back. “What do you mean? Isn’t this amazing!? You’ll get to meet some of the world’s most influential and famous people! The Hero of New Heirisson conquest, Princes of both sodalities, Poetaster!” Yearn couldn’t believe Tiffany’s apathy towards being invited to the most prestigious event in the world.

Tiffany took her first sip of that enchanting cup. “Nah, I’ll pass.” Tiffany stood up leaving the rest of the meal untouched. She was growing bored with Yearn and this place. She knew if she stayed long enough for the others to start waking she would be inundated by foolish queries of admiring toddlers. Their stupidity made good company for crass wantonness, but they were nothing but rebarbative barbarians in terms of anything requiring half a brain.

“Where are you going?” Tiffany ignored Yearn as she snatched up an empty bucket from the servant who had just arrived. She noticed that the servant had also brought a change of clothes for her from the set that Yearn always kept prepped for her visits. Tiffany happily took the clothes along with the bucket.

“I’m taking this with me.” Without another word Tiffany dressed herself and left the estate finding herself strangely aggravated at Yearn. It did not take long for her aggravation to find a new vessel to target.

Her least favorite person was walking down the street towards her, stupidly waving her attention down as he called out. “Ah Tiffany just the person I wanted to see.” Tiffany rolled her eyes as the elderly man slowly shuffled towards her, his large bushy ginger mustache bounding along with each step. “I had the loveliest encounter earlier today with a truly extraordinary creature!”

“Go die.” Tiffany spat back bitterly towards the jovial man just before retching into the bucket she carried.

The man whose smile remained untested by Tiffany’s hate clapped his hands together releasing a piercing sound which stung Tiffany’s ears. “Not even your repugnant attitude can sour this day today Tiffany because a wonderous opportunity has opened up for you. You can finally leave this little village and make use of your full potential!”

Tiffany walked straight past him continuing down the road. “Whatever dumb idea you have this time Care: no.”

The old man turned to follow her, the rapid thump of his tiny steps trying to keep pace with the vastly younger and spry pace bit at Tiffany’s migraine. “Don’t be so dismissive Tiffany. Even someone as perversive as you must have some interest in The Tournament?”

Tiffany stopped dead in her tracks. Turning swiftly on her heels she barked back towards the elderly Care. “How do you even know about that already!?”

Care’s smile only grew larger which only helped to make her angrier. “Oh, so you have met the creature as well! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Tiffany got a sour taste in her mouth, and it wasn’t from the residual vomit. “I’m not going.”

Care’s shoulders slumped even more than their usual poor posture demanded as he gave out a tired sigh. Every favor, every good deed, made a struggle when done for the girl. “But Tiffany, this is your second chance! Ersatz university may not have accepted you but-“

“I didn’t accept Ersatz university!” Tiffany’s teenage voice hoarsely cracked as she aggressively corrected the old man. “They would have been a waste of time, wouldn’t know magic if it struck them in the face.”

The old man laughed at the girl’s hollow arrogance so continuously sung that perhaps she even believed it. “Oh please Tiffany, you may fool those morons you call friends but don’t pull wool on me. You sabotaged that interview because you were afraid they were going to reject you.”

Suddenly every muscle in Care’s body halted and an invisible force smashed him off his feet and into a nearby wall. Tiffany marched towards the man with a burning fury in her eyes abandoning her puke filled bucket to float impossibly still in the air. She threw a pointed finger at the man, venom seeping from her lips. “I was not afraid!”

Despite the danger he found himself in, Care was perfectly calm for he had long since adapted to the calamitous threats of Tiffany’s rage. “Just like how you aren’t afraid of losing at The Tournament?”

Tiffany threw her hand around the man’s wrinkled throat barely managing to subdue her desire to squeeze down. “I could wipe the competition clean if I wanted. There all just a bunch of overhyped clowns.”

Care’s smug eyes bore down on to Tiffany, her physical dominance bowing to his fortitudinous dominance “Then prove it.”

She hated it, she hated him. He was an incessant annoyance which would never leave her. Everyone else she knew either revered or hated her, often times they would do both; she was comfortable with that. But he only ever pitied her, saw her as a weak child in need of guidance and she hated that even more. “I don’t have to prove anything to you!”

