Sybil watched as Tish poured a cup of tea. “Green tea?” A bright green and frothy mixture flowed into the cup.

“I had the thought that it’s probably been forever since you’ve had a good cup of green tea.” Tish joined Sybil at the table. She didn’t pour herself a cup. “I’ve also brought some sweet bean treats. The ones wrapped up in that mashed-up rice paste. Isn’t that normally what they serve with tea in Carapace?”

Sweet bean and mochi were some of the standard middle to upper-class treats served during tea within Carapace. That much was true. In the core, where the poorest of the poor lived, tea was a rare import. The idea of daily snacks was so unheard of that people didn’t even dream of it. Maybe some vitamin supplements to account for the lack of sunlight, but that was about it. The beatles and grubs they ate were more than enough to serve their dietary needs.

“I suppose,” replied Sybil. She didn’t touch her cup right away. Her tongue had always been sensitive to heat, so she preferred her drinks to be closer to room temperature. “Will you not be drinking anything?”

Tish immediately stood back up. “Why are you still in those prison garments? We need to get you something pleasant to wear!” She glided over to the wardrobe and flung open the doors. “Don’t worry, I told them to only put in cotton corsets with flexible ribbing. I know how you enjoy your movement. So, how about a nice lace blouse? Oh, and look at this twill skirt. The palace can get so cold! This should keep you warm.”

Sybil didn’t speak much as Tish moved about. There was something off about Tish’s voice. It was like she was only inhaling whenever she had something to say, and she often ran out of breath. Her eyes flicked back to the teacup. She shouldn’t have been served green tea.

“You should be seeing Vex soon. Which do you think he’ll like?” Tish held up a set of black blouses. They looked nearly identical to Sybil. The lace patterns were slightly different and one had somewhat poofier sleeves, but she could barely tell the difference.

Sybil was starting to get an idea of what was wrong. “... Who are you?”

Tish had a look of surprise splash against her face. “What do you mean? Sybil, you know who I am.”

She wasn’t breathing. Sybil could clearly see that now. This was a corpse that was standing in front of her. Strangely, with her life experiences, the corpse itself didn’t come as much of a surprise. Maybe Tish could accidentally refer to Veximarl as “Vex” instead of “Vexi” even a handful of times.

Yet she was served green tea. The very first rule about guests that Lady Till drummed into their heads was that guests are not to be greeted with food from their homeland. A part of travel is to experience new things. It was better to get them a taste of the best local cuisine rather than embarrass themselves with the risk of preparing their native food incorrectly.

Even if Tish was choosing to be respectful since she was well aware that Sybil had been away from home for a while, this was not the proper way to serve this style of tea. Each serving was individually whisked together in its own bowl, not poured from a kettle into a dainty teacup. Not once, even if given a thousand years, would Tish had ever been so thoughtless as to serve a cup of tea improperly.

This creature was not Tish.

“Who are you?” Sybil repeated in a cold tone.

Tish let out an annoyed sigh. “Did I forget to breathe again?” She scoffed. “People say that breathing is all about the stomach but it’s really all about the brain stem. Cut that out and all of it has to be done consciously.” She sharply inhaled to demonstrate. “These talky types, they’re always… Yap, yap, yap. I can never get the breathing pattern right.”

The palace, as Sybil had expected, was a complete madhouse. She was safer inside the White Palace. “What did you do to Tish?”

Whoever this was, they turned their chair around, lifted her skirt, and straddled it with their arms folded nearly over the backrest. “She was already dead when I got this body. All I did was prepare it for my own use. Having a few extra faces available for my use can be quite beneficial.”

“And who are you?” Repeated Sybil for the third time.

“Neryx.” She gestured to the tea. “You can try the tea. I hadn’t a reason to poison it or anything... Or do they not have tea in the core?”

“They don’t,” replied Sybil.

Neryx gave out a dry tsk of the tongue. “Damn. That right there is the real problem with poor people. Only the rich have the time to rant about their food and hobbies. Someone really ought to do better research into subcultures. Get their fingers into all those little dirty ghettos.”

This conversation was horrifying on so many levels. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend that it’s okay for you to be desecrating my friend’s body.”

“It’s going to be someone’s body and she’s not using it. Might as well go to me instead of hte worms.” Neryx placed their palm on her cheek and smiled sweetly. “You should learn to accept what’s happening and realize that you and I are going to become very good friends.”

The teapot was ceramic. It carried heat well. She could bash it against Neryx’s face and ensure that couldn’t use Tish’s body like this again. Her fingers twitched for a second as she thought about it. As much as she wanted to stop this abuse from happening, she couldn’t bring herself to scar Tish.

