My inner world is not quite as I left it.

All the key features are still there, of course: the blasted hellscape, the maelstrom of memory, the pedestals of power, and the table of Truths. Horrid beasts of shadow and meat still kill each other in the desolate plains, the eye of the storm is still a pile of oversized books, and the tea table is still carved with three glowing symbols.

The differences are subtle: the book pile feels bigger, and the life-draining statue feels bigger, and the glowing symbols feel a little brighter, but none of it by much. The most noticeable change is that, out in the wasteland, I see traces of actual food being fought over instead of just carrion and smoke.

I frown at the scene beyond the book pile. Cheshire told me that this place is the deepest recesses of my soul, and that it looks like this because of how I perceive myself; I expect my soul to look like this, so it does. So, I wonder: if I changed my perception, could I change this world?

“Welcome back to your throne world,” Cheshire says with that perpetual grin stuck to her face. I note briefly that she’s back in her yellow-and-pink number, and I’m back in the poofy dress, but there’s a much more important piece of information to focus on.

“Sorry, did you just call this a throne world? Like the Labyrinth? Like Royalty has?” I whirl on Cheshire, who’s standing beside me atop the book pile, just a few feet away from the Truth-marked table.

The creature giggles and raises a hand in front of her face. “In a manner of speaking. The difference between your throne world and theirs is about as vast as the difference between your soul and the soul of someone who isn’t a scion.”

I pick at the details and pull on the thread further. “So, wait: if this is my soul and my throne world, and if that’s the comparison you’re making… are they always one and the same? Is the Labyrinth… is it the soul of Katoptris?”

Cheshire raises her left hand and conjures the floating image of a woman with blurry features, then raises her right hand and makes a globe appear. “The soul is the self, which acts on the world and is acted on by the world. A sufficiently powerful soul–a sufficiently empowered soul–can bring the self and the world together as one.” She pushes the woman and the globe together until they’re overlapping. “And that is what we call a throne world: a localized space in which Pandaemonium has been overwritten by a higher authority. For a scion, that space is mostly internal except for some specific circumstances. Royalty, however, can keep that throne world manifested permanently.”

“Specific circumstances?” I prompt.

Cheshire nods and lowers her hands, the image vanishing. “While a scion approaching apotheosis can start to manifest their throne world more casually and wider-reaching, you’re mostly going to be manifesting it when you challenge someone to a scion’s duel.”

“That sounds fun and also dangerous.” I lean against the big stuffed bunny rabbit (thankfully still here).

“It is! It’s also the best way to get stronger as a scion of Shadow. A scion’s duel begins with a formal challenge against a worthy foe. If they accept, you can manifest your throne world and the two of you will battle, usually to the death. Victory means you get to claim the soul of your opponent, while loss means your own soul is forfeit.”

Ultimate high-stakes conflict. An all-or-nothing battle. “And when I get their soul, what do I do with it? Eat it?”

She licks her teeth. “That’s one way, yeah. Eating resonant souls is how most demons make progress towards apotheosis, and it’s also the only way that most of them can get more spells. Your [Prey Upon] gives you a bit of extra progress towards new spells, but it’s still mostly going to be scion’s duels that let you expand your library. But, there’s an important caveat: they have to be resonant souls. If you eat a soul that you can’t feed into your Truths, you’ll do more harm than good, and the consequences could be disastrous.”

I frown. Tricky. We’ll have to play it careful. “So what do I do with those souls, then?”

Cheshire snaps her fingers and a replica of [Ashthorn] appears in her hand. “You make artifacts with them!”

I give her a skeptical look. “I already have that power, apparently. What’s the difference?”

“Pretty big. Look, I don’t know all the details about how your Gift works, but I know this much: you channeled the lingering magic from a powerful spell into a resonant container, and the resulting artifact did almost nothing.”

