“I need to think of a good anchor,” I muse as I teleport another kitchen knife to my soul storage. I’ve already sent two full sets, but it’s always good to be prepared.

The mega-mall has literally everything, so I’ve been stocking up on anything that seems remotely useful to have while running around the Labyrinth: two lighters, a multitool, safety goggles, a packed toolbox, heavy-duty gloves, three different kinds of rope, a pickaxe, and a filter mask. I’ll probably never get a good chance to use any of those, or I’ll forget that I have an item when it would be critically useful, but whatever.

“Got any ideas?” Cheshire asks. The changeling has been content to watch me, for the most part, but did chime in to suggest the acquisition of rope. I am suspicious of her motives, and have informed her as such.

“Something animalistic seems sensible, since I mostly manifest you to maul my enemies with fang and claw.” I pick out some duct tape and add it to the storeroom. “Carving of an animal? A chimera, perhaps, to represent your fluidity of form? I assume the precise shape of it has some effect on your resulting manifestation, yes?”

Cheshire shifts into wolf form and says, “It does, and I think animalism is a good starting point.”

I scratch the wolf behind the ears and joke, “Perhaps I should fetch you a dog collar, then, since you seem to enjoy this particular form so much.”

“Oh?” Cheshire shifts back to catgirl mode and leans in, eyes sparkling and grin wide. “You’re collaring me on our second date? How bold. I accept, of course.”

I turn red and hiss at her. “That’s not–that’s obviously not what I meant, you incorrigible beast.”

The changeling giggles. “Really though, you suggest a collar and expect me not to jump on the entendre? For shame.”

“Not all of us have our minds in the gutter,” I mutter. “But fine, since you made a fuss over it, that one’s firmly off the table. A carving is the working pick.”

“Spoilsport,” she teases.

She continues teasing me and poking fun at me as we progress through the mall in search of fine loot. Food is next, since this mall has a fucking grocery store for some ungodsly reason; I grab chips and dip, pasta ingredients, ramen, spices, bottled water, lemonade, a selection of artisanal cheeses, fresh fruit, and a few bottles of wine. The figments don’t ask to see any kind of ID but I’m not sure they even have ID in this world and I suppose they couldn’t stop me even if I was underage.

I guess I also don’t really look like a kid anymore. I’m twenty-three, for fuck’s sake, and I’m pretty sure my recent modifications only make me look more “mature.”

I locate some general necessities: a first aid kit, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush, deodorant, toiletries, and towels. I’m not actually sure how necessary any beauty-adjacent products will be, given that my physical form is apparently a lie powered by devil magic, but…

I pick up a nail file and force myself to stop and think about why I’m grabbing so much mundane bullshit. I’m not going to point-and-click adventure game my way to victory, so why all the random items? Is it just the freedom of being able to acquire them, free of capitalism hanging over my head? Is it some hoarder instinct? Is it just a desire for some normalcy?

That last idea makes me uneasy, which suggests it has a grain of truth. I want to go on a fantastic adventure in another world, but I also want to experience the creature comforts of a mundane life. I want… some grounding element.

I set aside the nail file, but I keep following that train of thought. If some part of me feels the need for a grounding element, for creature comforts, to hold on to things beyond pure survival and power growth… well, that’s fairly similar to why I’m trying to craft the locket, actually. It’s worth pursuing.

I change course and navigate to the nearest toy store, or rather a store that sells toys, games, and sundry similarities. There is a tangible joy that rises in me as I step inside and see the familiar colorful sights. That joy is part of me, and I refuse to relinquish it.

“Go wild,” I tell Cheshire, and then I begin my perusal.

The toy store has a few unexpected treasures: there’s a portable games console, which fucking baffles me, and there’s a bunch of games to go with it (with names and covers and all), though the console itself still lacks any kind of branding. I also find a portable media player, like those old iPods and Walkmans, preloaded with a bunch of songs I don’t recognize by nameless artists. The third and honestly wildest piece of technology is what seems to be an actual toy drone, like the full-on spinny-propeller flying drone that you can pilot about with a controller.

“What the fuck is this setting’s tech level!?” I complain to Cheshire, who is busy swinging a toy sword.

The catgirl shrugs and pokes at a big stuffed bear. “Heimshafse–Bashe’s world–has tech that’s basically cyberpunk, just powered by alchemy and a few gods. The Labyrinth borrows from a bunch of worlds to create its weird gestalt reality.”

“Bah.” I still take all three items and send them to my throne world, along with their accessories.