Sybil stood up. “I’ll get ready on my own.”

Neryx stood up as well. “Let me help you!” They chirped helpfully.

Sybil’s twisted about. “Get out,” she growled in a deathly tone. “Get out and never appear before me again.”

Neryx rocked back and forth on their heels. “You won’t know if it’s me or not.” They then dramatically covered half their face with their hand. “Though I’ll be sure to show up as someone else next time.”

She should’ve accepted a life sentence in a magicless prison. Sybil tugged at her collar with a finger. It was easier when she didn’t have to wear this. “Just get out already,” she spat out.

Neryx relented and did as they were asked. Sybil took the time she needed to wash her face and change her clothes. A few hours passed before a butler delivered a meal cart. It was clearly Neryx again, but the man remained silently grinning as he placed the dishes on the table. They straightened up the place a bit before leaving again.

Sybil ignored the food, as she was still busy reorganizing the personal library they had put in here for her. They didn’t have a good grasp over what sort of books she would enjoy. Most of the books were fictional or religious. These were texts that Sybil imagined Emily would have more fun with than herself. Maybe they had accumulated this collection based on Margret Miller’s interests. That was the only excuse that Sybil could find for the presence of quilting supplies.

Rather than books, Sybil focused on her problems. What was a Neryx and why was it running around in dead bodies? Was it a golem or some sort of magic? There had to be some easy secret to it and Sybil needed to find a way to disable it permanently.

An hour after Neryx left, the pair of maids returned. One of them asked for Sybil to follow her while the other went to clean up dinner. Sybil was led down the stairs and to a metal door, which opened up to a vast, empty room. The walls were made of the same obsidian-type stone that the outer walls of the Black Palace.

They had been polished so smoothly that she could make out her reflection in them. Circles were carved into the floor and runes covered the entire ceiling. All hand carven… It must have taken years. Sybil looked around, not realizing that the maid had closed the door behind her.

She noticed a man sleeping in the far corner of the room. He had a cloak drawn about his body, and his hair was drooping over his face. A spear was resting against the wall next to him. Even with the fancy clothes, Sybil recognized that tired, worn-out posture anywhere. She ran towards him, skidding on her knees and sliding the rest of the way.

“Vex!” She grasped onto his shoulder and shook violently shook him awake.

Veximarl slowly opened his eyes. “... Eh?” His first instinct was to cram his metallic letter in his pocket. He had fallen asleep while using it.

She grasped onto his face. His cheeks felt warm. Veximarl had always been pale, but he wouldn’t feel warm if this was Neryx, right? “Would you like to eat some roasted turnips with me?!”

Veximarl’s face shifted into one of complete horror. He was having flashbacks to a year ago, when he had to harvest an alarming amount of the root vegetable. Before he could properly react to his past trauma, he was interrupted by Sybil nearly squeezing him to death with a hug. A gagging noise escaped his throat.

“Why are they keeping you locked up in this terrible room?” Sybil pulled away from him. “We have to get you out of here!”

“I’m here as a free man, Sybil…” Veximarl rubbed at his face in order to calm himself down from the shock Sybil had given him. “This is an old meditation room for the Fogbloom family. I actually have a much nicer room downstairs and a garden.” He winced as Sybil slapped his shoulder. “S-Sybil?”

“Then why would you scare me by not showing up when they transferred me here?!”

Veximarl shook his head with astonishment. “They told me that I would be picking you up from the White Palace tomorrow morning.”

“That false priest dragged me here around lunchtime! This creepy thing called Neryx keeps showing up to my room in dead bodies!” She gently grasped the edge of his jacket. “I don’t care what it is at this point, but it has Tish. We have to put a stop to whatever is going on.”

The expression on Veximarl’s face darkened. He had a theory that Neryx had gone ahead and turned her into a puppet. Fortunately for Neryx, he hadn’t received confirmation about it until now. “I regret to inform you that Tish is not the only victim. I’m still attempting to work out a solution, but I fear that Neryx has been in control of the royal family for a very long time.”

Sybil studied his eyes. There was fear in them. “Like who? Members of the King’s Court?”

Veximarl shook his head. “The king is dead, Sybil. He’s a husk of a man inhabited by a necromancer. Prince Wulfric could only rebel by having his body destroyed. King Thomas threw himself into the ocean rather than be possessed himself. What am I supposed to do in retaliation?”

