46. Small Steps (Patreon)

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait! I saw a lot of people chatting about the cliffhanger and I'm sorry, I promise I didn't plan this. Anyway, content warning for you! Stop reading the author's note now if you don't want any spoilers! I mean it! Everyone gone? Great. This chapter contains a section that might be uncomfortable for anyone who struggles with the perceived attractiveness of their body, particularly for transgender people. Tread lightly, and skip from "She sighs and follows me down" to "I guess it's just... y'know" if you're worried! Enjoy the chapter!

I've got to hand it to Dr. Carson; it only takes her about five minutes to come back like nothing even happened. Well, on the outside, anyway. Her heartbeat is still racing inside her chest, betraying the confusion and terror she feels, and it only multiplies when she enters the room and sees me in person again. Because of course it does.

"Sorry about your tea," I blurt. "I, um. In retrospect there was probably a lot I could do other than drink your, uh. Your tea. Sorry."

She stares at me for a moment before slowly sitting back down in her chair.

"Think nothing of it," she insists. "I should apologize as well. Everyone needs breaks from time to time, but I do try to ensure that mine don't interfere with any time dedicated to my clients."

Wow, back to talking evenly just like that, huh? I can't imagine being that composed.

"It's fine," I shrug awkwardly, slowly pulling my hip-limbs into visible space and setting them on my lap. "Trust me, I get it. I have to live through all this. It hasn't exactly been a pleasant change."

"I'm… naturally tempted to ask a lot of questions," Dr. Carson says, staring with naked confusion at my new limbs. "But I think my professional duty in this situation is clear, so first I'd like to remind you that I am not a medical doctor. Any sort of… physical issues you might be experiencing are likely beyond my capacity to help you with, and I'd be remiss to not encourage you to seek a more relevant professional."

I chuckle a little. I can't help it. Does she really think I never thought of that?

"And what, exactly, would the more relevant professional be in this situation?" I ask. "Do you know any good doctors of Transmutation magic?"

My blade-limbs emerge next. Rather than arc them up and over my shoulders, since that would feel a bit too aggressive, I curl them underneath my arms, crossing the blades over my stomach. Dr. Carson's eyes widen as she sees them slip into visibility, leaving me embarrassed. Why am I showing her these, anyway? This is obviously way too much at once. Nobody wants to see weapons growing out of a girl. I fiddle awkwardly with my blades, drumming my fingertips against their flat sides.

"Hannah, I know only that I do not know what is happening," the therapist says. "It's hard not to recommend you seek outside help when I feel I will be less useful than I should be."

Ah. I see what this is. I freaked her out too much and she doesn't want to help me anymore. I can't help but feel dejected, but I guess I expected this? So. It's fine.

I realize, suddenly, that Dr. Carson's heart isn't the only one racing. As much as she is confused and afraid, I'm really the only one with something to lose here. This is the last fragments of my secret slipping out of my control, and I can't stop it.

"I understand," I say, my hands shaking. "I'd like you to keep this a secret, please. I'd really like that a lot. But, um, I don't need to bother you otherwise. Sorry."

I brace for the worst, but it doesn't come.

"Bother me?" Dr. Carson asks instead. "Hannah, no no no! I just… I sincerely apologize for giving that impression. I am… here to help you. And I intend to do that to the best of my ability. I am worried that the best of my ability will not be enough, but I'm going to damn well give you it."

The swear catches me off-guard, considering how composed and proper Dr. Carson has been. Somehow, that more than anything kind of helps me relax a little. It feels like a crack in the facade, but one that's passionate rather than fearful.

"…Alright," I allow, my voice a bit unsteady. "Thank you."

"Of course. But I must admit, I don't have a good idea of where to start anymore. Normally I'd ask how you've been handling changes like this, but…"

"Uh. Yeah, I get it. I have not been handling it super well," I admit. "I've talked about the problems I've been having, I just didn't explain the source. Panic attacks multiple times a week, horrific bodily transformation, uncomfortable animalistic urges, that sort of thing. I definitely feel like I'm going crazy."

"I… see," Dr. Carson says, her eyes constantly flicking back up to my face after inevitably wandering down to my limbs. I scrape my blades together slightly, a lightly eldritch noise ringing out through the room, and she flinches.

Dang it. I don't want to do this. I shouldn't have to do this. But… this is my fault, so it's only fair.

"Are you doing alright, Emily?" I ask my therapist.