Cheshire tosses [Ashthorn] away and I reluctantly cede that point; the dagger wasn’t useless, but its benefits were largely incremental. And apparently that’s on the higher end of what I can make with my power? “You’re making my superpower sound a lot less appealing.”

“Not at all. Your Gift is versatile and has a high skill ceiling, but the tradeoff is that it’ll take time and concerted effort to get results out of it. A soulforged artifact, on the other hand, is going to be immediately powerful.”

“Noted.” I peer out at the wasteland pensively. I have my path to power, I suppose: draining souls with [Prey Upon], making lesser artifacts with my Gift, consuming souls won through duels, and shaping souls into greater artifacts. And if I can just do that enough… divinity awaits.

“Now,” Cheshire begins, “I believe we came here for a reason?” She looks at me expectantly and flutters her eyelashes.

Ah, right. That mess. I grimace and search for an excuse to procrastinate. Luckily, I’m staring at one. “Question first: if this is my soul, can I make it look like whatever I want? You said this is an act of self-definition, right? Because I’m really not keen on my inner world being a desolate fucking wasteland.”

“Mm, I suppose that’s worth doing while we’re here,” Cheshire muses. “Alright, I’ll help you reshape your throne world. It’ll be necessary before you fight any duels regardless.”

I rub my hands together excitedly. “Excellent. I have ideas. If I’m going to be dueling people here, I want this to feel like a proper fucking battleground.”

Cheshire chuckles. “I figured. But, a note before we begin: the truer your throne world is to your Truths and your true self, the more powerful it will make you, but also the more vulnerable if someone finds what you’ve laid bare. As a result, it’s considered standard practice for a scion to shape their throne world in such a way that an outer layer of superficial truth hides an inner core of deeper vulnerability.”

Hmm. So maybe… something like a dungeon or raid from an MMO? We play the role of the final boss at the inner sanctum, but surround it with lesser threats to deter opponents? “Let’s get started, then. How do we do this?”

The catgirl sweeps her hand in the direction of the wasteland. “Just breathe, imagine the world the way you want it to look, and give it a push of will like you’re summoning me. If it helps, you can describe things aloud or make hand gestures, but it’s all about asserting your dream onto the landscape. This is your world; it’ll listen if you command it.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and crack my knuckles. Making a world. I can do that. It’s just an imagination game.

First thing’s first: we need a blank canvas. I imagine the wasteland falling away into vast white nothingness, and then the maelstrom doing the same, and even the books beneath my feet until I’m left standing on a single scrap of paper, with Cheshire by my side. I reach out with my thoughts for the world around me, but it doesn’t feel the same as manifesting Cheshire. It doesn’t click.

Because you’re not affecting an externality. You’re affecting an internal world. I reach inward instead, focusing inside and willing the world within my soul to change, and this time I feel something shift. I hear an echo of my own voice in my ears, and when I open my eyes I’m standing in a vast white void.

It worked! Yes! From beside me, Cheshire whistles appreciatively. “Quite the nice empty space you’ve got here. Whatcha gonna fill it with?”

“I have some ideas.”

It takes me more than a few tries to get everything right; I have very poor visualization skills, and I’m bad with spatial reasoning, so it’s an effort to get the impression in my head translated to something that looks good in reality. Still, bit-by-bit, my world coalesces.

I raise a bleak mountain, craggy and snow-dappled, and place a winding trail on its side. Beneath us and around us grows a forest of tree-like organisms made of meat and flesh and pulsating tumors, the crimson forest shrouded in a dense layer of mist. The sky above is dark and gloomy, an impressionist painting of browns and grays. Within that sky burns a baleful red eclipse, a hole in the sky ringed in writhing red like churning plasma.

The mountain path leads to a grim castle, dark and spiky and Gothic, with perching gargoyles and stained glass windows in a hundred shades of red. I shape a portcullis archway like the maw of a beast, and behind it massive double doors leading inside the castle.

