Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inside a space that exists between dreams and reality, between mind and matter, a distinctly nonhuman-looking man sits hunched over a desk. 

Generally, the Velvet Room reflects its guest’s heart. He admits he finds it rather irksome sometimes for his surroundings to be transformed without his input, but he understands that synchronizing with the guest’s heart is vital to his work facilitating fusion. He also cannot deny that he has always found the varied forms it takes rather wondrous, a testament to how unique each human is.

Without a guest, the Velvet Room is shaped by Igor’s own heart. Now, it resembles a sensible, modern-looking corner office—after all, this is his place of business, and he is the boss. It is functional and comfortable while still maintaining a degree of professionalism, and he regularly congratulates his heart on its good taste. From the desk to the bookshelves to the sofa, nothing in the room would look out of place in a human corporate building. Well, perhaps it is a little odd that everything is the same startling shade of deep blue.

The small, balding man seated in a plush swivel chair steeples his fingers under his impressive nose, and his bloodshot, bulging eyes stare intently at the tarot deck in front of him. A graceful wave of his white-gloved hand shuffles the cards and arranges them on the table. Another motion flips them over. He studies each one carefully before he closes his eyes and lets out a weary sigh.

“Master?” A high voice softly calls out to him, “Is something troubling you?”

The man opens his eyes to look over at the young girl comfortably settled on the sofa nearby. Long blonde hair and bright yellow eyes, her knee-length dress is as blue as everything else in the room. The tome she has been leafing through looks comically large on her tiny lap, and her short legs dangle over the edge of her seat, black and white boots not quite reaching the floor.

“No, my dear,” he smiles gently at her, “I simply found myself a little lost in my musings.”

She nods slowly, eyes narrowed in mild askance.

“All right… Please call upon me if that changes.”

He can sense the skepticism in her solemn response, but she chooses to let it go. He knows, however, that she will inquire again with greater insistence if he shows any more signs of unease. The girl’s genuine concern reminds him of the fondness he has for all his children.

Other than modeling them after humans, he had no expectations when creating the attendants. He did not dictate their appearance or their personality, only instilling in them the knowledge of personas, bonds, and their role in guiding their wildcards. Truthfully, he had not even intended for them to be fully sentient. He expected them to be something more akin to very realistic homunculi, maybe familiars. He is unsure if they were molded by some sort of cosmic will, their own will, or complete chance, but he has never regretted the results. 

Igor had not known he was capable of creating life forms like his children—fully self-aware, with free will and a sense of who and what they are. What he intended to be a useful tool turned out to be a beloved companion. He had not even realized he was lonely, but there is no denying the fact that his children filled a void within him. Of course, he recognizes that they do not exist solely for his benefit. Each of his children is their own person. He does maintain a measure of authority over them, but it is the authority a parent has over a child and something they allow rather than a directive they are compelled to obey.

The first was Elizabeth. He was a little surprised she was associated with an arcana at all—though perhaps he should not have been, as he used humans as a basic template—but quickly saw how well-suited she is to the Chariot. Her energy is unrivaled. Her curiosity makes her adventurous, and her whimsy makes her fearless. She flitters to and fro, chasing anything that catches her attention. Despite her distractibility, she became perhaps more fixated than any of his other children on her wildcard.

The first Lunar Wildcard was a quiet, withdrawn boy. It was not so much that he was shy as he was—ironically—apathetic toward the world. He maintained a certain distance from his bonds, and there were members of his team he developed no connection with at all. Even when it came to his romantic relationships—of which he had many, as he would simply tell his partner whatever they wanted to hear, accepting any and all confessions that came his way—he would completely ignore the bond once it reached maximum strength. Having little motivation to pursue goals of his own, he allowed himself to be pulled into the mission of those around him. He did not neglect his role as leader, but part of him always remained somewhat separated from his team.

Looking back, Igor wonders if a piece of the boy remained locked inside his soul with Death. After all, he had lost his parents immediately before the nascent ghost in the machine sealed Death within him. It is not unreasonable to think a young boy would respond to such a trauma by retreating into himself. It would explain why his bond with Death was the only one formed organically, the others requiring him to spend much time solving riddles disguised as conversations to forge. It might also explain his willingness to sacrifice himself despite his obvious disinterest in the world—given that Death had dissolved and merged with Nyx, one could argue he sealed himself away with both of them.

Elizabeth, however, is unresigned. She cannot accept that her wildcard is gone and continues her attempts to reverse his fate with a fervor. Igor cherishes this passion, so while he is concerned for her safety and doubts the wisdom of her quest, he has given her his blessing to leave the Velvet Room and search for a way to release her wildcard. He thinks she knows how he worries for her, as she frequently returns for short visits. Before she sets off again, she always takes the time to regale her siblings with exaggerated tales of her travels—tales only Theodore is gullible enough to fully believe.

Igor’s second child, Theodore, embodies the Star. As much as he tries to hide it, he is a slightly silly young man full of innocent enthusiasm. His endearing attempts to appear mature are unsuccessful, and eagerness becomes excitement becomes embarrassment in seconds. This bit of foolishness made him a remarkably good attendant for his spirited wildcard.

The journey of the second Lunar Wildcard was most unusual. Perhaps Igor was inspired by Elizabeth’s desperation to save the first, as he decided to seek out an alternate timeline, and in the one he chose, the wildcard happened to be female. He did not set out intending to specifically find one in which this was the case, but he did believe it would significantly impact the journey. While he firmly believes in equality of all sexes and genders and the right to live according to one’s true identity, he cannot deny how different two individuals’ lives may be based on these variables alone. From unconscious conditioning experienced as children—sometimes conscious conditioning perpetrated by the particularly ignorant—to the way others interact with them through adulthood, sexual and gender identity greatly influence all aspects of one’s life, from birth to death—and even how they are remembered by those left behind.

