《Red Beans》7.
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Our life is routine at that point. I ‘sleep’ while she performs experiments at night, before being shooed off to Shopkeep’s store in the morning. She comes for me before lunch, and the day proceeds as per normal. I still don’t quite understand why I have to leave in the mornings, though… Technomancy is so strange.
Finally, it is the day before she meets with the investor. After my morning toast, I head for the door. “I’m off.”
“Wait,” she calls out. “Come back here.”
I turn back, “What?”
“Do you want to stay here today? You can still sleep, but just… stay in the room.”
“... are you sure? Isn’t it… ‘work,’ that you do in the mornings?”
“Yes, but…” she gulps. “I’ll never be respected as a mage if I can’t perform in front of an audience, no matter how small.” She pats the nest of blankets and pillows we call a bed. “So, would you like to…?”
I sit without hesitation…
“Thank you.”
… and without any other response.
This time, she does not turn her back to me - instead, faces me directly. The same process is as follows: by using discarded technologies, both old and new, she attempts to create a being. It fills me with even more fear this time, being able to see her face as she speaks in tongues. The expressions she makes seem to have some degree of dissonance with her words, her not words, the beeps and boops of the machinery around her. There are times where her eyebrows furrow and she is filled with anger, then there are times where her expression softens and she appears lonely and sad.
I myself, do not practice magic. I find it an oddity that despite its promise, has too many negatives to outweigh the positives for me to handle on my own. I had a personal mage back in Demonrealm… and they outlived their usefulness. But now I regret not finding out the true extent of their use, for instead they could have served me in a different type of magic.
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Just by watching her move, noticing the slightest twitch of her fingers and the smallest change in expression, I can feel how much of one’s self is poured into magic. This explains why certain mages are so private and unforgiving; so much of themselves is exposed bare through performing spells and whatnot. When you give all of yourself, you’re too tired to give it to people who won’t appreciate it.
I hope she sees me as someone who appreciates magic and in return, her.
Her eyes open and instead of eyes, I see but the hollow abyss. Blacked and empty, with flashing lights, words and numbers flying across. Words no longer tumble from her lips, but instead sounds akin to an old modem starting up.
I am filled with panic, but… is this what’s supposed to happen? Is this normal? Is this what the investor will see?
“This isn’t you,” I murmur. “This isn’t…”
And she responds in louder beeps, and more static.
Do I… do I stop it? Is there anything I can do? What’s the process? What if this is part of the spell - ‘programs,’ she called it - and I’d be interrupting it without reason?
Her beeps get louder. The static is deafening.
Despite the hollowness of her eyes, tears prick at them and spill onto her cheeks.
Not knowing what else to do, I get up and hold her to my chest without another thought. Her tears stain my shirt.
“Please,” I mumble. “Please stop.”
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A man once lived in a modern world, surrounded by the tragedy of humans, he was despaired. He did his best to ignore it. Did his best to hide in the safety of his own circumstances. But eventually the tragedy reached him. And when it did... it left a broken man, who was tired of the world and it's circumstances. He took things into his own hands. He would change the world. But this story isn't about that. For after all was done, the man dying peacefully on his own terms, he would have a new life ahead of him. Now unbound by attatchments and responsibility, in a completely new world for him to explore, he would make sure his new life didn't end up like the last one. This fiction won't be updated regularly due to my own circumstances and while I will try to update it often, I won't always be able to. That being said I hope you enjoy this little work of mine. I'm not an experienced, and don't consider myself a good author in any way. But hopefully some people will enjoy this fiction like I do writing it, regardless of that.
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Murong Yingyue is the heiress to a famous cultivator clan. Except that’s she’s really not, and just a stand-in for the real heiress, who had been sickly since she was born. And she’s not really even herself. A transmigrator from Earth had transmigrated into the body of a female demoness, inheriting her memories. The transmigrator had then later died, transmigrating into her infant body! Ah, Why is it so convoluted? She grew up with those memories, and when she was finally sufficiently strong enough to travel the world safely, she eagerly embraced a leisurely life. When I was a demoness, I didn't know how to live without constantly being on guard and having to calculate every move I make. When I was on Earth, I didn't know a life without romantic drama and jealous women! I'll enjoy these two things you have missed, then! I'll do whatever I want and avoid troublesome people. So... How the f*ck did I get into this stupid cliche storyline? And as the main character, too? I don't want to be the main character! They attract so many senseless cannon fodders and powerful enemies, and furthermore, don't they attract romantic interests like it's no one's business? Someone help me! This will read better if you are familiar with wuxia novels. Discontinued. Apologies to all who liked the story. I feel that my writing style has changed since I last wrote for this story, so I tried to get myself to rewrite the story but I couldn't find any motivation to do so. I also lost the outline I had for this story and don't really remember what direction it was going in, so I want to leave the story as is. Thank you to the people who read and favorited this.
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