One corner of the sizable store is dedicated to one of my absolute favorite special interests: tabletop roleplaying games. Like the video games I yoinked, these rulebooks and paraphernalia do have markings, names, etcetera. There’s still a distinct non-corporate feel to them, though; one line is named Pillars of Tyndall, but there’s no sign of a publisher or any kind of parent company.

I yoink a few sourcebooks for Pillars, then take my pick of the rest: Solar’s Call goes into the throne world, Crownkeepers, Eyes of Star and Ruin, Crimson Court, Jouster, Nebula Shift, Imaginarium, and Eclipse: the Binding. I also teleport some dice, figurines, playmats, and a GM screen. One day, I swear on the name of M. Alice, I will play otherworld D&D with some nerds.

But probably not today. I sweep my gaze around the room and alight on a new target: packs of cards. Booster packs. Trading cards. This world has motherfucking trading cards! From multiple games, too! One kinda tarot-presenting game called Four Houses, a clockwork fantasy game by the name of Artifice, and a cyberpunk-looking Esper. They have stats, and mechanics, and interactions, and oh gosh I’m nearly hyperventilating. New systems to learn! New cards to look at! The potential is palpable.

I scoop up packs from all three games and dump them in my throne world.

Cheshire hands me a few bags of jacks, which she smugly calls “caltrops,” plus the toy sword she was swinging around. I dutifully add them to the storeroom. That seems like it… except for that one particular corner that I have been steadfastly ignoring until now: a corner absolutely packed with stuffed animals. I skip over and nearly squeal at what’s on offer.

They’re all so cute, and they look so lonely! The white kitty cat with big eyes, the big owl, the squishy pink blob, and the spotted puppy all call to me. I want to hug them and squeeze them and murder anyone who touches them. A purple-and-yellow bat! A cat rolled into a burrito! A very chibi wyvern!

I cannot help but grab each and hug it tight before sending it off to my soul’s bedroom. I love them all, and they are my family. I will kill to protect my beloved sweet soft precious creatures.

I glare at Cheshire as she grins at my display and makes “aww” noises obnoxiously. “If you disrespect my new friends I will destroy you,” I warn her.

“You are so adorable!” she squees. “You’re a soul-eating abomination and you’re getting protective over stuffed animals you just met! Gods and archdemons I love you so much you big beautiful nerd.”

I cross my arms and pout. “I’m not adorable,” I protest. “I am… cool. Sexy. Badass. I’m the big scary monstergirl villainess that people are terrified of but also find weirdly hot. I’m everyone’s favorite yandere demon girl waifu.”

Cheshire boops my nose. “You are also a very cute nerd who seems to have forgotten that she is still hugging a stuffed animal.”

I blink a few times, then look down at my arms to discover that I am in fact clutching a plush made to look like one of those happy little anime slimes. I send Gloopsy to my bedroom and raise my chin defiantly. “I hadn’t forgotten, I was merely debating the quality of its material grade.”

Cheshire just smirks at me and sidles over to the stuffie zone. She holds up one cat plush, a black cat with white paws, and shows it to me. “You had one like this, didn’t you? Back home?”

The mask of indifference drops and a wave of melancholy washes over me. “I did,” I say softly. “She was a Figaro plushie, from Pinnochio, but I didn’t have that context when I was two so I just named her Kitty. She… she and Frostbite were the only possessions I had left that I could trace to my mother. The last of anything I had that she’d touched. Her last gifts to me, my closest friends. Since I was four years old, they were the only companions I could ever really trust. And… and…”

My eyes are wet. Why are my eyes wet? This is so stupid. I’m crying over stuffed animals. Why am I crying over stuffed animals? What’s wrong with me? Am I really this stupid and pathetic?

I sniffle and admit, “I miss them. I loved them. They were so special to me. And I can never see them again. I can never see anything from that life, ever again.” My legs feel wobbly and I slump in the corner of the toy store, next to the stuffed animals, crying. “Oh God. I’ll never see my aunt again. I’ll never talk to my roommate again, or any of my internet friends. I–”

I sob, an ugly, wretched sound, and my tears drip onto my denim shorts and stain them darker. Cheshire is there, crouching down next to me, rubbing my arm and patting my leg. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay. I’m right here beside you. I’m here for you.”

“I never got to say goodbye to my father,” I choke out. “He–he was dying, I knew he was dying, he had to be dying, that’s why he was reaching out and he sounded so tired and–and he apologized. He apologized to me. He wrote me a letter and I cried because”–I ugly cry again, another horrid sob–”because he said he was sorry, and… and for once it really felt like he meant it. Like he was acknowledging what he put me through, like he was validating it and seeing it and finally meaning it when he said he was sorry. And I… I-I don’t want him to d-die thinking I still h-hate him. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

I trail off into more sobs, eyes too blurry to see, cheeks slick with tears. Cheshire is warm beside me, and when she leans in and wraps her arms around me to hug me I don’t shy away or try to stop it. She’s warm, and soft, and there’s a comfort to her weight that I don’t have the emotional energy to deny. So I cry into her arms as I mourn what I’ve lost.

