Astrid Stormstone’s assertion - a claim that seemed to resonate in Morrigan’s mind, not quite a conscious recollection but almost like hearing the faint ringing of the bell through the thick haze of water - was spoken with the utter confidence only born from the naivete of a child. Morrigan was not unaware she’d been through her own hardships, given what they’d gleaned from their dream, and what had come out of her own admission over the course of this adventure. She’d obviously lived on her own, never really known her parents that well… struggled and starved until she and Cantio found their way to one another.

She was familiar with the light of true kindness; Morrigan found freedom in being the one to save themselves.

That was how the world had to work, wasn’t it? People were not naturally inclined to help, or love, and those who thought otherwise were living a blissful illusion. Those who thought otherwise were the exact fools that Morrigan loved most to take advantage of, because it was so terribly easy to spoon feed them their own beliefs for a little bit of coin and adoration.

... And it was precisely those hopeful fools that had become some of Morrigan’s closest companions, despite it all.

They bit their tongue, mostly because they could drag out this tried and true argument for weeks and probably never reach an agreement, because Astrid was so impossibly stubborn and Morrigan suffered the unfortunate affliction of lacking an understanding of true empathy. But they just didn’t have time, or energy, and the compounding situation was wearing their edges thin, and they needed to find a way to break this barrier or else they were liable to throttle their own neck, which was a very confusing emotion.

Of course, because they were prone to bickering, they only switched seamlessly from one argument to another, both fighting to be the one to get the last word. It honestly felt like they’d been arguing about this armor forever, and at this point, Morrigan was really only clinging to their denial to clean because they didn’t want to be the one to cave first. The past week had been so miserable being stuck as a kid again and actually having to sleep in the armor because they couldn’t figure out how to get it off and they didn’t want to have to be vulnerable and ask Astrid how to do that either, so at this point it was really just a battle to see how much one could neglect the other’s routines and idiosyncrasies before the other broke. And missing out on their beauty sleep made them irritable, and Astrid was so damn hungry all the time that their constant dwarven appetite made them cranky, and they just needed a win at this point.

“I -” They paused. “Huh. I don’t actually have any retaliation for that. Except I still disagree because I just don’t want to do that.” They jutted out their lower lip, petulant. “And there’s a perfectly good reason I haven’t taken it off! The reason being that I just don’t want to bother.”

Fat lot of good it did them when they went soaring through the air and hit the wall with enough force to rattle Astrid’s brains in her skill. A temporary emotion, quickly replaced with a cautious, wild thrill that set their heart racing, because they’d just cast a spell. A real, genuine piece of magic. At twelve years old Kaivalya had once nearly burst a blood vessel trying to accomplish something as simple as lighting a candle, and there was enough power in Astrid’s body to blow that out of the water. They ought to have been jealous of her power, because deep down they knew what they’d done wasn’t truly their accomplishment to claim; only a taste of what they’d been missing all their life.

But they found they didn’t care, because it was something. It was real.

“Ack-” They grimaced at being called out for that lapse in attention. Ridiculous Cantio and infecting them with the instinct to hug things out. “Pretend that didn’t happen!” They protested, no real heat in their voice… and any further protest dying on their lips as Astrid sat down and awkwardly patted them on the back. A quiet compliment, but not one spoken in an underhanded tone or meant sarcastically.

“It’s your power.” They mumbled, furiously wiping tears away from their - Astrid’s - cheeks. “I’m just borrowing it for a little while.” They’d never had a problem stealing before. They’d never had anything they wanted quite like this. But it did not feel… right for them to make merry like this was something they’d made happen with their own determination and will. It was Astrid Stormstone’s practice, and Morrigan was merely enjoying the fruits of her labor.

If they didn’t make too big a deal of it, they didn’t have to answer the niggling question in the back of their mind - would they be able to replicate this when they returned to their own body?

The sound of shuffling parchment pulled Morrigan out of their musings, her compliment haunting the back of their mind. She unfolded something that Morrigan could not quite make out, approaching the barrier with a critical eye. Whatever her study yielded, it seemed to give her a better understanding of the spell’s workings. It made sense, the alchemist reasoned. Because of course the barrier would have to be protected against magical attacks in a mage’s tower, because of course this place was meant to be a trap for powerful threats and suchlike. No one ever expected an intruder that could simply eat their magic.

… But Morrigan couldn’t bring themselves to ask Astrid to do that. It was a disgusting thing, the scorpion that devoured their insides. The creature that reared its ugly head only when there were ugly thoughts to draw it out. Hell, Morrigan could not even encapsulate the sensation to Astrid, not when they’d never known anything else to give name to it. The culmination of all their inadequacies, wrapped in a neat pretty bow to a package that they’d done their damnedest to discard.

No.

They could find another way.

“It may be impervious to tampering through magical means, but I’ve a trove of alchemical treasures to throw at it. Perhaps if we tried acid to melt it - Astrid!”

Their musing interrupted by a yelp, Astrid’s name in her own voice in the instant they turned around to find her eyes closed, face scrunched in concentration, opening the door to that yawning cavern, her unpleasant hate and self pity the shovel to dig deeper the pit that would absorb the formulae. And from the outside, Morrigan experienced for the first time the sense of pure wrongness that the Unweaving caused. In a world where magic seeped into the core of every being, was it not only natural that living things knew when something didn’t belong? Could they not see the stain in the tapestry?

And if Morrigan was feeling it in Astrid’s body that only meant she’d found what she was looking for.

“No! Stop, you moron! I’m actually trying to help you here!” They hissed between sharpened teeth that were not their own, hands flying up on instinct as if to pry themselves away - reconsidered, because they didn’t want to break their own wrist with Astrid’s titanic strength. If she could hear them she made no indication of such.

And it was working, much to their surprise. Morrigan could see the barrier flickering, giving weak protest to Astrid’s attempts to break it apart. But it wasn’t enough to dissipate the tower’s enchantment completely. They needed more firepower.

They needed something to weaken it.

Morrigan was not certain it would work, but they had to do something. When breaking past defenses, there was always something in the setup that was overlooked. A blind spot. Astrid was pulling it apart at the seams, but she would not be able to finish the job while the barrier was focused on her.

Funny, really, how holding it in the palm of their hand had given Morrigan insight to how it felt. Less a learned knowledge from a book and more a feeling when looking at the principle parts of an equation and understanding how it made a solution - the barrier breathed, lived, adapted. Constantly adjusted itself to make it impervious to any spell.

But if Morrigan pulled its attention elsewhere…

They had to try.

Morrigan glanced at Astrid, who’d so stubbornly ignored their warning to grasp the mana curse, and why? To prove that she wasn’t weak? To prove that she could do it? Or could it be as simple as her trying to free them? It didn’t matter. Morrigan gripped Astrid’s gauntlet, one hand in the other, closing their eyes in concentration while they thought of the barrier.

Happy thought. Conjure a happy thought.

