Inconvenient Magic: magic that is known to surpass human comprehension, but in general proves to be useless.

The maid, Laguna, stood in front of a door, her mistress’s room. Her gloved hand, having formed an open fist, remained still and unable to knock on the door. There she was, in the hallway, as stationary as a statue.

She bit her lips.

… Please, she begged.

Finally, she knocked, and what followed was the quiet sound of silence. This was an occurrence she noted as odd.

By this time, she should have been awake on her own.

Getting no response, Laguna reached for the knob. Carefully, with a slow turn and gentle push that hardly made noise, she opened the door and allowed herself entry. To which, inside, she saw her beside the study desk. Violet hair, amethyst eyes, pink pajamas…

Are you… you…?

The other day, she had written for her mistress a Formulae Magic, one listed in the Inconvenient Magic series: Inconvenient Suicide Magic. Once activated, a random soul would inhabit the user’s body; because the original soul’s well-being could not be determined, perhaps erased from existence, it was named thus.

Laguna pushed a trolley containing breakfast and tea into the room. She wore herself a feigned smile. ‘It seems that milady Freya is awake,’ she prodded.

She simply stared. Eyed her long black hair, then her black and white uniform. A response she noted as odd.

‘What tea would you like to start the day with, if I may?’

‘Anything is good, thank you.’

"Anything is good"...? Laguna was surprised. A discourse she noted as odd. ‘… Milady, is anything wrong perhaps?’

‘Why do you say that?’

Because there are teas you just can’t stomach. Jasmine for one. ‘My answer might offend you.’

‘It won’t. Please, do tell.’

'... It's just that—the words "thank you" and "please" rarely, almost never, come out from milady's mouth. Hence, my worries.'

‘Expect me to use it more often then.’

'Very well… My recommendation is jasmine tea.' She glanced, no reaction. 'Please wait for a while.'

As Laguna brewed the tea, her suspicion leant toward certainty. Her mistress’s behavior had been odd: had replied to her knocks with silence, had an unwarranted observant conduct, and had a sudden questionable taste with her tea.

One more. Then, I’m calling it.

Having finished brewing, she offered the cup, ‘Milady, here’s the tea.’

‘Thank you.’

The hand that reached for the cup, she noted, was the left. That was one more. Because her mistress was originally right-handed. At that moment, Laguna was certain:

You’re not Freya.

***

After being dismissed, Laguna excused herself and stepped outside the room. Only when the door was closed shut did she lean her back on the wall. Alone in that hallway, she slid down to the floor.

She bit her lips. And it bled.

A streak of crimson coursed down her chin.