Same nightmare again. Or was it a memory? Hair slicked with sweat sticks to my face, and strands have found themselves stuck in my mouth. Who knew hair had taste? Bweh.

  I attempt to remember more, but the flashes of recollection come few and far in between. How should one feel after a nightmare? Bothered? Terrified? Tired? Not thankful, right? But I do. Even this unpleasant happening shows me I can be a real person.

  Could go without having to chew keratin, though. A shorter cut should solve my problem, but I like the way long hair looks on me. ...Huh. What an unusual thought. Caring about my appearance was a surprise in and of itself, but having preferences too... Unusual. Or is it?

  Why am I still nibbling on my hair? Strangely comforting. But probably a bad habit. I’ll stop in a bit.

  Stretching my muscles and working my joints, I prepare for the chore that is getting out of bed. ...Way too hard. Does everyone struggle so much with it? I’m just gonna lay here for a while. Maybe the rising boredom will eventually overpower the coziness of my bedding’s embrace. Hasn’t happened yet, but a girl can dream.

  ...’Girl’. One more unusual thing to add to the list. That’s what I was... made as. Do I feel like it because it’s the only thing I’ve known or because it’s true? How is a ‘girl’ supposed to feel? ...Comfort me again, hair!

  Staring at the ceiling does not seem to give me any insight. Nor does browsing the internet inside my head. Could that also be a cause of my reluctance to get up? Surely not.

  A while later, I manage to overcome the challenge, two feet securely set on the carpeted floor.

  With almost all mundane tasks done, I’ve come to an impasse. A piece of fruit is scrutinizingly selected. Squishy. I take a bite. Still don’t see what the big deal is. Drinking’s better. I finish my alleged breakfast, though. No sense in wasting it.

  That completed too, I go over to my favorite room in the house—my studio. Aah. That smell never gets old. Before I can get too distracted by the novel sensation, I grab the material for today. A precise application of mana separates out a lump of stoneware clay and slaps it on the wooden workbench. My fingers knead the extract of earth. This feeling never gets old, either. Not just vague pressure exerted upon a cold form, but something more. Actual touch.

  I sprinkle a dash of my painstakingly developed special powder on the flattened clay and knead it some more, mixing thoroughly. Preparations done, I slap the material on an unpowered wheel and slap myself down on the stool next to it.

  Intent initiates spinning. My fingers begin shaping, assisted with the previous when necessary.

  Wonky. I slap my hand down on the failed creation, returning it back to its primordial existence, ready to be shaped again.

  Less wonky. Slap!

  Least wonky? Thus far. Slap!

  More wonky... Slap!

  You’ll get a passing grade, at least. No slap. I sharpen the form some more and let it firm up.

  Cleanup time. Both the studio and me are spick-and-span in but a few spells and a few rag swipes. Now, what to do while I wait? ...Here I come, internet.

  An alarm going off pulls me out of my deep journey, just when I was about to learn how the printing press revolutionized Earth society. Magic’s much more convenient, but the mechanical has a certain type of charm to it too.

  One trimming and handle attachment later, the cup is ready for another dry. I focus and assist, my mana carefully pulling out moisture. And... No cracks! I’m getting good at this. No waiting all day required. Onto bisque firing. Which, sadly, requires waiting. The piece is gently placed inside my kiln, joining the rest of my attempts. I set my custom program and let it do its thing. Hello again, internet.

  Riveting stuff. Could our world’s significantly stalled technological advancement due to magic have contributed to its relatively more peaceful history when compared to Earth’s? I’m guessing it was a factor, among many others. ...‘Our’. When did I start thinking that? Anyway, Lucius definitely has a relevant paper... Found it.

  Paper’s conclusion—it’s complicated. When is it ever not? While I’m on the topic, might as well dive even deeper.

  ***

  Ah! Pesky alarm. Time really does fly when you are having fun.

  I cautiously open the kiln’s door and find that only two of my works have cracked. The cup is not one of them. Yes!

  Glaze. Dry with a spell. Touch up. Kiln. Custom program. All I can do now is wait for it to be done. ...And hope that nothing explodes.

  In the meantime... What do I do?

  A glance catches my nemesis eyeing me with contempt. I see you too, you dirtball. Tucked in a corner is my quite full bag of porcelain. I know what you’re thinking, ‘Great earth mage that you are, and you still can’t deal with all this.’ Well... At least I’m not an inanimate object!

  That showed ‘em who’s boss. ‘Who’s that, pray tell?’ ...Me. I’m boss.