It was easier the second time once the first had caused such a prevalent memory. It was not difficult to conjure the memory of wind in the air and a genuine compliment; not borne of someone placating them because Astrid didn’t care enough about their feelings to feed them lies. The very same idiot who was going to hurt herself, and the happiness turned to irritation and above all, determination. That same foreign sensation spread, like a bolt of lightning cracking through the air, and that lightning had struck a tree and sparked a wildfire which showed no signs of stopping, and it burned, and Morrigan couldn’t breathe, but they sent a mental apology to Astrid Stormstone for the injuries on her hand - because even though they’d somehow channeled lightning to her gauntlet they’d not figured out how how to shield themselves from getting hurt - and raised the gauntlet.^[1]

And they smashed it into the barrier with a scream.

---

1. Charged Object - Gauntlet

Astrid doesn’t need to be in her own body to suffer the dwarven flaw of being absolutely stubborn and unyielding. It’s a trait that has served her well and in some cases even kept her alive. It also means that she would rather die than let Morrigan Moonweaver win a single argument against her. At worst, things come to a draw. At best, Astrid absolutely eviscerated them with little to no remorse.

Meaningless bickering aside, Morrigan isn’t wrong that the power they drew on to cast magic for the first time is hers, but she still somehow disagrees with their despondence. As she stands, she says, “Aye, maybe it’s mine, but it took me a lot longer ta conjure up magic on me own than it just took ya, so that’s still somethin’ ta be proud of.” It feels odd to encourage Morrigan of all people, but she is honest about her thoughts and feelings around them more than probably anyone else. It’s a strange juxtaposition to have such distaste for someone that she doesn’t feel the need to sugarcoat anything. She is just honest.

Which means that being honest with herself about her hurt is something extremely challenging for her. She tries so hard not to dwell on it, to move on and not let negative experiences drag her down when her life has been so much better by simply finding a way to move forward. Sometimes she wonders if she pushes on too much. Maybe it’s just that classic dwarven stubbornness that keeps her from dealing with all of her emotions. Maybe it’s classic dwarven behavior to bury the things that you can’t fight with a weapon.

Tears force their way out of their ducts, running silently down Morrigan’s face while Astrid stares at the magical barrier with intense focus. She won’t allow this power that Morrigan fears to consume her or them. This burden is their power, their own form of magic, even if it’s the kind that tears at the threads of reality and warps the weave. Power is power, and magic doesn’t have to be the only kind! Words have power. Thoughts have power. Emotions have power. All someone needs to do is learn to manifest it and stop fearing the pain that might come along with it because fear is what allows them to be consumed.

And. Astrid. Is. Not. Afraid.

A child hero, a god killer, a renowned adventurer, none of these things matter to her nearly as much as being a part of a family where she is loved. Magic and gods aside, that is her power. That is her driving force. So if Morrigan manifested it, then they have that power too as far as she’s concerned.

“Help me by not bein’ a coward!” Astrid shouts over the whipping wind that snapping threads of magic conjure. “Ya have power! This is yer power! Quit bein’ afraid of it ‘cause yer the only one that gets a say in what it does!” Resistance from the barrier takes the form of a bright light that pulses violently. A sound reminiscent of electricity buzzes in the air as things heat up, but still, Astrid does not stop. “Quit bein’ worried about what ya can’t do, an’ start worryin’ about what ya can do! An’ what ya can do is help me break us outta here!!”

And so they do. Whatever they need to think about, Morrigan finds the strength to manifest magic, this time something offensive but powerful, and in Astrid’s small body, they charge forward and smash into the barrier. Astrid matches their energy, screaming and keeping Morrigan’s much less sturdy body upright and absorbing this magic as much as she can. Feed the beast, overstuff it, overwhelm the barrier, and LET THEM GO!!

The barrier explodes with such a force that it throws them both back, the warded wall of light shattering like glass. Astrid feels her vision blur, blinded without the protection of her goggles, as she’s thrown back. It’s almost as if she stared straight at the lightning forge and then at the sun. Her skin feels singed, burned from the explosion, but it isn’t any worse than an uncomfortable sunburn. As she opens her eyes and looks up, she see’s the barrier’s remnants sprinkling down in a gentle shower of sparkles and motes of light that are warm to the touch.

She’s breathing hard, having exerted a lot of energy into that catastrophe, and she sits up. Hearing a familiar clacking of metal on metal, she looks over to see if Morrigan is alright in her body only to realize that the one making all the noise is her. When she looks down, she sees the last arcs of lightning on her gauntlet fading away. Wait. Her gauntlet.

“MORRIGAN!”

Astrid whips up onto her feet and looks around for the Fellblood, realizing that the world is right side up again, and she feels oddly very heavy in her own body. Fishing the wolf head pendant out from under her cuirass as she stumbles across the wrinkled rug, she taps the nose and her armor disappears off her person just as she collapses on her knees next to the Fellblood.

“Oi! Sit yer skinny arse up!”

---

Immovable bastion
I didn’t name the pendant yet but it stores armor

There was a funny sort of irony in being trapped with a person that you did not get along with. For Morrigan, this happened more often than one might think - in part because their insufferable personality meant that being in a room with most people meant others felt trapped in their presence. This fact was neither here nor there, but it was not entirely unrelated. But the fates certainly had their laughs when they wanted, and they’d derived more than enough amusement from this particularly tangled debacle. Not only throwing Morrigan into the body of a child that despised them, but giving them just a taste of something they’d coveted nearly their entire life - an amuse bouche, as it were, of what their life might have been like had they not been stricken by an affliction that had fundamentally altered the course of their life.

And even more amusing, that in this moment, as Astrid harnessed their curse better than they’d ever been capable of, through gritted teeth would be the one to utter words that halted them in their tracks.

Flattery was one thing when it came from the mouth of someone that blindly adored you. It was another thing entirely from someone that hated your guts.

The worst part was that Morrigan knew she wasn’t wrong. They’d grown up under the guiding hands and deceitful mouths of desert merchants; fought for any scrap of cunning and power from the tutelage of circus charlatans. They’d be stupid not to use any boon to their advantage and this curse was not so different. It just wasn’t the power they’d wanted.

It was hard not to feel that way when Charon’s backbone was magic itself. When greatness equaled the ability to split seas and conjure illusions at one’s fingertips, to harness blessings from dead gods and rain fire from the sky. People could pretend that the world was not so singular, and yet it was the mage’s guild whose members served as court sorcerers, advisors, puppets to the crown, all because the crown recognized that they were powerful and learned. That was the claim to fame. That was the standard.

But when had Morrigan ever been part of the standard?

In a twisted sort of way, Astrid was right. Morrigan could keep lusting after something they’d never achieve… or they could be the thorn in the side of everyone in Charon who depended so thoroughly on magic.

No time to think about that now, though. Astrid was pushing their own body to its limits, and Morrigan didn’t have to guess the toll absorbing that much magic was having on her - their - body, though she was the one feeling all of it. They’d warned her, forgetting their stubborn streak, forgetting that her constitution meant she was overexerting herself and doing absolutely stupid things like harnessing an ability that would eat her up from the inside if she wasn’t careful.