"Hmm?" she asks. "Oh, Hannah, no, you don't have to worry about me. We therapists have our own therapists, you know. I'll be just fine."

"Ooh, that's a familiar set," I say, leaning back on the couch. "'I'll be fine' instead of 'I am fine.' 'You don't have to worry about me' instead of 'there's nothing to worry about.' Come on, doc, we both know you won't be able to talk about this to anyone else. I can prove magic exists, but I'll be doing everything in my power to ensure that you can't. So what are you going to say, exactly? Who are you going to talk to that will reassure your sanity?"

She sighs, a faint smile on her lips.

"Hannah, I appreciate that, I really do. And while I assure you that my mental well-being is capable of surviving this… this, I admit to some curiosity. What you've shown certainly changes my perspective on the concerns you've brought to me previously."

I let out a huff of air through my nose.

"You didn't believe I was really a murderer, did you?" I ask.

"I believe you are an intelligent and insightful young woman who has been through a series of extremely traumatic experiences I've yet to hear the details on. If you're interested in discussing those details, I'm happy to hear about them."

I huff, pulling my feet up onto the couch and retrieving some foam blocks from my jacket so I can protect Dr. Carson's furniture from my claws.

"...Well that'll get into more embarrassing stuff you'll think I'm crazy about," I grumble.

"More than… all this?" she asks, gesturing at my everything.

"Kinda, yeah?" I admit. "I wake up in another universe when I sleep, and I can't really prove it exists in any meaningful way other than the fact that it's where magic is from. But that's where I killed a bunch of people, so you don't have to worry about me being wanted by the police or anything. At least, not yet."

"Not yet?" she prompts, and I squirm.

"I don't… I don't feel stable," I admit. "I don't feel in control. I have giant murder blades strapped to my shoulders at all times and I don't feel in control."

She stares at my blade limbs and carefully, trying her utmost to hide it, swallows nervously. But I can see it. I can't not see it. My spatial sense grows clearer every day.

"Is it all the time that you feel this way, or just sometimes?" she asks me.

Are you going to kill me, she asks me.

"Just… just sometimes," I assure her. "I feel fine now. They're just… limbs. Like arms and legs. Controlling them feels normal and natural."

I demonstrate, moving them slowly and carefully in clear patterns, making sure not to point the blade her way. She seems entranced by the movements, but quickly focuses on me when I start speaking again.

"But when I get startled or overwhelmed, I just… my instincts take over. There have been a ton of times that could have ended in tragedy if things only went a little differently."

"Like what?" Dr. Carson prompts.

"Like, um… when my transformation first started, my friend surprised me at the bus stop and I went into total fight-or-flight mode. And there was one time I lost a lot of blood and bit my friend's fingers. …Though, I guess she invited me to do that."

"I… see…" Dr. Carson says, clearly having a lot of questions. Though the one she goes for is: "Is that similar to the deaths that you've mentioned did occur in this… dream world?"

"Eh, I don't like calling it a dream world. I'm pretty certain it's a fully independent world that I am physically a part of. Everything I do there is way too lucid for a dream, you know? I just happen to be conscious there while I'm asleep here. I know that sounds ridiculous, but…"

"But the supernatural is real, so I have every reason to trust your expertise. What do you call this other world, then?"

"Uh. I guess I usually call this 'earthside' and over there 'treeside,' because it's a giant world tree situation. Like Yggdrasil, kinda."

"Okay. So the deaths you were involved with 'treeside.' Did they occur due to this lack of control?"

"Um," I shift awkwardly. "Well, no. I guess not. The first four were because we got attacked by people trying to kill us. And the last, um. The last thirteen were pirates who were enslaving my friends."

For reasons beyond my understanding, Emily starts to seem more composed. She scribbles down some notes, nodding along as I explain.

"So, would you say it's accurate that these deaths were the result of conscious, purposeful decision making on your part?"

"Uh… I mean, 'purposeful decision making' is a bit strongly worded for what happened. It was just what I had to do at the time."

"But it wasn't something you did due to a lack of control," she presses.

"The killing wasn't, no. The cannibalism maybe was? I, uh. I mean arguably it isn't cannibalism since I'm not human anymore, but… yeah. I had some pretty strong urges to eat the people I kill."

"And so you do that?"

"Yeah, I mean… yeah, I do," I mutter miserably. "Like, I dunno. I'm generally in a horrified dissociative fugue whenever I go around killing people? So my self-control is kind of shot afterwards. And I, uh. Yeah. My body is kind of even more fucked up treeside, I'm just kind of a horrific little creature so most people don't even think it's that weird when I eat people? So they just… let me. And I, uh. I don't like it."