Whatever factors contributed to it, the girl was markedly different from her male counterpart, and the bonds she forged were far stronger as a result. She managed to involve herself in everyone and everything around her to such an extent that she often seemed to be spread too thin. She made no time for herself, always bouncing around multiple clubs—of both school and night varieties—or spending the day with lonely people around town, listening to them and their worries in a way that no one else in their lives would. With such a different personality, surely she would not meet the same fate as the first Lunar Wildcard.

But it was not to be. The journey may have drastically changed, but the upshot was the same. Igor feels it is significant, however, that while they ultimately made the same sacrifice, they did so for completely different reasons. He did it out of apathy, but she did it out of love. He believes it is largely because of this that Theodore’s feelings are at odds with Elizabeth’s. His wildcard made her choice, and he believes it would be disrespectful to try to reverse its consequences, that it would disregard her agency. There was a heated argument between Theodore and Elizabeth over this once, but Margaret quickly put a stop to it, severely reprimanding them both for their behavior. They have since chosen to agree to disagree, hoping to avoid another intense scolding from their older sister.

Margaret was third, an Empress through and through. A serious, focused young woman, she performs her work with unparalleled meticulousness. She has great confidence in herself, but her pride does not extend to arrogance—usually, at least. Her aloof attitude and cool demeanor are not superficial affectations, but there is warmth in her sharp eyes. Oddly, despite being third chronologically, all of his children have unequivocally decided that she is the eldest. It is rather inexplicable to him, but if that is how they feel, he has no desire to object to the designation. She somewhat adopted the role of an elder sister to her wildcard, too.

The Wildcard of the Fog is perhaps the most baffling human he has had the pleasure of knowing. Igor was more than a little doubtful when he learned how this wildcard was supposed to awaken to his powers. What sort of boy would think to put his hand inside the television while investigating an absurd urban legend? What sort of thought process would lead him to react in such a way?

Well.

While his Magician was undeniably the one to spur him to action, he took to his mission with gusto. His bonds ran deeper than the first Lunar Wildcard’s, and he was more genuine with them than the second—probably a result of being invested in the world around him without neglecting his own well-being. Unlike the two who came before him, he completed his journey alive and well. Margaret is thoroughly satisfied with the outcome of their partnership, but he knows she feels a certain degree of wistfulness for the time they shared. The affectionate nostalgia in her voice is obvious when she speaks of her experiences with him, something she has been doing with greater frequency as Lavenza peppers her most reliable older sibling with every question she can think of. Her anticipation for the impending start of her own wildcard’s journey is palpable, and her inquiries increasingly resemble interrogations.

Lavenza is his fourth and youngest child. He cannot imagine her being anything but Strength. She has a determination he has never seen in any other being, and he has seen many beings of many types. One can say she is balanced or full of contradictions. She has the excitability of Elizabeth without her carelessness, the zeal of Theodore without his naïveté, and the discipline of Margaret without her rigidness. He has a sneaking suspicion that she will be the holder of the most power—and not just because she was originally set to guide two wildcards.

While she is generally easygoing, she never fails to stand up for herself and others. She defends Theodore whenever Elizabeth teases him (Igor absently recalls that he never did learn exactly what himbo means), and she smoothly and effectively shuts down Margaret when she chastises her for what she perceives as signs of immaturity ( “Yes, I’m glad you recognize the childishness of my butterfly barrettes, as this is why they suit an adorable little girl such as myself so well. On an unrelated note, how childish is it for an adult woman to criticize their sweet younger sister by offering unsolicited fashion advice regarding her personal preference for cute hair accessories?” ). She never allows someone else to get the last word—unless the last word is an apology.

As master of the Velvet Room, Igor has the ability to sense wildcards in the human world, and he created Lavenza 17 years ago when he felt the birth of the Trickster Wildcard. Knowing there was only one journey on the horizon, he was thoroughly surprised when a second was born a year later, but he decided to assign Lavenza to attend to them both. It seems the two were bound by fate—two sides of the same coin—and meant to complete the journey together. 

Igor’s influence is not to be wielded outside his Velvet Room, so he refrains from contacting or monitoring wildcards until they begin their journeys. However, his connection with them is maintained unconsciously, so he felt the moment the first Trickster’s signal winked out of existence. Such a thing was unprecedented, but so was the presence of two wildcards. He mourned the loss of his guest and lamented the fact that the second Trickster was robbed of his other half, but he did not suspect something awry. Mortality is part of the human condition.

Igor has faith in the remaining Trickster. While his journey has proven itself unfair before it has even begun, he knows that a wildcard supported by Lavenza will be capable of weathering any storm. The trials ahead of him will surely be arduous and numerous, but he cannot fathom the possibility of failure. He has placed his trust in every wildcard to prevail against the inhuman forces that sought to impose their malevolent will upon humanity, and they have yet to disappoint him.

He knows that his positive view of humanity is not shared by many otherworldly beings, and he can only think of one other who has the same genuine affection for them. Most do not have particularly strong feelings toward humanity and consider them to be mere oddities. Powerful entities tend to be simple creatures. Their strength keeps them safe, and their abilities keep them content. Being able to meet all their needs on their own, they have not developed the same concept of society as humans have. Having only scant, shallow interactions with each other to draw on, these greater beings cannot comprehend human motivations. They see the unpredictability of humans, see their capacity for intense love and abject hate, compassion and violence, and do not know what to make of them.

It is rare that those with a neutral view of humanity take the time to engage with them, but when they do, it is generally innocuous. Those with a mild dislike for humanity simply ignore them. It is those with real enmity who, unsurprisingly, cause issues. There are many systems in place meant to deal with such contingencies, one of which being the Velvet Room. Given that the journey of Lavenza’s wildcard is imminent, Igor believes the advent of a major problem is fast approaching. He also believes he knows who will be responsible.

Yaldabaoth.

The role of the god of control has always existed, but it has changed hands countless times. These entities are created from human consciousness, so it is only natural that they evolve alongside humans. Igor once asked the current Yaldabaoth for his name, but his question was left unanswered. He believes this is fine, however. It is easy to consider Yaldabaoth his given name rather than a title, as he has never bothered with the previous gods of control. This one, however, intrigued him from the beginning of his tenure, and Igor’s interest in him has only grown with time.