“Dad,” I whisper between sobs, “I’m so sorry. I love you.”

. . .

It takes me an embarrassing amount of time to recover from my little fit, and I feel all the more awkward for how tightly I clung to Cheshire until I finally regained my wits and shook her off. I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate letting people see any of my emotions that I’m not willfully choosing to show them.

She’s obviously a liar and a monster and just using me and making me feel better so that it’ll hurt more when she inevitably betrays me… but I hope so desperately that she isn’t. I know it’s stupid, I know it’s such a vain hope, but I wish with all my heart that Cheshire really is on my side.

And even if she isn’t… maybe I can change her mind.

Once I’ve cleared my nose and my throat sufficiently, I say to Cheshire, “Let’s, um, let’s keep moving. I want to find a good woodcarver so we can get your anchor custom-made. That’s how to get the most out of them, right?”

Cheshire nods, no longer hugging me but still holding one of my hands. “The better the materials and the more purpose-built the anchor, the more effective the resulting summon will be. True of homunculi and geists alike.”

“Then let’s make you an anchor strong enough that you’ll be able to rip all their throats out the next time a pack of assholes tries to fuck with me.”

We head for a shop marked on the mall map as doing custom woodwork. Notably, it’s also one of the few shops to have a name that stands out: Torstein’s Woodworking.

The shop is quaint, even its exterior done up to look all-wood. I step inside and hear a little bell jingle in response.

“Be out in a moment!” calls a voice from somewhere out of sight.

The inside of the shop is predictably packed with woodworking projects: carved toys, a rocking chair, various other pieces of furniture and trinkets, and even a full-body mannequin. I glare at the mannequin suspiciously, but it displays no sign of guilt or ill intent.

There’s also a youngish guy behind the counter with a smile plastered on his face. He’s wearing a nametag that says “Grandon.” A quick flash of soul sight confirms that Grandon is a figment, so I file him away under secondary concerns.

A side door is pushed open and I see a brief glimpse of a workshop beyond it, but my gaze is more immediately fixed on the person who walks out: a tall woman with silver hair, opaque blue eyes, and pale gray skin. Oh, and those distinctive pointed ears. Another elf… or perhaps a dark elf? A drow? Are there drow in this setting!? Holy shit I love drow.

She’s wearing a work smock over flannel and jeans, and she has safety goggles pushed up over her hair. She wipes a bit of sweat off her forehead and approaches with a grin, but that grin falters when she takes in my appearance. Her expression grows guarded, then faux-cheerful in that “I am afraid for my life but trying not to make the situation worse” way.

“Hello there!” she calls. “I uh, don’t think we’ve met before, Miss…?”

“Alice,” I supply. “Maven Alice, you can call me either. I hope I’m not causing a fright. I assure you, despite my appearance I mean no harm to you or anyone in your shop.”

The possibly-drow clears her throat and adjusts her fake smile. “I would hope so. I’m Torstein, if you didn’t get that from the sign.” Her gaze flickers over my appearance once more and her brow briefly furrows. “Are you… with Averrich or Vaylin? Because I don’t want any trouble”

I raise my hands and smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I am no friend to either of those groups. I’ve already fought some of Averrich’s people, in fact, and nothing I’ve heard of Vaylin sounds endearing. I’m really quite new, if you can’t tell, and so far the only people I’ve met that didn’t try to kill me were the Myriad.”

That seems to put the woodworker at ease, and her smile grows more genuine. “Ah, you’ve met some of my fellows, then. That’s good to hear. Sorry for the terse welcome, friend, things are just in a bad spot right now.”

“I’ve heard,” I comment dryly. “Something about an inescapable cycle of violence. I’m actually in talks with Esha about doing something about that cycle. With luck, I can put my unique skillset to the greater good of Sanctuary 7 and the Myriad.”

A wistful look crosses Torstein’s face. “Luck and a bit more, I reckon, but I wish you the best in that. We’d all rest a little safer if this city weren’t teetering on the brink of war. Now, I take it you didn’t come here just to talk me up?”

“Yes! Yes, I have a pair of commissions, actually, that I was hoping you could help me with.” Cheshire looks at me curiously, but I just give her a quick smirk before returning my focus to Torstein the maybe-drow.

