“Lyman Leepsky here to let you all know your lives could be changed for the better RIGHT AWAY! Are you bored, sad, unsatisfied, have terrifying mental issues that loom over your existence? Well, tomorrow I’ll be unveiling my new project all across the world, wherever you may be, and I’ll be sure to fix you right up! My certified, 100% legal methods recommended by real doctors, will leave you feeling like a new person faster than the pain suddenly moved into your brainspace! Just go to your nearby search tool, and look up The Paradise Program to learn more, and sign up with this once in a lifetime chance to be one of the lucky four to try the program early!”

The commercial blared to an old figure, sulking under the sheets of his bed with a plate upon his lap. The meal consisted of brazed fish, and some various pickings, covered in a golden honey glaze, shimmering in the reflection of the television’s light. To others, quite a feast indeed. To him, it hardly looked appetizing.

He brought the fork to his fur coated mouth, with a slice of fish skewered in its prongs. He ate it quite quickly. It was rather chewy, but he hardly minded, food is food.

Within about ten minutes, he’d finished and reached over to his bedside table. Upon it was a bell with a handle, meant for calling attention. He rang it.

The door slowly opened within seconds and a small, although tall for his kind’s size, rodent-esque figure walked through the door. The room’s size seemed made for his stature, and he was taller than the door handle. He had one floppy ear reaiming on his head and a cheap, yet snazzy looking suit on. His skin was covered in a coat of white fur and he held out his hand to take the old man’s plate, who held it out dismissively, not able to look over.

“Master Stygian, do you need anything else?” he said in a deep, yet refined accent which didn’t fit his fluffy appearance whatsoever.

The man turned his slick furred head to the bipedal rabbit, the curled horns on his head scraping against his pillow he was propped up against.

“Yes, I’m heading to bed. But first, the bathroom. Could you help me up, Archibald?” the man asked, his voice a tad grouchy and monotone, but not unkindly toward his butler. Their voices held similar class, on a listen, they were almost the same, but he held small differences to the rabbit.

Archibald, without a word, helped the man to his feet. He was a large otter, around half a human’s height, with a mustache and a small pair of ram’s horns on his head. Nestled between them was a bed cap, matching his blue and white woolen pajamas.

He trotted rather awkwardly across the hall to his bathroom on two legs, holding his butler’s paw to balance himself in his tired state. He went in alone and shut the door behind him.

After emptying his bladder, he stared into the mirror, grooming his moustache with a tiny comb made for this sort of thing. He made his way to the door and opened it, he was about to enter the room where his life would begin to spiral out of control.

Archibald greeted the otter and began to take him across the hall, but suddenly, another rabbit came racing toward them, out of breath.

“Stygian, you have to come, it’s your son!” he huffed alarmingly. And in an instant, Stygian was rushing away with him.

Nove was far from average, an outsider, someone that was generally thought only trouble. Nove, among her species, did not fit in.

She is a woodworker by passion, and has been for almost her entire life. But, her species doesn’t like that.

Nove is a Halicanth, they are like swamp goblins, basically. Large ears, dark green skin, save for some like Nove who are more pale. They are aggressive isolationists. They call it independence, but Nove knew otherwise.

And Nove had a sister. Had, specifically, in past tense. She was ‘independent’ too.

And now that her family left her tribe, they had all separated after their own stances on this single issue destroyed them. Now, Nove was alone. Alone in a forest, with the rain pouring through the trees.

She knelt beneath a mighty oak, chisel in hand. She was carving a pattern into it, it was curving, wistful, and free. She was free too, free to go wherever, as long as she could weather the journey. She didn’t feel free though. She was bound to a single task. Find and free her father, and then maybe her mother, but it’d be an afterthought.

Actually, fuck mom. She is just dead weight if they were to be a family. She was the one who started ‘The Fight’. The same one that ended in her sister’s death, her father’s imprisonment, and her family's separation. Nove did miss her sister, but she also did resent her standpoint on the issues plaguing her old society. In fact, she wanted to stay with the tribe.

Her standpoint was so strong in fact, she was willing to let her own father die.

He was to be executed for his radical viewpoints. Alliance with the humans? Alliance with anyone that wasn’t Halicanth is unheard of, and with a repeated, insistant voice like his, it meant the death penalty.