There had to be something her and Veximarl could do. Neryx was someone important to the order, meaning that they were quite likely the one responsible for Lydia’s death. “I was told that I could get revenge on anyone I want since I’m…” She hesitated for the briefest moments. “Vex, am I human?”

“That’s a somewhat complicated answer.” Veximarl settled his back against the wall. “In the same way that Martyr is a cat and Rite is a fox, yes, Sybil. You are human.”

Sybil’s mouth dropped in horror. They could hardly be described as either a cat or a fox! “But look at me! Shouldn’t I have horns or scales?! Or web-shooting powers?!” She made little thwiping noises as she shot her hands forward.

Veximarl tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes. He set his hand on the stone of the floor and spread his fingers wide. “I believe that it’ll be easiest for you to understand if I show you what you used to be like.”

The room shifted and began to shrink around them, until it resembled a home built within the hollow of a massive tree. Unlike the swamp homes that Sybil had seen before, this was a clean place free of rot. Shelves overflowed with books and trinkets. A multitude of herbs and edibles were dried and hanging from the ceiling. The largest and most impressive piece in the room, which had been shoved in the corner, was a massive cocoon of brown silk.

Sybil stood up and began to walk across the room. Three people were sitting at the table. The first she recognized was Lydia. She was younger than Sybil remembered, by many years. Next to her was Semira, or Tria, who looked the same as when she had seen her last year in Carapace. The third, a man, was Erskine, who Sybil had seen when the Fogbloom family had given her a vision of the past. He didn’t look that much older than Semira, but his hair had gone white from age.

“It’s best described as a metamorphosis,” explained Semira. “Children of mist magic do not have solid forms. In times of emergency, they will change their forms in order to strengthen themselves. Steps can be taken to further push this change into a more powerful form. This is why we refer to such children as ‘they who would be gods.’”

Lydia was flabbergasted. “How long should I expect her to stay like this?”

Veximarl caught Sybil’s attention with a snap of his fingers. He had stood up and gestured at the cocoon. “In case you were wondering where you were during all of this.”

While Sybil struggled to wrap her head around this, Semira continued. “It is likely that she entered this state as a means to survive starvation. She had been trapped in that closet for several weeks.”

“I’m sorry, but what?” Sybil’s eyes darted between the cocoon and Veximarl. “I thought I became this way when I died last year!”

Veximarl snapped his fingers again. The people and room around them melted back into black stone. “This is going to be somewhat complicated for me to explain.”

“Then show me!” Sybil spread her arms out. “That’s what this room is for, isn’t it?”

Once again, Veximarl hesitated. “I feel that It will be detrimental to your mental health.” He frowned as Sybil scowled at him. “This is for your benefit.”

“Because I’m somehow not already messed up in the head?!” Sybil cried out.

“Ah, perhaps this will give you some perspective.” The back of his spear made a tinking noise as he tapped it against the stone.

The air warbled slightly as a woman appeared. Not a woman, but Sybil herself. Her dress was made of several colorful silks which were twisted and draped along her body. She had long hair, which had been braided and coiled into a large bun on the back of her head. It was pinned in place with a set of jeweled steel hairpins. A sheer black lace and silk shawl covered part of her hair and her shoulders.

Sybil carefully approached her. This was her, but a much older version of herself. Maybe in her late thirties or early forties. The clothes she wore were traditional to silk workers within the core. She had steel bracelets and a necklace as well. They had that clean glean to them that hinted that they were golem-grade steel, meaning she had connections to a tinkerer.

“... This isn’t me,” whispered Sybil.

“Correct,” replied Veximarl. “This is Meredith Twist. Your father’s former wife.” He tapped the spear in a spot next to Meredith. A small girl, barely outside the age of a toddler, appeared next to the woman. “And this was you.”

Sybil knelt next to the girl. She had on a red and blue silk smock. Her brown, wavy hair, was braided up similarly to Meredith’s. Every feature on her looked like a perfect mix between Stallis and Lydia, except for her eyes. They were the same gray shade as Lydia’s.

“... What.”

Veximarl knelt next to her.“She tried to murder you, Sybil.” Veximarl knelt next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t explain her reasons, but a would-be transforms into the shape they believe will help them survive.”

“... So I chose to become her? Out of anything I could’ve become?” She could’ve had spider-powers or blade arms.

Sybil had always been convinced that Meredith killed herself. It was a suicide. The thought of being married to a man who was happier with his mistress was excruciating. She struggled to understand exactly what had happened, but she had enough pieces to put it together.