  Clay’s edible, right? I clack my teeth at the bag. ‘Come and get—’

  What am I doing? ‘Voicing your feelings, even to an inanimate object is still an outlet.’ Quiet, you. We’re supposed to be enemies. ‘Yeah, but like those that aren’t really and that banter constantly.’

  Does clay exude toxic fumes which can alter your mental state? ‘No. And even if it did, it wouldn’t affect you, remember.’ ...I’m leaving. ‘See you later.’ Whatever.

  Where was I... Ah, the ramifications of an accelerated evolutionary process.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  ***

  Bwuh? Where am I? ...Oh, right. Bed again. No trouble getting up today! The anticipation is too great.

  After a hurry to get ready, the door to the kiln is unlatched. I close my eyes and fully open it. Come on... Intact!

  I pull out the most important piece, examining it for any minute imperfections. ...This is stupid. Why did I think that a cup was a good idea? Ugh.

  ‘Looks fine to me.’ Shut up. You are amorphous. You don’t get to have opinions about crystalline substances.

  ‘Actually—’ Oh, shush. I was being non-literal.

  Okay. It’s not too late to think of something else. ...Any moment now. ...I feel it getting closer. ...Uhh. Yeah, I haven’t the foggiest.

  Still racking my mind, I polish up the bottom and give the cup a good wash. Then I poke a round mana crystal into the glossy surface. A slight shimmer fades, imbuing the container with a fairly simple but robust enchantment, offering improved toughness and stain resistance.

  During, no alternative has revealed itself to me. So, I wrap the only one I have and drown my sorrows with the fizziest beverage I have on hand.

  Urp. ...Excuse me. I’ll try and go slower next time.

  ***

  That’s not earthenware! It’s por— Huh? ...I’d really prefer my regular nightmare to whatever this new horror was.

  When the time comes, I store the wrapped cup inside my fold and leave my home. Feel like walking instead of the instantaneous options. Do it too frequently and it starts to feel too disjointed. At least for me personally.

  Weather’s great. I stretch my legs. See what’s happening around. And best of all, I feel the gentle sunlight upon my skin. That one, Lucius did not oversell. No one recognizing me is also nice.

  Knock, knock. Who is it? An interrupted joke. An interrupted—

  “Hi, Mara. Come on in,” Archmage Elisa says.

  “Hello, Archmage. I trust I’m not too early?” I ask as I enter.

  “Not at all. The rest are slowly warping in. We are in the living room.”

  I follow after her, getting myself psychologically ready to mingle. There’s the birthday boy, surrounded by Hall Master Ren, the Rangers—including, I think, Sini’s daughter—Elder Narilis, Miad Stormborn, and...

  “Mara!” Tiff and Nilla exclaim together, having sensed my arrival. Harrn turns to look at me too.

  Ugh... This sucks. “Good evening, everyone.” A jumble of greetings are returned.

  Three dwarves separate from the small group and one elf joins in.

  “How’s everything going?” Nilla asks. “How’s life in Harthes?”

  “A unique experience after the other.”

  “We’ve missed you,” she says. Tiff and Harrn, judging by their expressions, also feel the same.

  “Apologies for my sparse contact,” I say. “Moving and settling has been quite hectic.” They don’t buy it but don’t call me out on it either.

  Tiff asks, “And how’s the...” He points up and down in my general direction.

  “Hm-hm. A lot more unique, if there is such a superfluous descriptor.”

  Harrn adds in a concerned manner, “Our home will always remain open to you, Mara.”

  Before I can reply with more than an unsure nod, a voice cuts in, “Didn’t you forget something?” Lucius has walked over and is now waiting expectantly.

  “Happy birthday,” I reply.

  “Uh-huh. Don’t care about that.” He makes a grabbing motion with both hands. “Gimme.”

  Tiff, Nilla, and Harrn shake their heads in unison, smile at me, and then rejoin the bigger group.

  Lucius subtly ushers me away to the opposite side of the room. Mana acts. I sense the spell only because I am inside of it, cast by the archmage herself, without even moving. The others being distracted by three new arrivals also helps conceal it. Councilor Olindir and Councilor Alcia. The third must be Archmage Elisa’s father.

  “Thank you for the save,” I say.

  “Still feeling awkward?” Lucius asks.

  “Pff... Awkward is an understatement. Utterly embarrassed is closer. Mortified is closest.”

  He offers his empty palm. “You’re overthinking.”