Nove was fond of the humans from what she heard, although after she went out on their little family trip and saw what they did to each other, let alone her father, she was more than displeased with them now. And while she didn’t miss home, she didn’t love it here either.

“Bloody fuck, what the hell am I doing with myself.” she silently whispered in her favored language of English, looking into a fresh puddle forming among the grass. As she saw herself, the pale green Halicanth, with her fluorescent veiny orange flaps of ears contrasting against her shaky, unsure black hair, she felt unease. Uneasy that if her father had already died, she’d be alone. So hopelessly alone.

She wanted to scream, but held it back. She was hardly a proper lady, but if she were to scream, she’d not only attract wild beasts, but she’d sound like one herself, like her disgusting tribe.

So she waited, under the tree, on the brink of tears. Waiting for the rain to cease, so she could continue her lonely march towards a location she didn’t even decide. Her mind was scattered, she couldn’t think straight, and in that moment of chaos, a figure emerged from the rainfall.

“Hello there. Nove, is it?” the well dressed figure said, inviting the soaking Halicanth under his umbrella.

A middle aged man sat in city traffic with a cellphone to his ear. If the dreary sky looming over the cars wasn’t enough to get the drivers honking, the exuberantly long wait ahead was gonna do it. And they were already at it. The man didn’t seem like he was as peeved at this situation as his compatriots in purgatory were. Humans will be humans though, however annoyingly stupid they may be.

“We have several cases for you, Mr. Idly.” said a female voice through his smartphone.

“Mhm, go on then Marsha.” a voice replied smugly, his accent a little Irish.

“We have a homicide to a respected colleague of-”

“I don’t do petty murders Marsha, you know this, ayun?” Mr. Idly interrupted, a tad peeved.

“Yes, Drew.” the female voice replied calmly, as if she got this crap quite a bit. Like what the fuck does ‘Ayun?’ even mean? It didn’t sound like she cared, you should, though!

“We have a respected billionaire weapons expert suspected of laundering money.” she continued.

“We’ve captured like three war criminals this month, anything interesting?”

The honking continued, to Drew’s dismay. Dumbass humans, angry at nothing.

“Traffic, huh?” Marsha asked. “And it’s gonna rain. You depressed?”

“I told you, Marsha, you have to try to be more subtle. Or make me laugh. Neither of those you’re really good at.” Drew explained kindly. He was always careful to not offend those he plans to get something out of later, maybe giving them something as menial as a bit of advice would yield something far greater in the future.

“Fine.” she didn’t sound happy. “We have a certain Lyman Leepsky in town. He’s the therapist chap from the telly. He’s suspected of violating-”

“Fuck yes! How the hell did you find Lyman fuckin’ Leepsky? The man only shows his face in his commercials then vanishes!” Drew exclaimed, getting a couple stares from inside his neighbored cars.

“Drew, are you a fan of his or something? Or did he do something to you?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Drew replied, not really answering the question.

“Well, there’s one of his offices he’s been seen at, even if he’s not there it’d be a good place to start.”

“Address?”

“434 Jules Street, out in Manchester.”

“On it, Marsha! I could kiss that sexy ass of yours!”

“Drew Idley!” she gasped. Indeed it was a bit of a tasteless comment, but part of her liked it, and it disturbed her.

“Bye, Marsha Lark!” Drew mimicked her, chuckling to himself as he hung up the phone. He didn’t like Marsha’s boring personality that much, but she somehow got a changeling to fall for a human, which was incredibly difficult. And she was rather helpful too. But she was just another body, and not much else, and he wanted to tell her that respectfully.

Normally he’d not care, but around the rest of the MI6, he had to appear as if he had some shred of care about working for them, and not be as reckless as his favored facade. Although now that he’d found Leepsky… maybe he’d just cut himself loose soon. Once he had Lyman’s head on a platter, what use would they be?

Definitely more than he thought…

Elsewhere in the same city a short figure adorning a hood upon her head trekked down a street, checking people’s faces as she went. Despite the ragged outfit, she still shivered as the cold crept through the fabric. Perhaps it wasn’t just the cold. The figure did feel it’s biting, despite their lack of conventional organs, but her fear may be contributing more to the situation.