They could introspect and feel sorry for themselves after they broke this stupid barrier. Morrigan was tired of feeling trapped. They’d spent their entire godsdamned life stuck, from being locked in their bedroom by parents that thought the best way to care for them would be to stick them on a shelf like a porcelain doll. To feeling trapped in their own shitty body that refused to cooperate no matter how much glitter Morrigan smeared over it to feel normal. They refused to be trapped in this stupid room, too. With an angry yell that sounded more like a string of expletives in the infernal tongue than anything in common, Morrigan poured all the mana they could into the barrier, directly counteracting Astrid’s absorption. Just a little more, they just needed to add a little more, just a little more -

In hindsight, the barrier exploding ought to have been an expected outcome.

Morrigan’s world tilted on its axis with a violent lurch, every single bone in their body screaming from the abuse, electricity and light and power hitting them like one of Fish’s explosions. Wasn’t Astrid’s armor supposed to protect them from this sort of thing? Was the entire point of sacrificing fashion for function so that one didn’t hurt as much when taking hits? When all was said and done they were going to have some choice words for her about how shitty that armor was…

… Was the chamber spinning, or was it just them?

-But then someone familiar called their name.

Morrigan blinked to awareness, sluggish. They were lying on their back on the ground, little motes of light falling from the sky like stars, fizzling and dying out where they touched Morrigan. Movement shifted to their side, and with a jolt Morrigan realized that someone had moved to sit next to them. Must have been Astrid. Though the voice was insulting them seemed rather odd.

It took a shamefully embarrassing long time for Morrigan to realize that the voice Astrid was speaking with was in fact, not their own with her accent but her actual pre-teen voice, but they would blame that on the concussion.

Wait.

Morrigan shrieked, all pain forgotten as they jolted upright and immediately knocked their skull against Astrid’s in their haste. Nope, didn’t matter, not even the blossoming bruise in their forehead because it was actually their forehead to bruise. Wrapping their arms around themselves , Morrigan’s tail swished behind them almost like a cat’s, a relieved grin on their face.

“I’m me again! Oh, thank Ginma - if I had to spend another hour as a preteen again, I was liable to riot - I mean, erm, yay, we’re back in our bodies!”

And everything hurt like Astrid had rammed them repeatedly into a wall. They opened their mouth as if to demand why the hell she’d been so rough with their delicate senses, but somehow the quip just… didn’t feel prudent, given the circumstances. So instead they held out their palm, the sunlight tattoo etched in ink on the skin illuminating with a small mote of light.^[1] Just enough to allow their eyes to adjust and survey the surroundings of the room they’d ended up in.

The explosion had not teleported them, a small miracle - rather, it had merely dropped them from the roof when the gravity reversal charm holding them aloft fell apart. The explosion itself had wrecked this room, sending books and shelves and magical instruments scattered everywhere. Still-burning remnants of papers drifted through the air, and Morrigan’s mouth tasted like they’d just imbibed a handful of explosive Dragon’s Cradle pop rocks from all the magic in the air.

The good news - whatever they’d done to the barrier had broken the spell from the Monkey’s Paw… somehow. Morrigan did not have time to think on the logistics of why that effect was achieved, but hey. Two birds, one stone. The bad news - though the barrier was gone, the Black Spire creaked and groaned dangerously, like old bones settling and popping upon moving after hours of rest. Or perhaps centuries.

Breaking whatever had been powering that nifty little enchantment didn’t sit right with the tower.

Morrigan grimaced, annoyed. It might not be an immediate problem… but it didn’t bode well, and they had still yet to obtain what they’d come here for. Morrigan turned the mote of light to their bag, rustling through it for two vials of lavender-colored liquid. One proceeded to Astrid, and the other, for themselves.^[2]

“It’s real.” They promised - an olive branch and a snippy remark all at once. “Here, I’ll drink it and show you.” With their thumb they deftly popped off the cork of their vial and downed it in one sip, the aches and pains immediately lessening. They gestured towards hers, an expression on their face somewhere between serious and contemplative.

“For your arm. And your head. And, uh… everything. I do have something stronger, should you require it.” It was difficult for the charlatan to say thank you, or sorry, as evidenced by Cantio and Astrid’s romp through their dream. But there was a part of them, no matter how difficult to quantify, that was appreciative of what Astrid had tried to do for them. Giving them a chance to understand, no matter how small, what it felt like to cast magic. Reminding them of their own values and what they let hold them back.

They heaved a sigh, not wanting to pull themselves to their feet just yet. Fingers tapped against the glass of the empty vial.

“The mana curse is unbreakable, you know. That’s what all my sources say. I’d hoped to find something that contradicts that here, but I always knew those chances were slim. I just did not want to accept it. And you… you gave me something that no one else has ever been able to. You lifted it, even if only for a moment. I might not be able to break mine, but I swear - a favor given is a favor owed. I’m going to help you learn more about yours. I’m going to help you break it.”

---

1. Lantern Light Tattoo
2. Minor Healing Potion (2/2) - one given to Astrid Stormstone

Morrigan’s immediate reaction upon realizing that they are back in their own body is no surprise to Astrid. She doesn’t bother to hide the heavy eye roll that turns her whole neck, but somehow the hint of a smile crosses her freckled cheeks. “I wasn’t too keen on spendin’ much longer in a body that’ll break if ya breath on ‘em the wrong way,” she snarks back, though it’s playful in tone, which is unlike most of her other snarking in the past. “Long as nothin’s broken, I think we’re alright.”

Sitting back on her knees, Astrid lets out a sigh of relief. How the exploding barrier broke the curse? She’s not sure. Maybe all the magical strands were weaved together and blown apart and the natural configurations realigned themselves. Maybe in the heat of the moment, the two of them satisfied whatever the paw wanted from them. They both learned something about each other, and they got to experience something that few others would ever really comprehend. To go from being ingrained in magic to having none and vice-versa.

Gods, it feels nice to have the natural hum of electricity present again.

Now, Morrigan offering up a healing potion to an otherwise largely unscathed Astrid does not go unnoticed. Despite their insistence that it is real, she believes them, which is something hard said for Astrid to do in believing Morrigan. “Thanks,” she says simply, taking it. “Shouldn’t need much more, but I appreciate it.” Her armor took the brunt of the explosion for her, leaving just her hair and face speckled with a caking of magical dirt and dust. But she’s no longer wearing it, having stored it away, so her face looks disgusting compared to the pristine condition of her clothes.

Rubbing a smattering of dirtiness away from her mouth, Astrid drinks the potion and feels the exhaustion of a few bad nights’ sleeps fade away. “Gods, ya really didn’t sleep a wink, did ya?” she says, stifling a chuckle. “No wonder ya were so crabby.” She scratches an itch on her side that Morrigan's probably been struggling to get at for days.