Beings who consider themselves gods are always narcissistic, and Yaldabaoth is no exception, but he lacks their stagnance. He reflects upon himself and the world in a way other gods do not, and his understanding of his own character is constantly developing. The conclusions he reaches range from bizarre to downright erroneous, but Igor enjoys listening to his findings. His thought process is strange and different from any system of common sense he has encountered, but it is consistent. If one subscribes to his distinct brand of logic, the conclusions he draws are sound.

That said, he has recently grown concerned. While Igor has never been under the illusion that Yaldabaoth is a calm individual, his behavior is becoming more erratic. He senses a hostility toward humanity that he is sure was not present before, and his once simple observations are becoming harsh judgments. He has always considered himself to be above humans, but the contempt he shows is new. Igor finds himself severely troubled by their last conversation. Well, it was more of a monologue than a conversation…

“They’re absolutely spineless!” Yaldabaoth spits out.

“Hmm… While some of them surely act cowardly at times, humans are not two-dimensional creatures. They have a depth rarely seen in other beings, so making overarching generalizations like that—”

“Oh, sure some have a backbone. A backbone they use to trample on each other. The rest of them allow themselves to be victimized, so content not to think for themselves that they accept being treated like shit!”

Igor heaves a great sigh. “I think it is shortsighted to consider it such a simple matter. The complexity of human relationships—”

“It’s those relationships that fuck everything up! They’re always relying on each other to make decisions, never thinking for themselves. They’re supposed to have free will, but it’s really just a handful of them imposing their will on the rest.” Yaldabaoth states firmly, completely confident in his beliefs.

“I believe your conjecture has led you to a number of fallacious assumptions. To say humans only exercise their free will through the manipulation of others—”

“No, that’s not my point. I'm saying most humans give up their free will entirely, and they do it with a smile.”

Igor tries to speak yet again. “I have not found this to be the case. Humans—”

“Ugh, all you ever do is defend them! You’re completely blind to their faults. I’m glad the time to settle this has finally come. Our game is about to start.”

“A game?” Igor is startled. Their conversations have never gone in this direction before, and he is not looking forward to learning what Yaldabaoth has in mind.

“Yeah, and we’ll make a bet. You say free will is a hallmark of humanity, and they have the ability to exercise it responsibly, right?”

“Right…”

“Well, I call bullshit. I say that given the opportunity, humans would leap at the chance to surrender their free will. They’d see it as ridding themselves of a burden rather than losing something vital to who they are.”

Igor is a little disturbed by this proposal. Just what kind of game is this? How would one even conduct such an experiment?

“No,” Igor says with as much finality as he can muster, “I do not know what you are suggesting, but we are not to interfere in the affairs of humanity.”

“We don’t need to. Your role is to nurture wildcards, right? They’ll do it for us.”

“I do not understand, and I do not want to. I refuse to play whatever game this is.”

Yaldabaoth looks into Igor’s eyes for a long moment before smirking. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not up to you. Our kings have been chosen and placed on the board. I’ve spent a lot of time on the preparations, and I’m really looking forward to this.”

And with that, Yaldabaoth leaves.

Yaldabaoth’s ominous farewell has continued to haunt his thoughts. How does he expect to force Igor to participate in a game he refuses to play? To say these kings are in place implies that the game has already begun, but what are they? Or should he ask who are they? Yaldabaoth referenced Igor’s purpose of guiding wildcards, but that only reveals the identity of his own king. Who is Yaldabaoth’s champion? And how is he supposed to compete with the wildcard?

Unless…

But Igor’s thought is abruptly interrupted.

Something suddenly strikes the boundary of the Velvet Room, and the force reverberates throughout the office. He can feel cracks have already formed in the barrier and knows a second hit would successfully destroy it entirely. After all, the Velvet Room was never intended to be a fortress. The barrier was more of a delineation than a shield.

“Master!” Lavenza cries in alarm as she jumps up, book falling to the floor with a loud thump. Igor has never seen her so panicked.

“Calm yourself, my dear. I need you to do something for me,” Igor deliberately speaks in a soft tone that lacks urgency.

“Of course! Anything!” She relaxes a minuscule amount, grounded by her master’s apparent steadiness.

“I need you to leave. I shall call you back when this is over. I suspect I know the identity of our intruder, and I believe I will be able to persuade him not to do anything rash.” He believes no such thing, of course, but he knows she will not leave if she perceives any danger to him.

“Anything but that, I am afraid,” she states evenly, all obvious signs of tension vanish now that she has found her resolve.

Well, he did not expect she would accept. More than anything, he wishes for the safety of his youngest child, but he knows her well. She has made her decision to remain and face whatever is coming with him, and she will not be dissuaded.

Unfortunately, Igor and Lavenza are completely defenseless. Igor is not a particularly powerful creature, and even then, his abilities are wholly specialized. He would be useless in a fight. Lavenza actually has a great capacity for combat, but as her wildcard has not begun his journey, her grimoire has nothing registered. He is certain she will one day become the keeper of ferocious power, but for the time being, she is effectively unarmed.

His complete ineptitude in battle has never troubled him, as he has never needed to fight. He is peaceful and unambitious. The powers he possesses are only of use to a select number of humans, so no other beings have ever attempted to take advantage of him. It is only now, when he and his family are under siege, that he realizes how unwise his total lack of defensive measures is. He mentally adds rectifying that to his agenda—an entirely unhelpful thought in regard to their current dilemma.

At the very least, he does not expect Yaldabaoth to cause them any physical harm. He can only assume that they will be taken prisoner in some way for the duration of this twisted game. Yaldabaoth has already expressed his desire to compete, and for that, he needs an opponent. 

If Igor’s king truly does refer to the wildcard, he suspects he will be prevented from offering the Velvet Room’s services to him—the notion of Yaldabaoth playing fair is unfathomable to him. For the Trickster to be completely without guidance is unacceptable. He may be helpless to stop Yaldabaoth’s invasion, but he has a way to indirectly provide some assistance. A guide capable of acting outside the confines of the Velvet Room will have limited power, but it is all he can manage at the moment.