Something caused her to become horrifically ill when she was younger. Her mother had to take her out of Carapace for treatment. Neighbors often pitied her at a young age for some, unknown reason. When she was older, she’d sometimes hear that they were surprised she grew up so well adjusted. Out of any of the possibilities Sybil had thought of, not once had she ever considered stuck in a damn cocoon to be one of them.

“How did they get me out of the…” Sybil made the oval shape with her hands. Cocoon was now a forbidden word in her lexicon.

Veximarl was relieved she had chosen not to press the issue of filicide any further. “Mother attempted to seal off your abilities to prevent further transformation. She was forced to unseal those abilities in order to save your life after your failed resurrection.”

This was some astounding pile of manure she had landed herself in. For all she knew, Laurent was buying time until he could figure out a way to force Emily to take over. Big Boss Neryx wasn’t going to be betrayed by him. Knowing that Veximarl was in over her head was draining all the hope out of Sybil’s will to fight.

Sybil was often told that she took on too much risk for too little reward. She often sought out failure for herself under the excuse that others were going to be benefited. Something… Anything was going to have to change if she hoped to break that cycle.

“So what do we do?”

Veximarl waved away the conjurings he had made. “I have yet to come up with a solution. All I can do is deal with our problems one at a time. My days have been spent looking for evidence to use during Duxton’s evaluation. They say time is a river with many possibilities. Swimming upstream is just as difficult as it is to steer the boat down the right course.”

“Then tell me what to do.” Sybil grasped onto the sleeve idling by his upper arm. “Give me something to do. I’m here to help you with whatever you need, okay?”

Whether she was looking for guidance or she honestly believed she could help, Veximarl didn’t know. All he could see was desperation. “Alton and Zaniyah are being held hostage by Neryx. Vincent is with them. I’m uncertain as to the reason why he is not letting me visit them, but we cannot afford to take needless risks until we know what sort of condition they are in. If we are to act out, any plan of ours must leave no room for error.

This will not be easy for you to hear, but I wish for you to have some patience. One problem at a time. I must concentrate on Duxton and Viokern’s evaluation, but I promise that we will be able to make leaps and bounds of progress after that. All I need is some time.”

He was brushing her aside. Just like Duxton had done. How long were they expecting her to wait? Sybil was frustrated with her ability to keep herself safe, but she was equally frustrated at doing what others told her to do. They all wanted her to sit there like some fragile ornament gathering dust in a box. Too fragile to bring out and see the light.

“Okay, Vex.” Sybil gave his sleeve a squeeze as she put on a fake smile. “I’ll trust you…” Her hand slipped away and dangled by her side. “You look tired. I need to go be locked up again, but make sure you get some rest. Please.”

“Yes… Both of us are likely in dire need of some rest.” Veximarl placed a set of fingers against his temple. He felt a headache coming on. “I’ll see you back to your room.”

Veximarl escorted Sybil and promised to make more time for her. Perhaps he’d be able to negotiate a trip to the garden for a while or for them to have a meal together. Sybil didn’t believe his words. He’d likely be so busy with work that he’d forget her completely. Just like everyone else who had promised to help her.

What a dreary situation this had become. Sybil sat down at her desk and opened the drawer of quilting supplies. She selected a thick needle, bent the eyehole slightly with her teeth, then jammed it into the lock. Her eyes closed as she probed about, mentally memorizing every turn and corner of the inner workings of the lock.

She had found a thin crochet needle and was able to give the lock some tension with it. Pin one… Pin two… Click after click. Top and bottom pins. It actually wasn’t different from a standard look. The only difference was that it took a moment longer because she kept poking her hand with the needle.

Sybil let out a sigh of relief as the lock popped open. She pried off the device and chucked it on the desk. “I’m the daughter of a tinkerer, bitch!” She flipped off the collar with both hands.

There was a mirror that was attached to the back of the desk. Her reflection caught her eye as she leaned back in her chair. “The only person you have is you, Sybil. You can’t trust anyone else to make the smart choices, so you’re just going to have to rely on yourself!”

Her eyes flashed blue for the briefest of moments. Sybil winced and immediately looked away. “... And I suppose you’re also here.”

Priestess Emily was both her ally and her foe. Sybil didn’t know much about her. Only the emotions she sometimes felt. Maybe she could coax some useful information out of Laurent. She’d find a way to keep this a healthy partnership rather than the toxic one they currently held.

“Let’s work together. You’re still angry too, right? It wasn’t just Pennyrile that hurt you.” Sybil watched as her eyes briefly changed color again. “Okay. Then it’s you and me. Let’s find a way to work together.”