"I see," Dr. Carson nods, scribbling more notes as her heart rate increases again. "But, to be clear, these urges occur after any fights for your life occur? They don't compel you to kill anyone for the sake of eating them?"

"Um," I fidget awkwardly. "Not other than a general background awareness that people taste really good, I guess?"

"Then… while I certainly don't want to ignore your feelings on the matter, they do seem to be a separate issue, if I'm understanding this correctly? So unless you'd like to switch tracks, which we can do, perhaps we should focus back on your fears about self-control."

"Um, sure, yeah," I nod. "That's definitely the scariest thing about being a monster, you know? The fear that I'll hurt someone by accident."

"Do you consider yourself a monster?" Dr. Carson asks.

"Um," I say, wiggling my many sets of claws. "Yeah? I'm a mutant mass murderer, doc. Doesn't get any more 'monster' than that."

"Are you?" she asks. "You've described two out of the three events as self-defense, in that you had to defend yourself from aggressors that intended to use lethal force against you and your friends. Is that correct?"

"Well… yeah."

"And in the third case, what was your motivation for the killings?"

"...We had been captured by slavers who had strapped magical bomb collars to my friends. Goddess, that sounds so stupid to say to a normal person."

"It's not stupid," Dr. Carson says firmly. "Hannah, I have been a therapist for a long time. I've spoken with people who have had to defend themselves from all kinds of abuse and hated themselves for it. I've spoken with soldiers who can't sleep at night thinking about the people they've killed and the things they've done. I'll tell you the same thing I've told them: this world, or any world as the case may be, is cruel and unfair. You aren't a bad person for trying your best, even when your best is far from perfect. You aren't a bad person, Hannah. I don't believe that."

I've heard it before from my friends, but something about those words aches truer from a stranger. How unfair is that? I can't even trust my friends right.

"...Maybe not," I allow. "But I'm still not good enough."

"And how good is that, exactly?" Dr. Carson asks. "Is there a point where you would feel good enough? Or is that phrase just a way for you to marginalize your own achievements and emphasize your failings?"

"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe."

"Hannah," she asks. "Have you ever injured someone without meaning to? Ever?"

"That's kind of a complicated question to answer," I mumble.

"Does that mean you could make a reasonable argument that the answer is 'no,' were you so inclined?"

I let out an irritated huff.

"Could you just… stop trying to make me feel better about this for a second?" I snap. "Like seriously, do you really want me to stop worrying about hurting people? No, I haven't injured any of my friends, outside of that time Ida asked me to. But I've gotten really, really close, Dr. Carson. After my blade-limbs grew in, a friend of mine startled me and I nearly stabbed her through the heart. I absolutely would have killed her if she hadn't defended herself."

"I see," Dr. Carson hums. "How did she startle you, exactly?"

I scowl and look away.

"...Well, she broke my nose," I admit.

"Hmm. I feel like I might lash out at someone if I'd been surprised like that too," Dr. Carson muses.

"Well you don't have magical blade-limbs!" I shout at her. "It's one thing to punch somebody, it's a whole different thing to stab them through the chest! I feel like that's a pretty serious escalation!"

"It is," Dr. Carson agrees seriously, unphased by my sudden rise in volume. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be treating this seriously, Hannah. But there's a world of difference between categorizing yourself as a dangerous monster that needs to be restrained for the safety of others and categorizing yourself as a troubled young woman who just needs the experience and training everyone needs to safely handle a weapon."

I flinch, embarrassed both by my outburst and the even-toned response that followed it.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"It's fine, Hannah," Dr. Carson insists. "You're going through a lot, much of which I can only hope to partially understand by drawing whatever parallels I'm able. But I want you to understand that I do not see you as a monster. Your appearance is startling, but the way you speak and the things you fear—they are very human. You are afraid of things that are reasonable to fear, but I genuinely believe they are things you can overcome. Have you been misleading me about the severity of these urges you describe?"

I shrug helplessly.

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Then I believe you can control them," Dr. Carson tells me. "Everyone has intrusive thoughts, and you're far from the only person that has intrusive thoughts about hurting others. As long as you control yourself, as long as they stay intrusive thoughts and don't become actions, you've done nothing wrong."