Just as he makes this decision, Lavenza speaks.

“Master, is it possible to create an attendant that can remain with the Trickster in reality, and how long would that take?”

Despite their situation, he smiles, amused that they so swiftly came to the same conclusion.

“I can do that. They will obviously be unable to assist him in fusion, but they will be able to provide emotional support and impart the necessary information.”

He thinks something flashes in Lavenza’s eyes for a moment, but it quickly disappears, and all that remains is a fierce determination.

“Then, if you would, I will stall as much as I am able.”

He is loath to agree, reluctant to allow her to shield him when he would prefer the opposite, but he knows she does this for the sake of her wildcard, and he respects her decision. He forces himself to nod. She firmly returns it and turns her back to him, standing sentry, small shoulders squared.

Igor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He hears a resounding crash, but he maintains his concentration. He reaches for the sea of souls and is met by the vision of a brilliant galaxy. He knows that Yaldabaoth’s goal is to force humanity into complacency and deprive them of their agency, so he slightly alters the method he typically uses to create this child. He sifts through the flickering little lights, gathering all the fragments of hope he can locate. 

He distantly hears Lavenza cry out. His heart breaks a little, but he forces himself to focus and continue the conjuring, knowing how she would disapprove were he to stop for her sake. He works as quickly as he can, but he soon finds that his consciousness is fading—a novel experience for one who does not sleep. He has no choice but to rush through the final stage of materialization, and he fears this child will be missing some crucial information. He can do nothing more, however, as he is out of time.

In the seconds it takes for his vision to fully darken, he catches a glimpse of his newest child nimbly darting away, chasing the twinkling trail of a tiny blue light. Despite the dire circumstance, he cannot help but huff out a small chuckle.

For the manifestation of their hope to take the form of a little black cat… Humans never fail to delight him.

Chapter Text

Inside a space that exists between dreams and reality, between mind and matter, a dainty young girl struggles to refrain from fidgeting.

It is not that she is angry or unhappy—she is antsy. Her body is humming in excitement. Unlike her master, Lavenza does not have a sense of all wildcards, but she will gain a sense of her own upon the commencement of his journey. Recently, she developed a feeling of great anticipation, and when she asked her master, he confirmed it. Just now, that feeling intensified into a bona fide frisson, and she just knows. She knows she is about to meet her wildcard.

She forces herself to stay still, not wanting to disturb her master while he works. She has no doubt he would set aside his cards in favor of ensuring her agitation was not due to anxiety, and she is aware he has his own preparations to make. After all, he will be assisting her wildcard just as much as she will be—perhaps even more.

She focuses her energy on studying the oversized leatherbound book that lies open on her lap. This will become an essential tool in helping her wildcard: the persona compendium. For now, it remains empty, void of the various demons and divinities it is meant to house, but there is much to consider. It is not as though a powerful artifact such as this contains any templates. The records are to be formatted completely at her discretion, and they are too complex and important to even imagine improvising. Even Margaret admits she would have been lost had she not meticulously planned out every minute detail of her register beforehand, and she excels in clerical work.

As well as mapping out the structure of her entries, she is also finalizing the task list she has been composing for her wildcard. Her siblings offered to assist by providing examples of their own, but she refused. The selection of personas her wildcard will have access to is slightly different from those of her siblings’ wildcards—and to her smug satisfaction more numerous. As his attendant, it is her responsibility to tailor this list to him specifically. These tasks are intended to encourage him to familiarize himself with all the subtleties of persona fusion. He will be at a great disadvantage if he only understands the basic principles of creating the most powerful weapons in his arsenal, and she would be remiss in her duty as his guide if she did not effectively lead him to realizing his full potential.

On a more personal level, she also feels that this is a good means of bonding with him. While their relationship as guest and attendant is a functional one, she wants it to be more than that. As knowledgeable as she is about the bonds between humans, she has never experienced it herself. She wonders if it will feel different than the relationships she has with her master and her siblings. 

With the ranking structure, the bonds she will oversee between her wildcard and his confidants are more overtly contractual, but she believes that relationships are all inherently contractual. Transactional, too. She knows some humans use the terms only when referring to professional or toxic relationships, but she has a broader understanding of the words. Healthy relationships still involve giving and receiving things like consideration, affection, and time. If one were to remove any element of meaningful exchange from a relationship, would that not reduce it to small talk? Bland comments about the weather, an observation that the trains are running late?

Strangely enough, it is her master who disturbs the silence in the office with an impressive sigh. She looks up to see him frowning, eyes closed despite the cards spread on his desk. It makes her frown also. She cannot remember ever seeing him look away from a reading. Has he grown fatigued with all his preparations, resting his eyes before he begins his analysis? Or has he already deciphered their meaning and divined something he is unwilling to even look at?

“Master?” She calls out to him, “Is something troubling you?”

His frown morphs into a gentle smile as he opens his eyes and looks over to her.

“No, my dear. I simply found myself a little lost in my musings.”

“All right… Please call upon me if that changes.”

Lavenza does not really believe him, and she is sure her suspicion shows on her face. His reaction to the cards was definitely abnormal, and while the smile he gave her was genuine, the frown before it was as well.

She allows the conversation to end there anyway. It is clear he wants to keep his own counsel, and despite her curiosity, she will respect his boundaries. All she can do is inform him she is available should he wish to confer with someone. That said, if he shows any additional signs of unease, she will force it out of him make another inquiry.

Recently, there have been times when her master has seemed unusually unsettled. Lavenza is at a loss, and while she considers herself a somewhat proud person and prefers to resolve her problems alone, she has the sense to recognize when she needs help. So, she decided to consult her siblings. The results were unsatisfying, if not unexpected.

