Mary woke up. It would be hard not to after having a bucket of cold water splashed on her face. After coughing the rest of the liquid out of her lungs, she stared a couple of rusted daggers at her mentor. Mossie was also buzzing upset - although apparently, it was waterproof. Pity.

“Sorry,” Bromman said unapologetically, putting the (empty...) bucket away. “It looks like you're in no luck.”

“You don't say?” she whispered.

“I mean, apart from...,” he spread his arms to indicate... something. “Your nemesis is a dreamer.”

Mary closed her eyes again, let her head fall back onto the (wet) pillow, and groaned. “So what? Let him dream big if he likes to, what do I care?”

“How much of your dream do you remember?” Her mentor asked, sounding strangely distant.

Mary tried to focus. Yes, she had quite a vivid dream. She remembered a narrow pathway between the stars, a distant melody. A drowsy melody...

“Hey!” she yelped as another bucket of cold water soaked whatever dryness was left on her. Another coughing hit followed, and she painfully rose to a sitting position. Her mentor stood next to her bed with another bucket. This time, she noted, Mossie got a safe distance away in time.

“You've slept through a whole night,” he said. “But even if you hadn't, you couldn't go back to sleeping just now. Your trail is still too fresh out there - whoever caught you before, would immediately do it again.”

“But it was you, not me, who said I needed... rest...” Mary trailed off as she took a look at the arm that she accusingly pointed at her mentor. She saw no cuts or scars left - courtesy of the local healers, no doubt. She did, however, see an almost translucent skin, clearly showing long, dark veins beneath it. She heaved the other arm before her eyes - it looked the same. She got a sinking feeling in her chest, despite noticing that the mechanical part of talking came to her significantly easier this time around. “Bromman, could you...?” She swallowed. “Could you show me...?”

“Of course. But first, tell me about your dream. It really is important.”

She wanted nothing to do with that at the moment, but couldn't think of any good excuse. So, she hurried up instead,

“Veritas...,” Bromman repeated after she finished her accounts. His fingers started twirling and twisting into complicated gestures, as if he switched them into spiders trying to spin a web together, only after a bit too generous a dose of LSD for it to have any chance of success. A short trail of gentle, blue lighted trailed after his nails. If Mary wasn't so preoccupied with her own state, she could find gazing at the fleeting work of art mesmerising.

“Truth...,” her mentor savoured the word. “I haven't heard about him before. It could make sense, in a sense... you mentioned he was about your age?”

“Yes, something like that. Well, maybe a year or two older? Not much, anyway. Could we-” she stopped mid-sentence as Bromman released the spell, and a translucent star floated above her head.

Mary looked up at the creation - damn, it was beautiful. She noticed that her neck took unexpectedly long to complain about being bent in such a way. Actually, most of her body... ok, maybe not stopped complaining, but... Well, it was widely agreed that the current situation warranted only half the previous complaints. Experimentally, she lifted an arm and felt it almost gliding through the air. She fluttered her fingers, and the movement let her see a thin, almost invisible line connecting each bone to the star above. Mary looked at her mentor, this time trying to project an impression of a question rather than, say, a knife.

“It's a marionette spell. Don't worry, I modified it heavily - I'm not controlling you right now. But the strings will support some of your weight, and with it, you should be able to reach the bathroom.” His expression softened. “Take your time.”

Full of worry, the heroine almost glided through the air to the bathroom. Her hospital gown felt much more comfortable now that it barely touched her skin. Mary delayed for a few long seconds, but it couldn't really last - that, and looking at her feet wasn't too reassuring, with black veins staring back at her - so finally, she looked in the mirror.

The face that stared back at her was hers... probably. At least, that was how she felt.

Mary's hair lost its colour. Gone was the darkness, making room for whiteness. Mary's thoughts immediately went to Margaret, but even her hair wasn't as bright. Anyway, thinking about her friend was a bit painful at the moment, so moving on... Mary's face was coloured roughly like the skin she noticed on her arms - and it didn't look healthy either. And then, there were the eyes... She stared into two pits of darkness, surrounded by white irises - there was still a hint of the previous blueness, but it was so pale that Mary was afraid of blinking not to wipe it away. She shuddered at the memory of her dream - it was really disconcerting to see the resemblance to the cold eyes of the dreaming pianist. Veritas... she wondered if her nemesis did what she had done?

That thought made her pause. There was something wrong with it, but she couldn't place a finger on it. Not that it was much surprise, really - fortunately, her skull seemed to have gone through the recent events relatively intact. Anyway, she didn't think that was the case - the entity she met in the dream felt real. Solid. And what she saw in the mirror looked anything but that.

A tear rolled down her cheek, crossing several too visible veins. She had to do something about this leak, or she'd run out of water soon. She looked away.

“Do you...,” she swallowed. “Do you know if this is permanent?”

Her mentor sighed heavily and put away the cup of coffee that somehow materialised in his hands when she wasn't looking.

“I'm sorry. Some of the blackness in your veins is actually your power keeping you alive, or at least I think it is. You should recover your physical strength, if not your looks... at least partially... but it will take time, which is something you don't have much. “

Bromman sighed, before continuing with the sentencing. ”What you've sacrificed is something much, much deeper than the physical fitness - and that, I'm afraid, is gone forever. Getting back something sacrificed in a ritual is a stuff of legends even among the legends.”

Mary turned back toward the mirror. She touched her face, half expecting the finger to phase through the skin. But no - she was still here... a bit, at least.

“And... is there a spell that could make me at least look normal again?”

Her skin not really being there made her feel naked under Bromman's piercing gaze, and her desire for something to cover herself with grew even stronger.

“There is such a spell, and I can cast it if you want it. The question is - do you?” He made a meaningful pause. Apparently, Mary's eyes must have been too confused, because he elaborated, “The spell I'm talking about will do nothing for your life or health. It is also not infallible, and it'll make it obvious for anyone who can see through it that you're trying to hide your looks. And I'm not talking just about antimagics here - observation alone would be enough.”

Mary stared at her reflection, thinking, for a whole minute. Then, without taking her eyes off the thing, she whispered, “Do it.”