The creaking of the tower hardly bothers her. What’s being trapped under a little rubble after being trapped in the body of your arch nemesis?

When Morrigan finally speaks again, breaking the long and thoughtful silence that lingers between the two of them, Astrid looks at them. “Curse or not, it’s still yer power,” she says with a shrug. “But still…” She looks at her own empty vial in her hands. “I’m glad ya got a chance ta try out a bit a’ magic. It's pretty neat, ain't it?”

Looking up at the last floating motes of light that drift down from the ceiling, Astrid continues, not despondent or resolved, just contemplative. “I don’t even know if I’m cursed or not, an’ if I am, I dunno if it needs ta be broken. I s’pose I just wanna learn more about it if it’s true. I mean… It ain’t stopped me from doin’ nothin’ yet, an’ I won’t let it. But if it… I dunno, if it’s gonna do somethin’ ta me that’ll hurt people I care about, then I do wanna break it. So all that ta say… Thanks.”

The last few days may have been miserable, but the reprieve in actually getting along with Morrigan for ten minutes is nice to say the least.

They shot Astrid an exaggerated roll of their eyes at the implication they were born with glass bones and paper skin. It was not untrue that they’d grown up a little physically weaker and more stunted than their peers, something they’d only recently attributed to the consequences of their curse. Probably. It seemed likely that healthy development had been impacted by a lack of magical strength to aid in their health. Whatever the reason, it had certainly resulted in a svelte, waifish figure which they certainly put a lot of pride in.

They flipped their braid dismissively over their shoulder, quite grateful that they could indulge in the action once more. “Sacrifices all in the sake of being beautiful.” They boasted, flexing their hand experimentally. “But, uh, no broken fingers or limbs.” They almost sounded begrudgingly impressed at that, as if they’d expected Astrid’s careless and headstrong demeanor to result in more than a few bruises. But it looked like most of their injuries had resulted from the breaking of the barrier and the fall to the ground…

Speaking of, how had that broken the spell they’d found themselves under? The crux of the monkey’s paw was that it granted you your wish by twisting your words in a way you did not expect. Morrigan had not asked what Astrid wished for to inadvertently cause such a thing to happen, but the act of breaking the barrier did not seem like it ought to have worked. Not that they were eager to look a gift horse in the mouth! But they were a bit confused as to how it had all worked. Either it was the influx of energies from magic and antimagic working in tandem, or they’d satisfied some sort of requirement that had arisen from Astrid’s wish.

“Astrid Stormstone…” They hummed. “I never did ask what you requested of the monkey’s paw, however inadvertently. I just want to make sure we’ve satisfied the requirements of it… if this swap back is temporary, for lack of a more tactful way to put it, I think I may gouge my eyeballs out.” In their panic about breaking the monkey’s paw they hadn’t even given much thought to the original wish, assuming it had been some pox on Morrigan or some kind of insult. Perhaps they should have considered it. If they had, then it was possible they could have even broken the spell earlier…

“Well excuse me for finding your armor to be the most uncomfortable hunk of metal known to man. At least your father had the right idea outfitting you in a portable fortress. When you go bouncing around like a dwarven comet it is no surprise he’s child-proofed your attire.” The gripe held no real fire in it, merely a snippy reply for the sake of being the one to get the last laugh. They ought to have felt a little guilty Astrid was so tired but then again, Morrigan was a little beat up too from that stunt she pulled in pushing their curse to its limits, so they were even on that regard.

They fell quiet when Astrid repeated what she’d told them earlier in the heat of the moment.

“Well I know that now.” They scoffed, relying on their own self-inflated ego once more to cover up the ugly insecurities bleeding from the cracks at the still-genuine assertion. “But growing up, that was not what had been imprinted on me. Hell, I did not even have a name for this malady until your… grandmother started poking around in my memories and diagnosed it for me. A bit hard to accept the very thing that’s put a damper on all your goals and ambitions, but since I’m virtually perfect in every other way I suppose the universe had to give me something to humble me.” A bold statement for someone who seemed allergic to the word humble. “And I am tired of feeling sorry for myself if it’s something I cannot change. Every tool at your disposal, no?”

They did flash her a wicked grin at the question of whether or not it was neat. “It was quite magical, I guess you could say.” They accentuated their joke with a wiggle of perfectly manicured fingers that got even more inexplicable glitter everywhere. “And given I’ll likely not get the chance to do it again, I will not forget it. Do not take what you have for granted, understand?” She clearly didn’t, not with the severity and heaviness she spoke about it, but Morrigan still felt the warning was prudent.

Well. At least she did not seem particularly depressed at the discussion of her ‘curse’, whatever it was or wasn’t. Morrigan shrugged. “Some people find comfort in giving name to the unknown.” Certainly not Morrigan, who preferred to bury their problems where the sun didn’t shine, but that’s what they’d heard from other people. “If not here, I’ve got contacts in Sol City. They can probably start searching through archival records in your family’s name. If this bloodline curse came from some wrong that your clan committed, there’s a chance we might find record of a literal crime that was levied against the crown, or an incident report, or… something. Maybe they even pissed off some ancient court wizard. But we can work our way back from there.”

Maybe it was a real curse, maybe it wasn’t; but one thing was clear. Whatever uneasy conclusion the two of them had reached, the bad blood had probably been put aside for now. Neither of them would ever like each other and they didn’t have to. But they had people in common they cared about. Cantio, Kvasir… the knightly fellow that Astrid was friends with that Morrigan had met a couple of times, that guy probably counted. Yet instead of basking in the newfound peace, there was only one thing Morrigan could think as they assessed their situation. Hell yeah, I buried the hatchet first! Suck it, Astrid Stormstone, I’ve won at being the bigger person!

They stood, holding the mote of sunlight in their palm up to get a better look at the room around them. The tower creaking did not inspire confidence. This place was ancient, practically abandoned, but it did not mean dead. Ancient mages sought to protect their secrets even beyond the grave. Well, that just made Morrigan all the more determined to steal them. They’d come here for a reason, and they’d already solved one pesky problem that they’d been dealing with. All they had to do was nab a couple of books and get the hell out of dodge before things went even more tits up, yeah?

“Now, come on. Let’s go steal from a bunch of crusty dead guys.”

Snarking aside, it feels good to be back where they’re both meant to be. Whether or not they’ll figure out what resolved their problem or not is an entirely different case. It could be any number of things combined, and Astrid largely considers it resolved until Morrigan asks directly what she wished for. The girl freezes up, entirely missing the last jab they make as she thinks back to how the situation happened in the first place.

“Least people don’t like you ‘cause yer an arse, not ‘cause yer a half somethin’. Wish I knew what bein’ a whole anythin’ was like.”

Gods, she can’t tell Morrigan she said that, can she? Her eyes stay low, searching the ground, following patterns in the stone and threadbare rugs while her mind tries to figure out what she should say. Something that Astrid struggles with, that she knows she struggles with, is being vulnerable. It’s taken a lot to be open with the people she loves and cares a lot about, and Morrigan is… Well, they don’t exactly fall in that bucket. To come to them and ask for help in the first place meant swallowing her pride and accepting that they’re probably the only person who could help her. A moment of vulnerability and lamenting is what got the two of them into this situation.