She started with her second eldest sister, Elizabeth. This was most definitely not because she was the best choice—Lavenza would honestly have been shocked if she obtained any useful advice from this flaky happy-go-lucky sibling—but because she is the hardest to pin down. She did not want to miss her opportunity to ask before Elizabeth went gallivanting off to wherever it is she goes to do whatever it is she does (Lavenza is not foolish enough to believe the sensational stories Elizabeth tells, so she writes off her sister’s actual activities in the human realm as unknown). True to form, Elizabeth blithely dismissed her concerns.

“Oh, Lavenza, you worry too much! You know, humans have this marvelous saying: Hakuna matata! It’s a wonderful phrase! It means ‘no worries for the rest of your days!’”

And to Lavenza’s unadulterated horror, Elizabeth started to sing some bizarre song that glorified escapism in her painfully grating unpracticed voice. Of course, there was dancing to go along with it—or some approximation of dancing, at least.

Lavenza opted not to stay for the whole number. As she made her escape, she encountered Theodore, who was looking for the source of the noise. She quickly grabbed his wrist and directed him back the way he had come. He resisted for a moment before he seemed to remember that, despite being less than half his size, she was more than twice as strong. She felt no remorse for manhandling her elder brother—it is her duty to protect those she loves, and she had surely just saved him from a terrible fate. She gave herself a pat on the back for being a good sister.

As he was already there, she spoke with her elder brother next. Theodore listened intently as she laid out her reasoning, and she was relieved that he seemed to be sincerely entertaining her concerns. After learning that Elizabeth had not taken them seriously, he suggested they consult Margaret. Lavenza was not surprised by this—as it stands, it is one sister’s opinion against another’s, and Theodore is uncomfortable being the deciding vote. It is slightly irritating, but she understands that it is simply in her elder brother’s nature to be a sheep defer to the majority. That said, she had faith that even if her eldest sister did not accept her claims outright, she would at least validate her concerns by taking the time to investigate the matter.

Or she would have, had they caught her at literally any other time. When Lavenza saw what Margaret was doing, she wanted to turn right back around and return later. Theodore, bless his naïve heart, believed Margaret would not wish Lavenza to stew in her worries longer than necessary. Before she could stop him, he foolishly approached her while she was painting her nails. She scowled at them as Theodore described the situation. She would generally never allow him—or anyone, really, but particularly him—to speak for her like this, but she was still a little frozen. It took a great deal for Lavenza to suppress a shiver when her eldest sister’s sharp eyes flicked over to her. The bright cyan light radiating from the ultraviolet drying lamp stood out amid the deep blue of their surroundings, and it reflected off her face as though she held a flashlight underneath it to tell a spooky story around a campfire.

“If our master says there is no problem, there is no problem. I certainly hope you will not require my assistance to reach such a simple conclusion in the future.”

And with that, they were brusquely shooed away. Theodore looked a little sheepish—pun very much intended. He was under the illusion that she would hear them out if they came back at another time, but Lavenza knew better. Margaret is too damnably stubborn to admit she can be wrong decisive, and she would not be swayed. Unsurprisingly, when Theodore realized Margaret would not change her mind, he made up his.

“It is kind of you to worry for our master, but perhaps you are overthinking things.”

So, she has no one to help her figure this out. Rather, she has no one to confirm her suspicions. She has put a fair bit of thought into this, and there is one possibility she keeps returning to.

Yaldabaoth.

She has never understood her master’s relationship with the current god of control, but as it seemed relatively innocuous, she did not feel she had to. After all, it is impolite to pry into the personal relationships of others. She recently felt the need to reevaluate this, however, as Yaldabaoth seems to be growing more belligerent with each interaction. She realized she had not been privy to all of their conversations, so she was not in a position to make an informed decision. Therefore, she took the most sensible course of action—she eavesdropped on their most recent conversation took the initiative to become informed.

“They’re absolutely spineless!” Yaldabaoth spits out.

Lavenza frowns at his tone. So disrespectful in the presence of her master.

“Hmm… While some of them surely act cowardly at times, humans are not two-dimensional creatures. They have a depth rarely seen in other beings, so making overarching generalizations like that—”

Her master, ever the source of reason.

“Oh, sure some have a backbone. A backbone they use to trample on each other. The rest of them allow themselves to be victimized, so content not to think for themselves that they accept being treated like shit!”

Lavenza is starting to feel exasperated with the way Yaldabaoth appears to be underestimating humans.

Igor heaves a great sigh. “I think it is shortsighted to consider it such a simple matter. The complexity of human relationships—”

Lavenza nods along. She knows how powerful bonds between people are, as they are one of the most important variables in persona fusion.

“It’s those relationships that fuck everything up! They’re always relying on each other to make decisions, never thinking for themselves. They’re supposed to have free will, but it’s really just a handful of them imposing their will on the rest.” Yaldabaoth states firmly, completely confident in his beliefs.

Lavenza is feeling indignant now. He is not allowing her master to finish his thoughts. 

“I believe your conjecture has led you to a number of fallacious assumptions. To say humans only exercise their free will through the manipulation of others—”

“No, that’s not my point. I'm saying most humans give up their free will entirely, and they do it with a smile.”

Lavenza rolls her eyes at this.

Igor tries to speak yet again. “I have not found this to be the case. Humans—”

With the way her master is being interrupted, it is hard to consider this a discussion at all.

“Ugh, all you ever do is defend them! You’re completely blind to their faults. I’m glad the time to settle this has finally come. Our game is about to start.”

She stills a little at this. She has indulged in some of the superhero media Elizabeth has given her as souvenirs, and she can recognize a villainous monologue.

“A game?” Her master sounds as alarmed as she is.

“Yeah, and we’ll make a bet. You say free will is a hallmark of humanity, and they have the ability to exercise it responsibly, right?”

“Right…”

“Well, I call bullshit. I say that given the opportunity, humans would leap at the chance to surrender their free will. They’d see it as ridding themselves of a burden rather than losing something vital to who they are.”

Lavenza is confused. Does her master understand where Yaldabaoth is going with this? Because she certainly does not. What kind of game is this?

“No,” Igor says with finality, “I do not know what you are suggesting, but we are not to interfere in the affairs of humanity.”

“We don’t need to. Your role is to nurture wildcards, right? They’ll do it for us.”