"Shortly after the first time I killed someone in the other world," I admit, "I got mugged here on Earth. And I was… I was so messed up at the time, so stressed and frayed thin from committing my first… from killing someone for the first time, that I nearly killed the kid mugging me, too. I tried to kill a person over like, maybe a couple hundred dollars."

"I take it you didn't, though?" Dr. Carson asks.

"The same friend who broke my nose stopped me," I shrug. "But if she hadn't been there? If I had been alone? I don't know what I would have done."

"Hmm. A lot of people would argue that it's acceptable to use violence in defense of one's own property," Dr. Carson says neutrally.

"I dunno. I guess maybe sometimes? Doesn't feel right to me, though. Not in that situation. He was just some desperate kid trying to get enough money to live."

"How do you know that?"

"Uh. I kind of ran into him again later and talked to him a bit. And then maybe-hopefully cured his mom's disease?"

She pauses. Aw, crap.

"...You can cure diseases?" she asks.

"Um. Technically yes, I can cure some diseases probably? But there are some really problematic side effects and I don't even know if it solves the problem in the long term. I just, uh. Well, y'know the spell I used to steal your tea? I can do that to like, uh. Bacteria and stuff."

"And you say you used this to cure the mother of someone who mugged you?"

"Yeah. Look, can we not talk about this?" I beg. "I just… I don't want to… it's really not something I should be drawing attention to."

I can't cure someone without speaking Refresh out loud, which spreads magic. And I do not want to start handing out esoteric arcane weapons to random people. Dr. Carson gives me a serious look for a moment, but eventually just nods.

"Alright, Hannah," she says. "Well if you like, we can discuss some practical techniques for handling your concerns with self-control. I think a useful starting point is to have anything that applies to handling a knife also apply to your extra limbs. First and foremost, that means you should never at any time point the sharp end of the blade at another person, unless you intend to hurt them. I've noticed you frequently raise your limbs my way in response to stress, but if that's something you control, it is absolutely the first habit you should be breaking. The better you get at avoiding those unconscious movements, the better I suspect you will get at not reacting dangerously when surprised."

Oh. Right. Yeah, that… that makes sense.

"I'm so stupid," I mutter. "I really should have already been doing that, huh?"

"Hannah, you aren't stupid," my therapist insists. "You're overwhelmed. That's why it's so important to talk these things out with people. Obvious solutions often don't seem obvious in the heat of the moment. To that end, you've mentioned you're constantly stressed, which makes you jumpy, which cycles into another thing to get stressed about. How much exercise have you been getting?"

I blink.

"Wha?" I ask. "Exercise?"

"Yes. Exercise. I know it seems like somewhat of a non-sequitur, but I assure you: it helps. A lot. An enormous swath of common mental issues can have their symptoms effectively treated, at least in part, by regular exercise. This has been proven time and time again, so I always find it difficult to not recommend wherever possible."

"You want me to deal with the fact that I'm mutating into a horrific bug creature… by exercising more," I say flatly. "You get how ridiculous that sounds right?"

"Rather less ridiculous than the fact that your body is growing chitin in the first place, if you want my opinion," Emily quips back. "Look, I get it. I have a lot of clients that struggle to work exercise into their routine and struggle to believe it's effective, but… it is. It really, really is. It's one of those things you hear so often it sounds too rote to be true, but trust me, Hannah. When someone comes to me with anxiety and stress issues, I tell them to eat right and exercise more, and it helps. It's not a cure-all, but it helps. Lacking any concrete knowledge of how your altered biology would affect things, I have no reason to not at least tell you to try it."

"Not going to tell me to fix my diet, though?" I smirk at her, not really feeling the humor.

"Feel free to correct me, but I feel like food might be a triggering topic for you based on what you've told me."

I wince.

"No, you've… probably got that nailed, yeah. Even outside the whole cannibalism thing, I'm an obligate carnivore now. I don't have the flat teeth needed to chew things, anything that isn't an animal product tastes bad and digests poorly… it's sort of a whole thing."

"Ah, I'll make a note of that," Dr. Carson nods, making a note of that. "Yes, we'll have to assume your body knows better than we do about the kind of nutrients you need to eat, in that case. I suspect there are non-meat substitutes you'd be able to digest if you're interested, but there's certainly nothing wrong with eating meat if that's what you want to do. My main suggestion is finding foods you enjoy and don't feel guilty about eating; a useful strategy for overcoming certain triggers is to give yourself enough positive experiences with the triggering situation to help balance out the learned instincts. This obviously doesn't work with everything, but it's not a bad strategy for something like food."