I ask Cheshire if, since this is a throne world, I can fill it with figments, and she tells me that I can. Within the gruesome forest below I seed beasts of shadow and bone, hungering and preying upon each other. At the entrance to the castle I have a bit of fun: I dream up a pair of talking skeletons, one in a butler’s uniform and one in a maid’s, and on a whim I try to engrave both with a tendency for a very particular form of humor.

I try to imagine what would go inside the castle and run into a roadblock: I know nothing about floor plans and my understanding of 3D space is, as mentioned, rather shit, so how do I design the inside of a castle? I admit my difficulty to Cheshire and she reminds me that space here is conceptual, not physical; the castle could hold an infinite maze or a single small room, or both without contradiction.

Keeping that in mind, I shape a grand entrance hall full of doors leading off to rooms that I can worry about designing later, and at last I deem my work done.

I breathe out and feel a wave of relief wash over me; turns out reshaping reality can give you quite the headache. I was beginning to feel the strain from making and remaking pieces of the world to fit my perfect image. But now it should all be ready, so I roll my shoulders, lick my lips, and start walking toward the gate.

Cheshire follows behind, beaming at all the new sights. “Fun little vampire hideaway, and I dig the meat moss. But, quick question: is that sun from a video game? It looks oddly familiar but I can’t place it.”

I wince sheepishly. “Uhhh maybe. I may or may not have stolen the bleeding eclipse visual from Skyrim.”

She snickers, and then we reach the gate and the two skeletons. The butler skeleton bows while the maid skeleton curtsies, and then the butler skeleton says, “Mistress Alice, it tickles my spine to have you back! The estate is just as you left it, cobwebs to candle wax. There’s even a fresh meal waiting for you in the dining hall.”

“No thanks to him,” the maid skeleton butts in, hands on her hips. “I work my fingers to the bone and this numbskull claims all the credit!”

The butler turns to glare at her, his skull cracking and shifting into the contortion of a facial expression, and he retorts, “Pipe down, you dusty old museum piece. Without my guidance, you’d have tried to serve the Mistress spare ribs!”

I’m grinning ear-to-ear; this is everything I wanted and more. “Don’t let it get under your skin, Clavicus. I’m sure Bonehilda’s just pulling your femur. I value both of you immensely.”

The butler, mollified, adjusts his suit and mumbles, “Yes, well, it’s good to be appreciated. Ahem. Would you like a guide, ma’am, or would you rather find your own way?”

I pat the skeleton on his adorable skull. “I think I’ll be fine. Keep up the good work, the both of you.”

I stroll past them to the big double doors and make to push them open, then pause. Idea. I snap my fingers instead and will the doors to open, and they swing inward like they were hit by a blast of wind. I clap my hands excitedly and head inside, Cheshire trailing behind me.

The catgirl pokes my shoulder and raises an eyebrow at me. “Skeleton puns? Really?”

“It tickled my funny bone,” I comment dryly as I look about the interior of my castle. The grand hall is a lovely arched affair with chandeliers and red carpeting and literally dozens of doors lining the walls. At some point I want to add banners with a personal symbol on them, but I don’t know what that symbol should be yet.

“And the fact that there were only two of them? A ‘skeleton crew,’ was it?” Cheshire seems more amused than annoyed, which is good and fitting; any creature made to be my perfect girlfriend would by necessity have a healthy love of puns.

“Guilty!” I happily admit. “Now, where to next…”

Cheshire coughs politely and says, “I think you know what should be next. We did come here for a reason, after all. Make a dressing room, Alice, and give it a mirror.”

I hesitate, but she’s right; it’s time to face… well, my face. And then a new face. A new me.

I breathe deep, reach into the world within me, and shape a new room behind one of the grand hall’s doors. A wardrobe, a few dressers, a makeup area, hairstylist’s tools, and a person-length mirror. I feel it click and return to myself, and then with a wave of my hand the door to that room opens.

I glance at Cheshire, then back to the room, and swallow nervously. “Okay. Let’s do this.” I step inside.