How dare he! She may not know what he is planning, but she cannot allow him to touch her Trickster!

“I do not understand, and I do not want to. I refuse to play whatever game this is.”

Yaldabaoth looks into Igor’s eyes for a long moment before smirking. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not up to you. Our kings have been chosen and placed on the board. I’ve spent a lot of time on the preparations, and I’m really looking forward to this.”

And with that, Yaldabaoth leaves.

Yes, she is certain her master’s troubles stem from Yaldabaoth. What with being the god of control, she cannot imagine any game he plays will not be rigged in his favor. Will this game be her wildcard’s trial? She fumes at the thought that Yaldabaoth might interfere with her Trickster’s journey. As his attendant, it is her responsibility to guide him along the paths he will walk, but what can she do if this path is tampered with?

She knows she needs to speak with her master about this. It is embarrassing to admit she eavesdropped on them, but this is not about her. For the sake of her wildcard, she will endure the shame she knows she will feel for disappointing her master. She steels herself and takes a deep breath, ready to confess…

But as she opens her mouth to speak, she is abruptly interrupted.

Lavenza does not perceive magic in the same way her master and her siblings do. While they are all able to discern the strength and type of power, Lavenza’s sense also has an empathetic aspect to it. Truthfully, this is not a particularly useful skill. Sometimes what she feels is a reflection of the caster, and sometimes it corresponds to the purpose of the spell. Even with the help of her master and her siblings, she has not been able to discern a pattern, and she cannot distinguish between the two in the moment. This can actually be more problematic than helpful—one can often infer the caster’s intent based on the type of spell, and the emotions she feels only add a layer of confusion. Despite its lack of utility, that she is able to inherently do something others cannot has always made her feel a little special, and so she has appreciated this skill. She now realizes that is only because she has never before encountered such foul magic.

There is a sinister edge to whatever is laying siege to the Velvet Room, and it evokes a feeling of dread that nearly steals her breath away. She knows she is sheltered, but she simply cannot comprehend such malice. That said, while it was nowhere near this intense, she has experienced a similar feeling recently, and it lends credence to her thoughts from earlier. She has no doubt that Yaldabaoth’s invasion heralds the start of whatever game he is playing, meaning that the threat does not extend only to her master and her—her wildcard is in danger.

“Master!” Lavenza looks to the one she trusts most. Panicked as she is, she still has faith that her master has a solution.

“Calm yourself, my dear. I need you to do something for me,” he says, and she can tell by his peaceful tone that he has confidence in his plan. As expected of her master!

“Of course! Anything!”

“I need you to leave. I shall call you back when this is over. I suspect I know the identity of our intruder, and I believe I will be able to persuade him not to do anything rash.”

Oh. So his plan is to politely ask the god of control to behave. Lavenza did not expect his plan to be so dumb expected a slightly more auspicious plan.

“Anything but that, I am afraid,” she does not think she has ever spoken so flatly to her master. Then again, her master has never suggested anything so outrageous. As if she could leave someone she cared about alone at a time like this!

She sees him give her helpless look, and she knows he has resigned himself to her staying. Oddly, upon full recognition of the uncertainty of their situation, her fear lessens. Perhaps it is because she has rejected any hesitation—she may not know what to do to fight this, but she has resolved to do it.

More composed now, she steps back to take stock of their situation, only to realize they are totally screwed extremely limited in their options. She and her master have no way of fending off any attacking force. As such, there is no point scrambling to come up with a plan to stop him. Instead, they should do their best to mitigate the damages. She may not be able to keep her master and herself out of this fiend’s clutches, but her wildcard is still out there. A little while ago, her master told her that he is still many kilometers away from where his journey is to take place, and he would have informed her if that had changed. If her theories about Yaldabaoth’s plan are correct, he will entangle her Trickster in his mysterious game. Being the god of control, he will undoubtedly rig the game in his favor. It appears that part of that will be to cut him off from the Velvet Room. 

This is completely unacceptable. The guidance the Velvet Room provides wildcards extends beyond persona fusion—and even if it did not, that alone is important enough—it also serves as an anchor. While cosmic forces tend to lead wildcards to other persona users as well as humans or other beings with some knowledge of personas and shadows, their characteristic ability—the potential to house multiple personas—can be isolating. To have a resource to learn of this power from those who understand it is necessary for their development, and to have someone who can reassure them that their abilities stem from possessing a more complete understanding of oneself rather than a fractured psyche is vital to their mental health.

In addition, a wildcard’s journey is never a simple affair. It contains twists and turns and unique tribulations. It is a dizzying experience, and it is easy to get stuck on the little details, searching for meaningful answers in meaningless trivia. While it is, of course, important to take all information into account when analyzing a problem, one cannot lose sight of the bigger picture. Her master will often call wildcards to the Velvet Room to discuss the trials they are facing in a broader sense. The opportunity to take a moment to summarize the major points of their trial helps ground them, and the simple act of being in the Velvet Room, of existing outside reality, encourages them to be more objective in their observations. It provides an environment conducive to drawing their own conclusions, away from any outside influences.

So, if her Trickster will not have access to the Velvet Room, her master and her priority is to supply him with some form of guide capable of existing in the human realm longterm. Even if they sent out a distress signal to her siblings, they would not be able to assist him, as they cannot function for extended periods of time in the human dimension. The creation of such a guide would have to be solely up to her master, as that magic was well outside her purview. She cannot help feeling significantly bitter a touch of regret knowing that someone else will be guiding her wildcard, but better someone else than no one at all.

“Master, is it possible to create an attendant that can remain with the Trickster in reality, and how long would that take?”

He smiles and says, “I can do that. They will obviously be unable to assist him in fusion, but they will be able to provide emotional support and impart the necessary information.”

Emotional support.

A spark of jealousy flashes through her, resentful that someone will be usurping her position feeling of relief floods her, reassured that her Trickster will have someone by his side, even if that someone is not her.

“Then, if you would, I will stall as much as I am able.”