“Happy to hear it,” she says as she pulls some sketch paper and a pencil out of a cabinet. She gestures to the table-and-four-chair setup on the display floor and we all head over and take a seat.

“Okay, so, the first one is a bit complicated. I want a chimera figurine. A carved wooden figurine, maybe painted if that’s possible, of a creature that’s a bunch of animals mashed together.”

Torstein chews on the end of the pencil and nods. “Reckon that shouldn’t be too hard. What animals?”

I glance over at Cheshire. “Definitely part wolf. Cheshire, what are your other favorite animals?”

Cheshire leans in and watches the sketch paper curiously. “Wolf, for sure. I’d like the body and head to be that of a white wolf, if you please, and red eyes. With colorful parrot wings, talons for back feet, and a curling lizard’s tail, like that of a chameleon. And a crown of antlers growing from the wolf’s head.”

Torstein sketches expertly, incorporating each of Cheshire’s requests into the final piece. It’s fascinating watching it come together, the woodworker combining the disparate elements to create a sketch model of a chimera that looks pretty damn good. “What do you think?” she asks.

“I love it,” Cheshire smiles.

“It looks great,” I compliment Torstein. “You’re a pro at this.”

The carpenter chuckles. “Well, I’ve been in the business a while. Now, what was your other request?”

“Ah, right.” I clear my throat and try to describe it clearly. “I want a staff. Long and slender, but solid, in crisp painted white. The staff is topped with a carving of a bat, also white, but with black trim. The bat’s wings are wrapped around its body, and its mouth is open and has just enough space to fit a small gem. The one I’m thinking of is a ruby, but I don’t know if jewelry is within your purview so I’m totally okay with finishing that part of it on my own.”

Torstein draws a few sketches and has me point to the one I like best, which I do. “Shouldn’t be a problem. The local figments are very helpful, and I’ve done a bit of work with precious stones before. It’ll take a few days to have these done, but if this all looks correct then I can get started on it in no time.”

“That’s great!” I hesitate, then ask, “So, just to be clear: is there a charge for this? Like I said before I’m very new in town, and I still don’t quite understand how things work.”

Torstein nods. “‘Course, ‘course. To answer your question: like everyone in the Myriad, I do my work for the pleasure of it, not for any material reward. We try to be like the locals, in a way; doing our part to make the city better for everyone in whatever ways come to us best. And I’m drow, so this kind of craft is what I live for.”

Yes! I knew it! I mean, I guessed entirely based on your physical profile, but… okay maybe that’s not something to be proud of. Also, hey, that’s an angle on drow I’m not used to seeing. Craft-focused? Are they… are they like dwarves? I mean I guess the original dark elves in Norse mythology were dwarves, but you don’t see that take very often.

The drow woodworker scoops her sketches and rolls them up. “I’ll get to work on these, if that’s all. Oh, and if you’re interested in any of the pieces on display, my assistant can help you out.”

“Great, thanks! I look forward to seeing what you make.” I give her my best smile as she gives us a little half-bow and returns to her workshop.

I kind of wanted to interrogate her more, but I’ve already spent enough time in this mall. We should probably call the trip here. Although, I suppose I still need to get Cheshire an anchor that works in the immediacy. Hmm.

“New idea,” I tell Cheshire, and then I’m skipping out the door and examining the floor plan. According to the map, there’s exactly what I’m looking for only a few minutes of walking away.

Cheshire follows behind, eternally bemused, as I lead us to a jewelry store in the mega-mall. But not just any jewelry store; a jewelry store aimed at children to young adults, with so much sparkle and glitter and cutesy childish earrings and accessories. “Wait outside,” I say to my companion, and then I step in.

The items on display are exactly what I need, and I go about assembling my masterpiece, fluttering about the whole store in search of the perfect components. A piece from there, one from there, replace that with those, and… done!

I hide it behind my back, return to Cheshire waiting patiently outside, and announce, “Cheshire, my loyal geist and traveling companion, I have a gift for you. An anchor, when you need it, that I hope captures a bit of your essence in a way you’ll appreciate. May I present: your new charm bracelet.”

The chain of the bracelet is plain silver, but the charms decorating it are an eclectic mix of rainbows, hearts, and colorful chibi animals (including a bat, a spider, a cat, a wolf, and more).

Cheshire gently takes the charm bracelet from me and loops her wrist through it. She rotates her arm to admire the charms and gives me a warm, caring smile. “Thank you, Alice. It’s absolutely lovely.”

I grumble, “Yeah, well, whatever. Let’s finish up here.”

“Lead on, darling.”