"Maybe I'll try to figure out some recipes that taste good to me," I agree noncommittally. "I get a lot of urges to eat raw meat and eggs and things, but cooked food still tastes fine. I think the exercise is going to be a problem for me, though."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Well… where exactly would I get a chance to do that?" I ask. "I have gym class every other weekday, but it doesn't feel like a workout at all. My body requires me to do kinda superhuman things in order to actually feel the burn. Plus, I'd be working out in baggy sweatshirts and sweatpants in the middle of summer and people are going to notice that kind of thing, you know?"

"Hmm. You don't have anywhere private that you can move without other people seeing you? That's likely a big contributor to your stress all by itself."

"I… I guess," I agree. Hmm… there is one place. Brendan's yard. Er, I mean Valerie's yard. I've always had fun getting to let loose out there, even if I kind of… messed up the last time I did that. "I might have somewhere that would work, but it's difficult to walk the line between indulging in euphoria and keeping enough self-control to not screw everything up."

"Hmm," Dr. Carson muses. "It's curious to hear you mention 'euphoria.' I suppose I never asked: how do you feel about the changes that are happening to you, Hannah? I assumed they were mainly stressful for you, but I should have asked sooner."

"Er, well, 'mainly stressful' is definitely accurate," I assure her. "But that's actually something I've been thinking about, and… well, I don't hate the idea of being a weird ten-limbed bug girl in the abstract, you know? I don't dislike my limbs or my chitin or whatever inherently, I just… it sort of ruins my life? Or at the very least it defines my life, I guess. As my girlfriend says, I didn't really have a life you could ruin in the first place. Heck, all the best parts of my life are still there. It's just… y'know. I'm kind of terrified."

"What of?"

I gesture vaguely.

"The world, I guess?" I tell her. "The moment I go public there's gonna be a whole flippin' political movement trying to extradite me to Atlantis or whatever, and probably a whole other group of people who just want to use their second amendment rights to shoot me in the face. I don't want attention in general, but being a scary monster doesn't exactly make me a magnet for positive attention. Add that to the pressure of being the prophet of an evil Goddess who I'm pretty sure wants me to start an arcane apocalypse, and things get really stressful."

Dr. Carson blinks.

"I… don't think we've talked about that last bit," she hedges. "Could you elaborate on that?"

Aw, beans.

"Uh. Yeah. Um. Gosh, I didn't mean to… uh. Hoo boy. Okay. Um, are you religious at all, Dr. Carson?"

She doesn't seem to like that question.

"I… have long considered the prospect of a divine entity to be unlikely," she answers me slowly.

"Ah. Well. Sorry about that," I say awkwardly. "Uh, there's a Goddess. She's, um, definitely one-hundred-percent real, and I could probably prove that but I'm not going to because it would be really, really bad."

A therapist could totally end up with Pneuma magic of some kind, and if that happened I'd never be able to trust her again.

"Do you want to talk about her?" Dr. Carson asks.

Do I want to talk about Her? Do I want to talk about the entity that torments me, laughs at me, belittles me, touches me, all for Her own sick amusement? Do I want to talk about being a pawn in a horrid game, do I want to talk about being helpless, do I want to talk about being abused by something so far beyond me it will never, ever face justice? About a problem that will not, cannot end?

"No."

Dr. Carson looks me in the eyes and I hold her gaze. She nods.

"Alright," she agrees.

So we talk about other things. My body, my spells, my time treeside. We talk about my friends, who always support me, and my family, who will never understand. Dr. Carson seems most comfortable when she can relate my problems to something she's already seen before, like when she talks about soldiers when I worry about violence. She gives me a lot of good advice, and at the end of the session I feel like I finally have something approaching a plan towards feeling better, even if I don't really feel any better right now.

We don't talk about the spell I can't control which turns people into monsters. We don't talk about souls and how I spread them. We don't talk about the Goddess any more than my brief slip-up. Maybe we never will. I can't tell if I want that or not.

"There's one last thing I want to say," Dr. Carson tells me as I get all my outer layers of clothing back on to prepare once more to trudge out into the world. "You still have my business card, right?"

"Uh, I think so, yeah," I say.

"I'll give you another one," she says. "Anyway, if I'm currently working with another client, my phone will be off. But at any other time, I highly encourage you to call me if you need to. If you're having a panic attack, or you're afraid you won't be able to handle a situation, or if you think you're at risk of hurting someone… call me. I'll answer and I'll help as best I can. Even in the middle of the night. Okay, Hannah?"