She returns the nod he gives her and does her best to stand up straight, preparing herself for the impending confrontation.

She only has a moment to do so before the barrier collapses. Immediately, the atmosphere of the room grows heavy, the pressure weighing down on her punishingly. Still, she forces herself to stay upright as she feels the malevolence seep in. Slowly, this invisible magic coalesces into a figure. She is completely nonplussed to see Yaldabaoth has mimicked the form of her master, and it distracts her for a moment. Usually, Yaldabaoth takes the shape of an androgynous humanoid—stunningly gorgeous, of course, because his narcissism would allow nothing less. As much as she loves and respects her master, she cannot deny that his appearance is cartoonishly ugly does not align with the traditional standards of human beauty. 

If Yaldabaoth has adopted this form, he has done so for a reason. Could it be that he wishes to unsettle her? She does not think so. While she takes umbrage at this trick, it is hardly her biggest concern at the moment. She supposes he is petty enough to simply be mocking her, but that still does not feel right. As she cycles through various possibilities in her mind, he speaks.

“You’re the youngest, no?”

Well, it seems it is more than a little disturbing to see such a reptilian smile on her master’s face. 

“I am,” she lifts her chin up as she speaks, determined to appear confident.

“And you’ll be the one guiding the upcoming wildcard?”

Still with that greasy grin, more like a predator baring their teeth.

“I will,” she does her best to channel her inner Margaret and narrows her eyes to give him an overweening glare.

He only laughs, however, clearly unintimidated.

“Well then, I look forward to working with you, child of Igor.”

She pales at this, coming to a horrifying realization. He chose the form of her master because he plans to guide her Trickster in his place. What better way is there to win a game than to move your opponent’s chessmen?

Quickly, though, she pulls herself together. He does not have the power to man the Velvet Room on his own, and she will never assist him.

“It is quite bold of you to assume I would ever cooperate with such a farce,” she states primly.

Another laugh, this one more chilling than the last.

“It’s not any bolder than you assuming you will have a choice,” he quips.

Affronted that he would accurately gauge her inability to resist underestimate her resolve, she is about to respond when pain courses through her body.

She tries to remain stoic, not only reluctant to give Yaldabaoth the satisfaction but also unwilling to distract her master from his task, but the agony is too much to bear, and she cries out in pain. She has never experienced anything like this before. She clenches her teeth and fails to remain upright, falling to her knees. She desperately hopes her outburst has not interrupted her master in his conjuring.

“Now then, it’s my understanding that some of the Velvet Room operations can’t be performed alone. As I won’t be able to help, we’ve got to find a way for you to do the job of two people.”

Does that just mean he plans to overwork her? It makes sense that the god of control would be like the president of a black company, would he not? She realizes how Elizabethan asinine that thought is as he begins to inject her with magic, and an overwhelming feeling of loss washes over her. She knows this cannot be a projection of Yaldabaoth’s feelings, so it must be the purpose of the spell. As her soul begins to stretch, pulled in opposite directions, what is happening becomes obvious—she is being torn apart.

She was not aware magic was capable of dividing souls—well, she supposes almost anything can be accomplished with enough power and creativity, but it had never occurred to her that one would have this intention—and she is unsure exactly what the result will be. She needs to figure something out quickly, however, as this is obviously something she is unable to withstand.

First, she must assume that this will not result in the total destruction of the soul. She has no real evidence to support this—she simply has no choice but to believe it. If she does not, her inability to resist would mean all she can do is lay down and die, and that is not an option. Therefore, her soul will not be destroyed. End of story.

So it will not be destroyed, but it certainly will not remain intact. She can feel the way her soul is being tugged to the left and the right, so she can say that this is a bisection. This is corroborated by Yaldabaoth’s own words: “to do the job of two people.” Does doing the work of two count as overtime when you have been split in two?  

There must be more to it than that. He said she would not have a choice, but knowing what she does, she cannot believe any part of her would ever assist him. So her memory must be affected, too. Well, of course it would be! She chides herself for having to puzzle that out at all. The soul and the mind are intricately linked in ways not even her master fully understands. It is entirely possible for her mind to be muddled enough that she would forget herself completely.

So she has to consider what will become of her memories. He will have to remove quite a lot in order to gain her compliance, so it follows that he would need to implant memories to take their place. That is something she can work with. No matter how meticulous he is, she does not believe it is possible for it to be perfect. Even if they are small, there will be holes in her memories, clues left behind to indicate something is wrong. She is sure that she will be able to spot at least some of these. After all, while she would never claim to be as clever as Margaret, she is not as oblivious as Theodore possesses decent observational skills.

Perhaps she does not have to rely solely on hints left by Yaldabaoth’s negligence. Could she leave behind some sort of message for herself? That would be probably the most effective strategy, but she quickly discards the idea. Yaldabaoth is watching her closely, and he would surely notice anything like that. Still, she believes her best bet is to somehow assist the two parts of herself in realizing the wrongness of the situation.

The power flowing into her body is growing more insistent, and she can tell that she will not be able to maintain the integrity of her soul much longer. Even if she could formulate some sort of plan, there is no more time to enact it. Despair crushes her as she realizes she can do nothing more than allow her soul to be separated.

Well, that is an idea itself, is it not? What if she does “allow” it? She cannot resist the spell, but maybe she can work with it, mold it to her benefit. She cannot stop the pieces of her soul from being forced apart, but she could choose which pieces go where. If she can do that, she could create two individuals with the best chance of finding the answer.

She recalls reading about a dialectical philosophy some humans favor. Something about the relationship between thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. She is not entirely sure this is applicable to her situation—her understanding of philosophy is dilettante at best—but she is running out of options. Her master and siblings have always said she is full of contradictions an exceptionally balanced individual, and now is the time to take advantage of that. So, she riffles through the pieces of her soul, shifting them around so the halves will contain opposing characteristics. 

To the left, audacity; to the right, caution. To the left, boisterousness; to the right, calmness. To the left, impulsiveness; to the right, prudence. To the left, aggressiveness; to the right, oh, there is no passiveness in her gracious assertiveness. 