  His gift is placed on the offered spot. “What’s the saying? Like teaching new spells to an old mage.”

  While unwrapping the box, he says, “I would have used the dog one, taking advantage of the ‘guard dog’ connection.” He pauses as he tackles the final bit of wrapping, and when done, continues, “You should just talk to them, he says for the hundredth time.”

  “If you want me to die of embarrassment. Speaking of, what do you think?” I ask with well-hidden dread. He pulls out the cup I made and proceeds to stare at it. “It’s stupid, I know. You don’t have to be polite and fake enthusiasm.”

  “You made this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “For me?”

  “I believe so. Last I checked, it is your birthday we’re celebrating, no?”

  “Thank you, Mara,” Lucius says. I see actual tears gathering at the edges of his eyes.

  “...You’re welcome.” Huh. Either I’m having one of those heart attack things, or my metaphorical heart is literally getting squeezed by emotions.

  The privacy spell disperses. During our brief talk, more of the guests seem to have arrived. Lucius’ human friends, Erysis and Nexen. And five beastfolk. Defensive enchantments reacting, followed by a knock on the door, announces the final one, I think.

  Evidently true, we sit around the long table dominating the cleared-out room, needed to fit so many people. As Lucius starts speaking, he is still protectively clutching his gift from me.

  I managed to take a spot at the corner of the table, far, far away from... Ugh. Seated next to my left is a child. This must be Princess Mi’Min. Perfect.

  “Big Sis, are you the golem?” she whispers while Lucius is still thanking everyone for attending. Not perfect.

  “Yes,” I whisper back. Then I convey my undivided attention by returning to staring at Lucius.

  “Is your body the same as Big Bro’s?” she asks again, not caring about social norms whatsoever.

  Lucius has finished his short speech, and now everyone is talking amongst themselves, taking away my flimsy excuse to not interact.

  “Similar.”

  “Do you also have de— detachable arms and legs?”

  “Wha? I mean, no. Yes? ...Did Lucius show you?”

  “Mm-hmm! Big Bro is funny.”

  “Okay.” Maybe if I start eating, she’ll get distracted.

  “You look sad.”

  “Bwuh?” I choke down the piece of whatever this is as it chokes me too. “I’m not sad.” And, convincing smile, go.

  “Healer Ji’Bviv says no.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Her expression turns strained. After a moment, she says, “You shouldn’t lie, Big Sis.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Is she bothering you, Mara?” Consort Nesh’Mer interrupts my mumbled denial.

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  “Detachable arms,” Mi’Min... explains? Then she attempts to wink at me, closing both eyes one after the other. Okay?

  “Eat your dinner,” Consort Nesh’Mer gently instructs. She smiles at me and returns to her conversation elsewhere.

  By the Goddess’ grace, the meal ends with no further incidents, only a few sentences thrown my way. I continue to prod at a half-eaten... Name still escapes me. Everyone else splits into smaller groups, interspersed all throughout the house, with Lucius moving between each one.

  By the Goddess’ cruelty, he does not skip my lonesome, bringing with him a reciprocal gift. A small beastfolk is dropped in my lap without a word. He runs away before I can protest, a captive by circumstance.

  She is looking up at me with her big eyes, soft tail swishing against my legs.

  “Yes?”

  “Emotional spotter.”

  “Huh?”

  Mi’Min purses her lips. Then her face lights up. “Emotional support!”

  “Oh. I’m fine.”

  “Lying bad,” she says and humphs in satisfaction.

  Then she hugs me. ...Hmm. I’m definitely having a heart attack now. What do I do? She’ll be fine if I teleport away, right? My body decides that the best course of action is to return the hug, instead.

  “It’s okay, Big Sis,” Mi’Min says after a time.

  “Huh?” Oh, I realize I’ve been crying for a while now.

  “Come and get cake!” Lucius calls out to the stragglers from the kitchen.

  “Cake!” Mi’Min exclaims. She looks up at me again. “Cake always makes me feel better.”

  I quickly wipe my face and say, “Let’s go before Archmage Elisa packs it all away.”

  Mi’Min giggles. She then hops off of me and grabs my hand, pulling me along.

  Now in the kitchen, Lucius presents us each with a large piece from an even larger cake. Mi’Min eats a bite and hums in delight. She then waits for my reaction.

  I eat a bite too.

  With a half shrug, I offer my impression, “Eh.”

  Mi’Min beams proudly and pushes me toward three dwarves. They turn to me in surprise.

  Here goes. “Can we talk?”