But… It was only moments ago that they shared a different kind of vulnerability together. So Astrid takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Her voice is quiet as she admits, “I… wished I knew what it was like bein’ ...whole.”

Little did she know that Morrigan never really felt whole themselves. The two of them have certain amounts of emptiness that can’t be filled by any usual means, and while Astrid tries not to focus hard on not knowing her origins, it is something that bothers her at times. Cantio is the father she needs and wants and loves with all her heart, but that doesn’t stop her from wondering who her birth father is as if it will give her something that Cantio can’t even if he wants to. Cantio can’t offer her closure to things she doesn’t know.

“Um, it’s stupid,” Astrid finally says, rubbing her nose and realizing that her eyes burn with the temptation to form tears. “It’s fixed, so it ain’t matter anymore anyway. We figured it out or broke the magic somehow. I dunno.” She lets out a long, defeated sigh. Through all this, she wonders if that wish wasn’t selfish in a way, something inconsiderate to the people who are in her life, who fill her up with happiness and love and build her into the little dwarven comet she is.

After everything she’s gone through with Morrigan, maybe that stupid monkey’s paw just wanted to demonstrate that neither of the two of them aren’t whole.

As soon as they’re done here, she wants to go straight home and get a big hug from Cantio. His hugs always make her feel better no matter how big or small the situation is.

“Um, anyway, guess we’ve got some curses ta figure out, don’t we?” she says, finally acknowledging the whole root of what brought them together in the first place. “I’d like ta find the source or a name fer the curse if it's even that or whatever else we can find. Might help me figure out what happened ta… the rest a’ me clan.” Pushing herself up to her feet, Astrid rubs her nose with one hand and offers a hand to Morrigan to pull them to their feet – if they would even accept the help. “S’posedly, I’m the last Stormstone. An’ that don’t… sit right, I guess.” Especially since her mother was a dwarf of the same clan as far as she knows. “I’ll take what we can get. Even if it’s outta the hands of a bunch a’ crusty dead guys.”

Astrid fell quiet; almost concerningly so, if concern were one of the emotions in Morrigan’s repertoire. They settled for something as close to tact as they could while Astrid Stormstone closed her eyes, suddenly bashful, as if she was admitting to some horrible crime. In a way, being vulnerable around Morrigan Moonweaver almost was shameful, because you could never be sure if you were going to get their scorn, or what they considered pity - either way, it was a losing game. They’d honestly intended to tease her, or throw another jab at her.

Then Astrid said something Morrigan was not expecting to hear.

They’d known Astrid for… all of a few months, perhaps, since their first unfortunate meeting in the Desert Rose. The two had clashed, argued, and gotten into petty disagreements like two squabbling children. It was true Morrigan did not like Astrid, in the sense that she was stubborn, clung to her sense of morality and other boring shit, and took time and attention away from the people whom Morrigan craved it from, as petty and childish as it was. They’d never quite learned how to share.

But she’d never given them the aura of someone so insecure.

Never had she given the impression that she was like them.

Once upon a time, Kaivalya had been plagued with such thoughts they could not understand, either. Why they’d been born so empty. Why, despite their best efforts, they’d never felt right in their own body. Why they’d been the runt-child, the husk, the one who did not fit in the picture-perfect family. They’d been spending their entire life searching for that feeling externally to fill the gaps; never to find it, only left a bitter and shallow adult, who was now here with the unfortunate task of trying to figure out how to comfort the emotional child who - against all odds - reminded Morrigan of Kaivalya.

They ought to have changed the subject, but… ughhhhhhhh, feelings sucked. It wasn’t pity Morrigan felt in that moment, but against all odds, empathy. They thought. Maybe. Tact was not something they were familiar with either, so they settled for looking her straight in the eyes, an uncharacteristically stony expression on their face.

“Listen to me. You are whole. You’ve got parts you don’t understand but they’re still parts of you - and there’s literally no one else in the world who’s got all those parts the way you do. That’s what makes life so interesting! Everyone is made of parts they’ve collected and give meaning to by themselves.”

And Morrigan… had always felt they’d lacked that. But that, perhaps, wasn’t necessarily true. They’d always felt spurned by their lack of magic, but it had driven them to join the circus, to alchemy. And Morrigan was a fucking awesome person not despite Kaivalya but because of it.

So, no. They didn’t feel they were whole but maybe one day they could be.

They cleared their throat, pressing a hand to their chest. “My point is, I’ve never thought I was whole. That my life would be better if I was someone like… like you!” Which was probably why the monkey’s paw had switched them. They both sought meaning elsewhere. “Someone who just looked like it all came so easy to them, who had everything Kaivalya wanted when they were a kid. Don’t kill yourself trying to find meaning from ancestors and blood who never knew about or cared about you when you’ve got shit in the present worth a damn. Don’t be like me, Astrid. I’m a bastard and a scumbag and a lying cheat, right?”

They straightened; their face flushing a deep crimson as they realized what they’d said and done. Lying and flattering strangers for the sake of fame and money came as naturally as breathing to them, but that - something about that left them feeling winded, stretched too thin, like spiced bread dough kneaded out until the light could seep through the beaten material. They turned away, unable to look at Astrid anymore.

“It’s not stupid.” It’s haunted me my entire life. “You can seek answers if you desire, but no one but you can ascribe meaning to it. You’re the last Stormstone but you’re the first Lumen-Stormstone. Your ancestors faced misery and misfortune so you you could live. Dwarf, fellblood, demon, cursed, uncursed, whatever - it’s all just a sign you conquered your parts and found true happiness despite it all. And no matter what you find it will never stop being the truth, because it’s what you made for yourself, damn the fates and anyone else that dictates you can’t have it!”

They accepted Astrid’s help to get to their feet, brushing dust and residue from the explosion off of their outfit before setting off at a brisk pace. “Now, come on. Let’s find out what we can on this curse so you can make it your bitch.”

It took longer than Morrigan would have liked to find the books they’d been searching through before they were whisked away, mainly because they were usually so absorbed in themselves that they weren’t paying attention to their surroundings. It made the fellblood notoriously abysmal at directions. But they found it easily enough - after a few minutes of searching they spotted the bookshelf that the two had knocked over earlier in their haste. With renewed passion, the fellblood started collecting books and tucking them in their bag, their mind working on overdrive; a fact only belied by their tail swishing furiously behind them. Every so often they’d appraise a book’s title, decide it wasn’t appropriate, and haphazardly toss it behind them with little concern for the belongings of old dead asshole mages.

The collection wasn’t much; but it was a start. They startled, as if only now just realizing something. “Oh! I’m going to need a sample of your blood, too, if you don’t mind. Historical research is one thing but my work with the Consortium is focused on, uh…”

The isolation and suppression of magic and divinity, an endeavor undertaken to figure out how to mitigate the effects of Kasra’s influence on Kvasir.