He snorted a soft chuckle to the furious girl before speaking. “No, you’ve long since given up on that. But you do have something to prove. I know your secret, that you’re just a scared little kid like the rest of them.”

“You better shut your-!” Another aggravated swathe of bile forced itself out of Tiffany’s mouth falling over the old man’s trapped body and slowly seeping through cloth and mustache alike. Tiffany wiped her chin of any residual fluid and continued her threat as if unimpeded. “mouth before you say something you can’t take back.”

The smugness fell from the man’s eyes. The girl in front of him no matter how hard she tried could never be threatening; she was simply tragic. “But you don’t have to be. If you just let go of your ego for a second and let others help then you could become someone amazing! You’re smart Tiffany, and talented, but you have a terrible attitude.” Her hand tightened against his throat silently urging him to stop speaking but he did not yield even if it meant he had to speak with a strained croak in his voice. “This Tournament will be a great experience to finally surround yourself with people who aren’t so… simple. “

“Well sorry to break it to you, but when that Tournament is going off or whatever, I’ll be here with the simpletons.” Tiffany let go of the man’s throat and that invisible force that held him up against the wall released sending him crashing down to the hard ground. His weak old body folded uncomfortably causing him to wheeze harshly as the wind was knocked from him. It was Tiffany’s turn to laugh “You’re pathetic. Why don’t you stop trying to force other people to live the dream you were too weak to ever experience?”

Tiffany felt a great satisfaction seeing the pained expression on Care’s withered face. She grabbed her floating bucket and began walking away feeling victorious in the encounter. But Care was not finished yet. “Like I said Tiffany, I know all your secrets. I know that the one thing you care more than being powerful is people believing that you are powerful.”

She scoffed at the man’s feeble attempt at an insult. “People think I am powerful because I AM powerful.”

She turned to see the man’s disheartened face once more, but instead of defeat he carried an unmatched mirth. “As soon as I had heard the news, I sent a courier to inform the royal family that one of their citizens had been invited to The Tournament. I’m sure they are very happy to be getting the news as we speak.”

Tiffany exploded into a boiling rage. The heavy bucket dropped to the ground embedding itself into the muddy hamlet road. “YOU DID WHAT!?”

Care carefully pulled himself up fighting through the creaking bones and aching sores. “This will be good for you Tiffany.”

“Who do you think you are to choose what is or isn’t good for me!?” Tears were streaming unhindered down Tiffany’s delicate eyes. The revelation was swimming against her dizzying head and she felt sick in a totally new way. “Why do you keep meddling in my life huh!? You think I’ll put out or something you sicko!? Think I’ll take care of you in place of the children you never had you impotent mule!? Think you’re my dad or something!?”

Sadness filled the man’s eyes. It wasn’t her insults that hurt his heart so much, he accepted it as a simple matter of intervening in Tiffany’s life; no, it was how fragile she turned out to be that made him feel this way, this pity. It just took a single question. “No Tiffany I’m not your father: I care.”

Tiffany ran towards the old man and jabbed her fist deep into his stomach forcing him to fold over, she easily tossed him back onto the ground. “Alright you’ve gone too far this time. How, after all these years have you learnt nothing! I’ve told you to leave me alone, I’ve let your interfering slide so many times, gave you warnings but you kept coming back.” Tiffany stomped her foot down on to the man’s fragile throat and began to press down.

Through everything it was Tiffany who showed pain and anguish in her expressions. The old man kept his firm veneer of confidence “I’m old Tiffany, you can kill me if you want. But if I die, I’ll have died ensuring you did at least one thing with your life.”

Tiffany released her foot from him. She took a deep breath hoping to calm herself, the drugs still in her system falsely fueling her emotions. “No, I will not let you die happy you psycho. Fine, I’ll join your stupid tournament. But when I win The Tournament and I get my wish granted; I’ll have a wish so awful that you’ll regret having ever met me!”

The man simply smiled. “I looked forward to it. Welcome to The Tournament: Craven.”