"Um, okay," I agree awkwardly.

"Good," she nods. "I have… hmm. You're definitely every bit as unique a case as you warned me you would be when we started, Hannah. You're already getting extended sessions, but I'm worried that won't be enough with how quickly things seem to be progressing for you. If you ever want to move up to seeing me twice a week, I'll make time for you."

"Okay," I say. "I don't know if I have the confidence to say yes to that, but… thank you."

She nods.

"You're very hard on yourself, Hannah," she tells me. "But I truly believe you've done far better than most people would have in your situation. You should be proud."

I cringe at that. I don't think I've done anything all that great.

"I'll say it again, Hannah," Dr. Carson presses. "You should be proud. You don't have to agree with me, but that is my genuine opinion. I believe you can make the best of this. I believe you will be okay."

It hurts to hear. It hurts. Why are such simple words so painful? I want to cry. I can't respond to her, so I don't, but she doesn't seem to mind. I finish getting all my extra clothing back on and she escorts me out to my mom.

They speak again, though I don't pay attention to what. Instead, I pull out my phone and find a text from Br—from Valerie. I quickly go change her name in my contacts, before I forget again, and then read the message.

Any chance you could come over later today? she asks. I want to show you something.

I smile.

Actually, I was gonna ask if I could come over anyway. Just got out of therapy.

Ooh, ouch, she sympathizes. You okay?

Uh. Yeah, actually. She's honestly… it's way better than I ever imagined. I actually told her?

Oh shit, really? she asks. That's great! I mean, probably. Did it go okay?

I mean, we'll have to see if I end up on the news, but I think it went really well, yeah. She told me to exercise more lol.

Uh. Huh. Really?

Really! I'm gonna try it. But I'll need your backyard, if that's okay.

Of course! You can come over whenever.

KK. I'll see you soon.

I grin, excited at the prospect of maybe having a good weekend for once. I get to hang out with my best friend today, and go on a date with my girlfriend tomorrow! Then I stop grinning, because I need to make sure the edges of my mouth aren't stretching up past my mask.

My mother returns soon and we get in the car together. She asks if I want to go out to lunch somewhere and I decline as politely as possible, telling her I intend to eat lunch at Brendan's place. It's already starting to feel kind of wrong calling her Brendan, but like, what am I gonna do, tell my mom she's trans? She already doesn't like my best friend, best not give her any other reasons to start miserable conversations about the people most important to me. Valerie wants it to be kept secret for now anyway.

My mom still drops me off at Valerie's place, despite her obvious trepidation. I ring the doorbell, and moments later my big wonderful goofball friend answers it.

"Hey, Valerie," I greet her quietly, stepping inside. She squirms happily just from the sound of her own name. Aaah, so cute!

"...Hey, Hannah," Valerie nods back. "You hungry? Or do you wanna run around first?"

"I wanna see whatever it is you wanna show me, first!" I tell her, heading downstairs as I pull my sweater off and start shifting my limbs back into normal space.

She sighs and follows me down, clearly both happy I want to see and very nervous about showing me. I watch her with my spatial sense as she descends, just sort of… idly looking her over. Tall and gangly. Hairy and rough-skinned. Big hands, big feet, and… well, uh, pretty big ding-a-ling, not that I have any experience with the things. Physically, she couldn't be any less attractive to me.

All things considered, I find it kind of weird how easy of a time I'm having thinking of her as a girl.

Honestly, I was afraid to be, and kind of expecting to be, pretty crappy about Valerie's whole… being Valerie thing. Not because I want to be, I just… know myself too well to expect better, I guess? I know how my brain works and my brain is an awful piece of garbage. I'm not the best at adjusting to that kind of stuff, and I don't know anyone else who's transgender, and I'm… generally bad at being good, overall. I also have a very negative interest in the idea of being a man, so I'm often not sure how to empathize with gender stuff. And on top of all that, I've known her as Brendan for pretty much my entire life! That's a whole lot of habit to break, you know? I really expected the mental shift to be more difficult. And like, I definitely still mess it up sometimes, but… she's Valerie. She is Valerie! Is it arrogant to be proud of the basic ability to think that and believe it? I feel like I should have higher standards, but dang it, I'm really happy with myself about this anyway.

I guess it's just… y'know. I love her. I love her a lot, so getting this right is really, really important to me. Considering everything my friends have done for me, I have to be able to do at least this much. If there's anything I can help Valerie with, I'm going to do it.