“Magical suppression. Give me a sample and there’s a chance I can figure out more about the magical circumstances to your curse. I doubt alchemy alone could break it, but it’s possible I could make a concoction to reduce the adverse effects.”

For Morrigan, the closest thing Astrid has ever had to an arch-nemesis, to come forward and offer her words of comfort and support – Heck, for Astrid to have done the very same for them just a few minutes ago! – is very strange for Astrid. For a moment, she can’t help but wonder if that stupid monkey’s paw did more than just body swap them, but anything more than that would have just been extreme. The thing wanted to teach them a lesson, and it’s a lesson that it seems like the two of them have learned and want to make sure the other understands.

Finding understanding together is the weirdest part of it all, honestly.

Astrid wipes her eyes because dammit, how is Morrigan the one being supportive through all of this? How are they saying things that make her want to cry because they hit so deep, not because they’re mean or frustrating. Gah! The half-dwarf lets out a frustrated laugh as she wipes her tears. “This is so backwards,” she manages finally, stifling the laugh but just letting it out again when she sees Morrigan blushing deeply. “Who knew we’d be so stupid alike?” she asks with disbelief and a shake of her head.

When her laughter subsides, Astrid takes a deep breath and nods. “If me ancestors an’ I survived all the stuff thrown our way ta make me into who I am, then Kaivalya did the same fer you.” Standing up, she dusts herself off and takes a deep breath, then she looks at Morrigan again, this time with a bit more seriousness. “Ya don’t hafta push that part a’ ya down. They’re just as much you as the grown part is. Pretendin’ that part a’ yer life were a different person don’t do nothin’ fer ya.”

For Astrid, it comes from an odd place to tell Morrigan to accept that part of them as still them. She, a Stormstone, abandoned by the only other Stormstone she’s ever heard of or known, to still own the name despite growing past it, could be argued that she’s struggling to let go. But… half-dwarf as she may be, she’s still as proud and stubborn as any other dwarf, and heritage is one of the most important things to dwarven culture. If the clan is long gone, then it’s up to her to keep it from dying permanently. If it’s going to be a mark in a history book, then she’s going to make it a bold one that’s impossible to forget.

“Anyway, I hope maybe one day ya wanna take back yer old self again,” she says with a shrug before they launch into their search for anything of value in the crumbling tower.

It goes… Well, it goes faster once Astrid creates half a dozen Replicants to aid in the search. After days outside of her own body, it feels great to be herself again. If the monkey’s paw did one thing, it certainly made her appreciate who she is physically. Though, she’s confused when Morrigan asks for a sample of her blood. “Whyyy…?” Astrid asks hesitantly, and to her surprise, she gets a straightforward enough reply from Morrigan.

Huh… “I don’t think I’d thought about usin’ resources from the Consortium fer that kinda thin’...” she says thoughtfully. Lately, a lot of her efforts have been focused on studies in the Mage’s Guild as she improves Buttfellow’s design with different Arcanatek applications. For a moment, part of her wonders if they want her blood specifically to make an anti-Astrid potion, which would be understandable after she and Cantio broke into Morrigan’s house (a habit she has developed for some reason).

“Well, alright, but maybe not in this dusty ol’ place, huh? Lemme carry the books back ta yer place, yeah? Then maybe we can figure out somethin’ ta do with that ol’ paw that pulled the switcheroo on us.”

---

Note: Astrid will be making them each a use of Elsewhere Juice after making this noble suggestion of carrying their books cross-country

Morrigan Moonweaver was many things.

Not-Wizard, proud Zeinavian, circus member, child of merchants, fake diviner, liar, cheat, coward, greedy, whimsical, inconsistent, lover of people and life and the stories they all carried. Each and every one unique, and all part of the great tapestry of life. Morrigan had learned long ago how to read people - in the darkened tents of the Dreamscape Bazaar, under Madam Medb’s tutelage. Understanding their hopes and dreams, their insecurities and pasts, only from a few words was an essential skill to being able to feed them exactly what they wanted. Stories were fun little pieces of people to collect, means to an end.

Kvasir’s was the first story Morrigan had ever collected not for their own sake. Cantio’s, second. And now, Astrid’s, third.

No one could ever accuse them of having tact. But what Morrigan lacked in sensitivity they made up for in the desire for one to forge their own identity. Belief was what drew truth from illusion. If someone wanted a story to be true, then all they needed to do was make it so. Perhaps therein lied Morrigan’s deepest insecurities, that they’d never been able to make their oldest, most childish dream come true. Kaivalya had dreamed for so long of being someone powerful; respected; loved.

Kaivalya was gone now. But their hopes and wishes had brought Morrigan here, to this point, where they could start pursuing what they truly wanted.

Morrigan snickered as Astrid burst out into startled laughter, voicing the absurdity of the entire situation. It was ridiculous. When Morrigan met Astrid in the Desert Rose Apothecary, they knew straight away that the two would only get along when the world was burning in hell. Maybe hell was here - or perhaps they’d simply grated at one another due to the similarities they didn’t want to admit. And yes, perhaps they also grated against one another because Morrigan hated snot-nosed brats who stuck that snotty nose in places it didn’t belong, but you know. They were having a touching moment right now. Mutual understanding and all that jazz.

“It is very backwards.” Morrigan agreed with a huff. Between this and the search for the Phoenix, I’ve been quite tapped out of spiritual, soul-searching journeys for the rest of ever.

They wrinkled their nose when Astrid expressed that they were here because of Kaivalya. Cantio had said the same thing. “I am a different person from them.” Morrigan insisted, stubborn. “They were a mute, a crybaby, a pushover. Everything I, Morrigan, am not.”

They turned away from her, remembering hours spent in darkened rooms, the sound of laughter and mirth outside, all for the sake of their safety. They remembered not even knowing they were a person until their parents finally thought to give them a name.

“Then again… they lived a life of complacency and mediocrity until the moment that mattered.” A pinch of stolen sleeping draught in the curry, and they were free in the night. “So I suppose I owe them that much.” It wasn’t an entire concession, but it was the kindest Morrigan had ever spoken about that child in their life. Where Astrid stubbornly clung to the past because those threads mattered to her, Morrigan always looked towards the future. The next big thing, the next sensation, the next story.

“We’ll see.” They murmured, their voice quiet. Kaivalya died so they could live, but it was nice to know someone was rooting for the little guy. “And with any luck, Astrid Stormstone, your clan will proper once more.”

Final words that led them into their investigation. The Astarmy spread out through the library, looking for anything of note, while the lone, single Morrigan eventually began slacking off, delegating the search to the Astrids while they filed their nails with the blade on their tail. Astrid had truly let their fashion get out of disarray while they were swapped. They pressed a hand to their chest in mock offense when Astrid regarded them in suspicion. “Why, Astrid Stormstone, I’m shocked! After all that we’ve been through together, I’m saddened you’d think so little of me…“

She relaxed when they explained their intentions, though still looked wary about the idea. Morrigan resisted the urge to mention that the solution would likely involve the use of their own blood, too. It might not go anywhere, but they could certainly try. “Most of my tools were filched from the Consortium - I mean, generously donated by the Consortium so I could continue my scholarly work on the road. Though I’ve not had much of a breakthrough… every spell has a unique script, and it’s one I’m beginning to realize I cannot read.”