It had been a long week, and ever since she’d fled the monastery, she’d not spoken to another person for anything other than perhaps a bus fare. And she’d slept on the cold hard ground, hoping nobody would come by into an alley and kill her. Of course nobody would do that to a human, but they would to a Sycanthe.

She wasn’t cut out to live like this.

Something in her mind told her she should, perhaps it was just a dark voice, one she should avoid. It told her that after all this time, from this week to before her stay at the monastery, she should be better at roughing it on the streets.

Her eyes welled up with tears, shimmering like diamonds on her crystalline face, perfectly smooth and cleanly cut like a gem. It was that same beautiful face that her parents turned a blind eye to, the same one they sold to gain a temporary ally in the temporary war they fought.

The most miniscule voice told her she was a hero. She’d allowed her race a time of peace that’s lasted years now, all through her life. No… No… the voice was so unbelievably wrong. Shame on her for even thinking that.

The Sycanthe, being directly connected to Wyld magic, but extremely sparse, were a hot commodity among the rich and powerful. Not only did they have the largest library in the world of magical texts and spells, most of which have been unheard of to human mages, they can remember lots of it. Sycanthe were that of a walking library, and this teenager's existence was treated as nothing more than knowledge for the scholars of the world, and a jewel for the rich to brag about.

She was on the brink of crying in public, and she was already getting people staring at her, more than usual. Even if you didn’t know what a Sycanthe was, their face would instantly leave you guessing what it was, leaving her always wondering why they were staring.

Without realizing it, she’d walked past her intended destination. She removed her hood when the people around her had fully dispersed. Her ‘hair’ glimmered even under the cloudy sky, with little nodes of crystal jutting up from her hairline. It was curly and modest for who she was, but, like her body, it was one uniform thing. It rustled a little like normal hair, but it wasn’t in strands, instead like a sculpture made of glass. It was an off pink faded into a bluish purple, just like the rest of her body.

She gazed up at the building, her hood no longer blocking her vision. She wiped away the tears in her eyes and sniffled a little, it made a noise, as if there was snot, but nobody could see it from the outside of her. It didn’t look like the place, it was a dumpy building, but the sign said otherwise. The interior didn’t look terrible, at least compared to the state of the exterior, covered in bird droppings. While birds did fascinate her, their ability to defecate at this rate sure didn’t.

Without another thought, she moved to the door, marked with a ‘Closed’ sign, and swung it open, realizing she needed to push, not pull. A bell chimed as she walked inside.

Upon entering the room, the air inside smelt considerably more fresh, and the feeling of the warm air conditioning on her ‘skin’ calmed her down a little. The atmosphere was pleasant, with sky blue walls and a couple of plants that were certainly fake, but still did their job.

A man came from a door at the back of the room. She instantly recognized him, his costume as overly flamboyant as on the TV. He was Lyman Leepsky, and he looked more like a mannequin for a ringmaster Halloween costume than a therapist.

His threads were green with a touch of yellow upon some garments, like the ring around the base of his top hat. Everything, from his coat’s exuberantly long trails, which were dwarfed by his cape, which, along with his trails, reached the floor, to his bowtie covered in little rubber ducky prints which was wider than his own head.

“Julia? I’m so glad to finally meet you in person!” he jived, seeing her forlorn expression and not bringing it up.

“I… didn’t think I’d meet you in person, in fact, Mr. Leepsky.” Julia stuttered, brushing her ragged, dirty jacket.

“Franbizzle, my crystalline friend! You won the contest, I should be hosting a jubilee in this very vestibule! Sadly, I don’t have the budget for such things, but no matter, you are welcome to spend the night, if you feel so pressured!” Lyman exclaimed, his hands making movements like that of a cartoon character, and his mouth animated with joy as it produced gibberish words Julia couldn’t comprehend. Although, she did hear the option of spending the night. She would have passed him up on any other day, but her sadness incurred her to consider it much more closely.

“Oh… that’s very kind of you.” Julia said weakly, her eyes still trying to take in all the little intricacies of the therapist’s costume.

“I know, I’ve heard it all before.” he said, tipping his hat. “Now then, I don’t see why we can’t start our first session right away! So why don’t you trot on into the back and I’ll whip up some wonders for you, miss?”

“Alright.” she said, unsure of herself.

“Don’t be afraid!” he replied, sensing fear in her voice. “I have PHD’s for a reason, you know!”

He’d forged them.