"I definitely want to at least hear some highlights of your therapy session, if that's okay," Brend—I mean Valerie says Goddess freaking… ugh, I am the worst. Good job patting yourself on the back for literally nothing, Hannah!

"Yeah, uh, it was pretty eventful!" I say, hiding my inner chastisement as best I can. "I think I almost gave her a panic attack this time, so that means I won this round, right?"

"Hannah," Valerie groans, cradling her face in her hands. "Hannah, no…"

I cackle unrepentantly.

"I'm kidding!" I assure her. "I mean, Dr. Carson did have to go hide in the bathroom and work herself through a minor breakdown, but she was actually pretty nice and helpful overall. She basically said that I'm afraid of hurting people because any sensible person would be afraid of hurting someone while carrying a weapon, and the solution is just more self-awareness, focus, and discipline. Y'know, three things I am famously good at."

I manage to get a reluctant laugh out of her at that.

"Well you're certainly in a mood," she smirks as I flop out on the couch and stretch all eight of my current limbs. "It's nice to see, so I guess I have to give props to your therapist for something."

"Look, a person whose actual job it is to figure out how crazy people are told me I'm not crazy and gave me actual things I can do to help hopefully not kill anyone on accident other than scream and pray, and we both know those two things don't work. So yeah, I'm feeling cautiously optimistic for the first time in a while. I'm gonna enjoy it while it lasts."

"Well hey, that's pretty awesome," Brendan—fuck I mean Valerie, Goddess damnit—smiles faintly. "And, well, more good news, I guess: the thing I have to show you is also pretty awesome."

"Oooh, is it magic?" I ask excitedly. "Did you finally figure out your magic!?"

"Yep," Valerie nods. "I did."

I can't help it. I leap to my feet and squee. Yeah, magic is terrifying and giving it to the entire world will probably have horrific consequences, but darn is it still cool! I hate how much I love my magic, but boy do I love my magic. I hope Valerie does too!

"It took me… quite a long time to figure this out," Valerie explains, pulling out her phone for some reason. "It's very weird and complex and for some reason, even after I was sure of what I had to do it wouldn't work at all until I built up the courage to finally name it."

"Wh—you named a spell without backup?" I accuse, putting my hands on my hips and my hip-legs on my thighs. "After all the crap you gave me about not naming my magic?"

"I'll admit to being a hypocrite, but I'll not claim I was wrong," Valerie protests. "I don't think I feel the Goddess quite like you and Ida do, but it still felt… right. Like I was pre-approved and good to go. And yeah, I'll admit I was really excited to try it."

"Well, okay I guess. Don't leave me hanging, then! I don't feel anyone else around so we should be safe to go!"

"Okay, okay, let me just pick one," she says cryptically, thumbing through her phone.

"Pick one what?"

"A piece of art," she explains. "This one should work as a demonstration."

She shows me her phone, which displays a drawing of a long-haired woman with eyes closed, lifting slowly up into the air as various generic fantasy-looking characters watch her with interest. It's simpler than Valerie's usual art, flat-colored and unshaded.

"This is the only copy of this file left in the world," she explains. "I've removed it from my computer, never posted it on the internet… it's totally unique."

Then she hits delete, confirms it, and the Goddess speaks.

"Dreamer's Spellbook: Arwin's Elementary Levitation."

And Valerie rises into the air. Not very far, since she's already pretty close to hitting her head on the ceiling, but she does. She flies.

"Ta-da," she grins.

"Oh gosh," I grin. "That is so cool. How does it work? Do you have to delete a drawing every time? What all can you do with it?"

"An easier question," she grins, "would be 'what all can't I do with it?' To which so far my answer is 'teleportation, transformation of living things, and precognition.'"

I blink.

"Uh. That's it? It does literally everything else?" What the heck kind of spell did she get!?

"I mean, almost certainly not, there's a shitton of things I haven't tested, but…" Valerie shrugs. "Yeah. It's super versatile. The main limitation is that I have to prepare art for it in advance and permanently destroy the artwork to activate the relevant spell. The more work I put into the art, the stronger the effect. I'm an Art wizard, basically."

"Oh Goddess, yeah!" I realize. "You're like a flippin' D&D wizard but your spellbook is your drawing library. That's so cool!"

"Yep!" Valerie grins, floating slowly around the room. "It's the most magical magic I could have asked for. I hate to hand it to her, but the goddess really nailed me with this one. I've kind of been rushing home to fill my computer with new drawings and test out new things since I first figured it out."