They wrinkled their nose in derision at that fact.

Oh, well. They’d mastered alchemy, the chemistry of magic, out of sheer stubbornness and the determination to be great. They could figure this out, too.

They brightened at the suggestion they leave this spooky place behind. “I can do it in my wagon!” They suggested brightly, though that was likely no comfort to Astrid, who’d seen the messiness of their wagon firsthand. Something was… fishy, about Astrid’s suggestion, but hey - Morrigan would never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if it meant Astrid would have to do all of the labor and they wouldn’t. With a wicked smile on their face, they dropped the heavy tomes into her arms. “Don’t mind if I do! We’ve a long walk ahead of us…”

And then Astrid gave them the potion that would immediately transport them back to their wagon, out of the spire for good, and then came the belated realization they’d been punked.

“Oh, gods damn it!” They whined, throwing their hands in the air - when an awful realization occurred to them. They turned to Astrid, a stupefied expression on their features as they shrieked,

”WHY DIDN’T WE USE THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?”

Something that Astrid never quite understood about adults is their insistence on separating their younger selves from their present selves. Their past selves are the ones who make mistakes and learn the lessons that come from them. People are in the position they are because of a decision their younger self made. Astrid may not have very many years under her belt, but even she looks back on her slightly younger self as the same person who simply didn’t have the knowledge or courage to take a first step. But the first step for anyone into building themselves into something that they’re proud of is still made by a version of them that a lot of people might think lowly of.

Astrid looks at Morrigan with a contemplative expression, one that understands exactly what they’re saying but still thinks that the separation doesn’t make sense. “Yer no less the same flesh an’ bone than ya were before,” she says pointedly. “Yer old self is still the one that decided ta make a change. Sometimes folks just need the right opportunity. Maybe if ya never took that opportunity, it’d make sense ta be upset, but the point is, whatever Kaivalya did still put ya right here, same way I took the opportunity I got from Zarius an’ Cantio an’ Veliky ta finally do somethin’ fer meself.”

As she steps past them to start out of the room, she continues off of Morrigan’s comment. “Complacency, mediocrity, that’s just what ya see it as now that yer older with more experience. I s’pose I could say the same about meself a year ago or so, back when I was just sittin’ around on the streets hopin’ fer somethin’ ta be different one day. Maybe now I wish I didn’t wait around fer so long fer someone who weren’t comin’ back, but if I didn’t, then stuff wouldn’t a’ worked out the way they did, ya know? Sometimes the moment’s just gotta be right ta take a step forward. If ya walk off the ship before the gangplank’s set, then ya’ll just walk into the ocean.”

Astrid shrugs a little then turns to look at Morrigan again, a confident smile plastered on her face. That’s right, she will make her clan proper once more. “Aye, I’ll make it so. Won’t nothin’ stand in me way, s’pecially not some stupid curse. I might only be a half-dwarf, but I’ll be twice as stubborn as a full-blooded one.” As returns to the stairs, Astrid pauses and glances back at Morrigan and says genuinely, “Thanks.” Then she heads down to start the investigation together.
—
Pursing her lips, Astrid considers how odd the request for blood really is. Even with Morrigan’s comment and their rope bridge of a relationship, it’s not exactly a usual request. “I mean, it ain’t that I don’t think little a’ ya–” A pause. She still doesn’t think particularly highly of them, but she would be lying if she didn’t admit that her opinion has improved a modicum since a few days ago or even this morning. “Look, it’s just not all that usual, ya know?”

Still, their reasoning makes sense. However, her expression drops when Morrigan clearly mentions that they more or less stole their materials. That explains where that one set of vials and burners disappeared to…

“Aye, magic’s different than alchemy like that,” Astrid agrees. “On one hand, it’s kinda annoyin’, ‘cause like if ya make a potion, ya can always make it that way every time, but magic’s… Actually, magic’s kinda like that but more complicated in some ways. Some magic is easy ta pull from yer emotions, an’ other needs ta be written like chemistry formulas, s’pecially when yer puttin’ magic on items. Like golems, those need some complex magical math, if I’m bein’ rightly honest.” The amount of trial and error needed to get even just part of Buttfellow functional made her lose plenty of sleep during one particularly long jaunt to the Mage’s Guild. “I’m sure ya can learn it. It’s like that complicated math with letters. Once it clicks, it just clicks.”

Semantics and mathematics aside, one easy equation is the one that Morrigan will not be able to sustain carrying the books back to their wagon for several days. And Astrid doesn’t want to carry them either. She isn’t above giving Morrigan a hard time, so with the heavy books in her arms, Astrid adjusts them to free one hand and reaches into her bag and produces two bottles^[1] of a lavender-colored liquid.^[2] In reality, she prepared these before arriving at Morrigan’s knowing that a trek across Charon should be as short as possible, but once they were body swapped and being an absolute pain in the neck, Astrid decided they should suffer a little bit.

“Drink this,” she says. “It’ll take us ta any established village in Charon. Got some magical ties ta the leylines or somethin’.” Turning away to hide her very entertained expression at Morrigan’s dismay, she says simply, “Well, it ain’t like ya asked. Besides, maybe I figured a master alchemist like yerself would a’ had some a’ this stuff an' woulda suggested it. But, ya didn't ask. Same as ya didn't ask about an easy way ta take off the armor. Anyway, see ya at the wagon.” Then she chugs the potion and, with books in hand and a devious smile on her face, disappears from the first floor of the tower.

She reappears on the outskirts of Zeinav City, where she found Morrigan’s wagon in the first place, and for a few minutes, Astrid waits around to see if Morrigan would actually consume the drink or if she’ll be waiting for a few days.

---

1. Transmuter - Alchemical Mastery
2. Elsewhere Juice

It was funny, the people that one found themselves loving and hating over the course of their life. Morrigan loved people, and their stories; none moreso than themselves, and none they hated as much as Kaivalya. But Astrid Stormstone had been easy to provoke. A staunch moral compass, a sense of self that could only be found in children who’d yet to learn crippling self-doubt. A family who loved her, faults and all. It was funny that Morrigan hated her when she so reminded them of themselves.

The worst part - the most grating part - was that she was right. Morrigan changed their name, visage, and their entire personality to make a legend out of themselves. People were so fragile and delicate and mortal, but a name… oh, once you were known, your name was written in the stars. People would know of the wizard’s exploits, all the legend and rumor of their heroism, their feats of legend. They would hear the name Moonweaver and think, there’s never been any quite like them in Zeinav since. But no matter what they changed, altered, morphed, and lied about to appear larger than life, Morrigan was just as fragile as Kaivalya had been. They broke bones when exerting themselves and had to rest when they were tired.