"I'll bet! Gosh!"

I rush forwards with my arms out to hug her, remember I definitely shouldn't hug her without permission, and suddenly halt awkwardly with all my limbs still splayed out to either side. Also Hannah, remember! No pointing blades at people! Valerie chuckles and floats over to grab me, snatching me up under the armpits and lifting way up into her arms. I yelp with delight, clinging around her with all sorts of various limbs as we stare into each other's faces with big goofy grins like the pair of doofuses we are.

"This is so cool," I gush, my body feeling delightfully weightless as my feet dangle. "I want to commiserate about the fact that the only-spoken-aloud restriction means you won't be able to use it in public, but I bet you've already got dozens of plans to take advantage of it anyway, huh?"

"Oh yeah, definitely," she nods. "High-quality drawings take a long time to make but their effects can last significantly longer. So, y'know. Step one is turning the basement into an awesome magical fortress."

"Sick," I say approvingly. "Oh my gosh this is so cool. You can fly!"

"I can fly!!!" she agrees, unable to hold back some happy shakes and wiggles.

"No transformation, huh?" I sigh. "Can't say I'm surprised you tested that already, given… y'know. Girl."

"Yeah…" Valerie sighs. "Girl."

"You any more sure yet?" I ask.

"I'm pretty damn sure, yeah," she confirms. "Definitely a girl. Transitioning is going to be a pain in the fucking ass, but… it's really exciting, too. I want to complain about not getting a magical shortcut, but every trans person wants a magical shortcut. I'm not special just because I actually maybe had the chance at one."

I hesitate. I want to help her. I want to help her so badly.

"...I mean, you kind of still do have a chance," I say quietly.

Her eyes widen slightly… and then narrow suspiciously.

"You're talking about the monster transformation spell you can't even control that we don't understand," she accuses.

"I mean… yeah, but you kind of wanted to be a monster girl anyway, right?"

"How dare you," she accuses, her voice dripping with irony. "How could you ever say such a thing about me. I don't know where you ever got the impression."

"Hee hee," I giggle, booping her on the nose. "I'm serious. I've got a good feeling about it."

"Well, I have recently ended my lifelong feud with trusting 'good feelings,'" she considers, "buuuut I'm still more than a little hesitant to subject myself to unknown mutagenic spells, no matter how awesome that sounds in the abstract."

"Alright, but hear me out," I press. "What is the quintessential spell you always argue every wizard should have?"

"...Counterspell," she mutters. "Hmm. Hmm. Okay, I'm with you here. You think I can just dispel it if things go badly."

"Exactly!" I agree. "It's worth a shot, right?"

"I've been testing in private, so I don't know if my countermagic spell works, but I do have a possible countermagic spell prepared!" Valerie says, looking increasingly excited. "You wanna cast a quick Refresh or Spacial Rend or something?"

"Heck yeah!" I agree, wiggling out of her grasp and landing on the ground. I extend one finger and let a weak Spacial Rend coat the claw, making sure to keep it carefully away from anything. "Alright, give it a shot!"

Bre—Valerie nods, grabbing her phone again and thumbing through it before I feel the Goddess descend again to take her breath.

"Dreamer's Spellbook: Vivian's Rapid Dispel."

Glowing chains of blue emerge from Valerie's hand, arc towards my finger, wrap around it, and then dramatically shatter, my Spacial Rend disappearing and my hand going numb. I try to recast it, but it takes a solid few moments before warmth returns to my fingers and my spell sputters back online.

"...Woah," I breathe. "So… it works?"

"It works!" Valerie vibrates excitedly.

"So can I… y'know. Do the thing?" I ask.

I really, really, really, really want to cast it. I want to change her. I can do it and I want to do it and I just… whew, okay, calm down, Hannah. You have to at least wait until she says yes.

"Yes," Valerie says. "Do it."

I flood the room with Transmutation in an instant, a grin splitting my face, and my best friend shivers. I'm not sure if it's delight or fear, but some part of me is excited either way. Goddess, why do I love this spell? Why does it always feel like this? Why don't I want any of my friends to be human, either? You'd think I'd be pretty comfortable with humans, having lived my whole life with them, but I just can't wait to pull them away.

My thoughts stall as Valerie doubles over, gritting her teeth. I watch, enraptured, as her fingernails thicken, growing both back into her bone and outward into points. My best friend's claws come in, and my favorite person becomes that much more comfortable to be around.

She'll get it now. She understands.