But the worst of it all were the damn human emotions that they’d never quite been able to get rid of.

Envy. Insecurity. Love. Guilt.

They were supposed to have shed those the way a butterfly sheds its chrysalis.

“I don’t know why you’re so nice to them.” Morrigan sniffed, unsure what to say. “There is a difference between having the opportunity to make change and being too much of a coward to do anything about it, and surviving simply because it’s all you can manage. They couldn’t be more different.”

… Couldn’t they?

Because if Kaivalya’s circumstances were keeping them prisoner, then it meant their parents had never trusted them to make their own decisions. That Kaivalya had not been a prisoner of their own circumstances, but rather, the whims of someone else. And why would their parents do that…?

Morrigan bit their lip, fangs digging into flesh and drawing blood. Was it possible that they’d gotten into the habit of speaking so low about Kaivalya because their parents had seen them as a prisoner rather than a person? Was that why it had taken them so long to break free?

“They’re different.” Morrigan repeated, because they hated being told they were wrong, they hated how this examination of their person made them feel. Like they were fifteen again and taking a needle to their arms over and over again, stubbornly etching ink of their own design into their arms so they would feel special. So they could wash away the dead-eyed simpleton they’d been.

If ya walk off the ship before the gangplank’s set, then ya’ll just walk into the ocean.

And what had Morrigan done? Sink, or swim?

They were so lost in their thoughts they almost missed the sincere gratitude she offered - a blink and you’ll miss it moment, but it was there nonetheless. Ugh. Now Morrigan had to… be the bigger person and keep it up.

“And thank you.”

Weirdly enough, they found they meant it.

But enough of the touchy-feely crap. If they got any more sweet Morrigan thought they might spontaneously develop a cavity. They followed her back to the library, determined to find what they could.

They had to stifle their affronted noise as Astrid confessed she really didn’t think that little of them, which wasn’t a denial.

“That’s the thing. My chemistry isn’t built on the principle of following a formula in the first place.” They explained, pressing a finger to their temple as they thought through it. “When I look at consortium documents, even recipes look like gibberish to me. That’s why it takes me so long to recreate potions that others make. I have to understand the intended effect and work backwards from my own understanding of components and refinement processes. When I was a youth, my mentor didn’t even bother teaching me the rules. I’d always assumed that was how she learned, but in a world with magic where I am so utterly removed from the weave of it all, she probably equipped me with the only workaround possible for someone of my… inclinations.”

Oh, Madam Medb had made certain Morrigan’s knowledge of alchemy relied more on an understanding of the individual parts of a potion and how those could be used as building blocks to make what you desired, rather than teaching them how to read recipes or be confined by the “proper techniques”.

It limits the imagination, she used to say. Now, Morrigan was left to wonder if she’d been privy to their curse before even they were.

They wouldn’t put it past the sly old prune.

Questions to consider for later. Though they were loathe to admit it, Astrid’s recounting of how magic and alchemy worked from the perspective of someone who wasn’t functionally illiterate to the formulae was… helpful. It at least gave them some new perspective on it. It was less like a set formula and more an ever-changing and growing number, just like the barrier was. And if they could figure out a way to overload it-!

A small smile blossomed on their face as they thought about it. Oh, that would be perfect for constructing a potion meant to challenge the divine itself. Mark their words. They would develop a potion for Kvasir or die trying. This was perfect!

And now Astrid was offering to carry all their heavy books? Oh, they were just on top of the world today.

“Don’t mind if you do…” Morrigan felt like the cat who got the cream until Astrid handed them a small, lavender vial. The smile fell off their face while Astrid explained.

”WHY DIDN’T WE USE THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?”

Astrid merely rolled her eyes and explained, and - well, okay, turnabout was fair play, but also…

“I’m talking about the barrier, numbskull! We could have used it to escape the barrier - aaaaaaaaand, she’s gone.” They huffed, staring down at the lavender liquid.

They really didn’t want to have to walk…

A few minutes later, Astrid would find Morrigan by her side; perhaps faster than she’d anticipated but also looking far more put out than she was likely expecting. But they’d escaped. That was the important part.

They turned to look at Astrid, a scowl on their face that they quickly smoothed over with a determined expression. “Now. Let’s get to my place. I’ve got some blood samples to get, and we’ve got some work to do.”

They promised they would help, and it was as simple as that. Coward and liar though they were, no matter how impossible the odds, Morrigan Moonweaver would never back down from a challenge. They promised to help Astrid - which was precisely what they would do.

Maybe by helping her they'd learn how to help Kaivalya, too.

If Astrid was worth saving, so were they.

Astrid knows she’s touched a nerve, whether a good one or a bad one. It doesn’t really matter, because she means what she says. Everyone deserves the chance to be loved or lifted up, even if it is Morrigan’s “past self.” From what she can tell, Kaivalya was in a situation that was hard to get out of, and sometimes it can take a lot to give someone the little push they need to do what’s best for themselves. “‘Cause they deserve a bit a’ kindness,” she says simply. “Everyone does. Even you.”

It’s the strangest thing to be somewhat on the same page as Morrigan if not feel somewhat sympathetic to them. Gods, feeling anything but annoyance toward the Fellblood would make Astrid’s skin crawl on any day but today. Today, the two of them found commonality and understanding. She’ll enjoy it while she can.

While the two of them sort through books and talk about the semantics and differences of magic, alchemy, and chemistry, Astrid pauses while thinking about Morrigan’s plight. To see everything as gibberish… She wonders if it’s part of their own curse or if they simply can’t make sense of things because the formulas are really complicated. She catches a glimpse of the smile creeping across Morrigan’s face, like they’ve started concocting some scheme in their head, or maybe they’ve just kind of put some things together? While her expression grows somewhat suspicious for a moment, Astrid shrugs it off then says, “I had ta simplify some a’ the stuff fer meself, so if ya need ta exchange notes, I s’pose I could be helpful one a’ these days.” She offers a small smile before collecting her books and meeting them with the armful to take back to the wagon.

Morrigan’s reaction to her presentation of the Elsewhere Juice just makes her feel oddly smug inside. Even if they had tried to use it to escape the barrier, there’s no guarantee it would have worked given that the potion uses teleportation magic, and that probably wouldn’t have worked. Better not to waste it on something that might have failed. Besides, they managed to get out without too many issues, and they learned something from it in the end.

When Morrigan finally turns up beside Astrid in the desert, she looks at them with an amused smile like she’d just played a genius prank. Maybe she didn’t, but it sure feels like she accomplished something but simply annoying them with a simple solution. To her, many things in life have simple solutions. Sometimes the solution is simply putting your differences aside and working together for once. With any luck, the two of them might continue to have some sort of mutual understanding, and with more luck, they’ll continue to learn things about themselves in the process.

Regardless of their personal differences, one thing remains the same: neither of them will let their curses define them.