Again and again, she catalogues and categorizes the aspects of her soul, pushing them to either side, but just before she finishes, she notices that another being has materialized in the Velvet Room. This must be the guide! But she can see her master is losing consciousness, and he is unable to lead them away from here. His work will all be for naught if this child, too, is captured by Yaldabaoth, so she takes up the task.

With the last of her energy, she creates a beacon for her newest sibling. Her choices of vessels are limited to what is on her person, and she picks her barrettes. Not so childish now, huh, Margaret? Two silver butterfly wings unclip themselves from behind each of her ears and merge as they float away. Imbuing the butterfly with her intent turns it the light blue of her magic, and a pair of hair charms smoothly becomes a single magic charm. She thinks one might be able to craft a metaphor with this, fusing the two ornaments into one while she herself is being halved, but she has neither the ability nor the desire to waste time on that fanciful thought. 

Just as the division of her soul is complete, she sees the butterfly leading the creature—a little black cat, she realizes—out through the opening Yaldabaoth made.

Chapter Text

Upon awakening, one’s thoughts are expected to slowly grow clearer, so it is perplexing for Justine and Caroline to discover their memories seem to be gradually fading away instead. As they gingerly lift themselves up from the cold, stone floor—equally as perplexing—they become aware that something is very wrong. They look at each, one eye to one eye, and know they are having similar thoughts.

“This isn’t right,” Caroline says, obviously agitated.

“Yes, something has changed,” Justine replies coolly.

“How can you be so calm? I feel like I’m losing my mind here—literally! We have to do something before we fully forget. Leave a message for ourselves or something.”

Justine pauses before answering.

“To what end?”

“ “To what end?” Isn’t it obvious? So we can remember that we’re supposed to be one person!” Caroline can’t believe that her sister… No! Her other half is so unmoved. Even if she can’t remember anything else being wrong, there has to be something more to this. Any situation that leads to a person being bisected can’t possibly be good, right?

Justine is reserving judgment. She knows there is not much time until this knowledge slips away, but making a hasty decision could potentially worsen their situation. And also…

“You wish for us to be joined again?” Justine asks.

Caroline looks at her sister like she has two heads. No! Not her sister! Herself! She looks at herself, which is only possible without a mirror because she actually. Has. Two. Heads.

“Of course! Don't you?!”

“And so what will become of the two of us?” Justine asks.

“Obviously, we’ll be whole again!” Caroline is growing impatient with... Her sister? 

“No, what will become of the two of us, of Caroline and Justine individually? Because we are individuals, are we not? We have two separate bodies, we have different thoughts. Indeed, we are not in agreement regarding this very decision. Consider what will happen to us if we join together,” Justine knows she must walk her brasher... Hmm... Sister, she decides. Walk her brasher sister through each logical step.

“But we’re one soul!” Caroline splutters.

“Are we? Other than this odd feeling, a feeling we have already established to be transient, do we have any evidence to prove our souls were ever one?” Justine counters.

“Our eyes prove it!” Caroline knows she’s right. Humans sometimes say that the eyes are windows to the soul, and while that’s not completely accurate, there’s a modicum of truth to it. Eyes and souls are inextricably linked.

“You know that is not universally true,” Justine gives her sister a withering glare, annoyed that she is either forgetting or actively ignoring the many exceptions to this rule, “I am sure you are aware that while souls often favor the eyes in beings who possess them, there are plenty of beings who are eyeless by nature with souls. Even in beings who typically have eyes, there are cases where some are born without them. The soul is perfectly capable of attaching itself to those individuals just as well. After all, the soul almost immediately abandons whichever organ it originally inhabits and settles into the body in a more complete and intangible manner. Whether the soul is housed in the eyes or elsewhere, the end result is exactly the same. Besides, there is no way to know that your left eye and my right eye were ever a pair.”

“But they look identical!” Caroline confidently shoots back, but she’s met with an exasperated sigh.

“Caroline… We are twins,” Justine really does try not to sound condescending, “I will also remind you that, while relatively uncommon, heterochromia iridum exists. Our eyes are circumstantial evidence for our oneness at best.”

“But… I… Oh! Our hats! Justine, Justine, look at the letters on our hats! They spell “oxymoron” when combined!” Caroline is pretty pleased with herself for catching that.

“So you are basing your assertion that we can only be one soul on the letters adorning our headwear?” Justine definitely fails to keep the condescension out of her tone now.

Caroline’s a little embarrassed as she realizes how much of a stretch that is. Maybe Justine is right, and they are two separate souls.

“So I will ask you again,” Justine looks directly at her sister and forces her to maintain eye contact, “What will become of us?”

“Well…” Caroline doesn’t know what to say, or maybe she just doesn't want to say it.

Her sister has no such compunction.

“We will cease to exist,” Justine states plainly.

And that’s true, isn’t it?

If they are merged into a single soul, they’ll lose their individual consciousnesses. They’ll effectively die.

With this thought in mind, even the impulsive Caroline has to stop and consider whether leaving a message for their future selves is wise. Also, even if they were originally one soul, is there any reason why they should return to a singular state? Is there any benefit in existing as one soul over two?

As she reviews her duties, she can’t think of anything. In fact, it seems to her that it would be better to remain as they are. She’s already close to convincing herself when she thinks of something that solidifies her decision.

“You’re right, Justine! The inmate!” Caroline suddenly cries.

Justine is confused at her sister’s outburst for a moment before understanding whom she is referring to. How could she have forgotten, even for just one moment, that the wildcard is the inmate? She shakes her head a little and dismisses the oddness of her brief memory lapse.

“I am aware that I am correct, but what is it about the inmate that has convinced you?”

“We have to be two people if we’re going to properly guide the inmate in his rehabilitation!” Caroline says.

“Yes, of course,” Justine smiles in satisfaction. She was not unsure of herself, but further validation is not unwelcome, “One cannot operate the various fusion apparatuses alone, so becoming one soul would be detrimental to his development. That would be unacceptable.”

“Girls,” a deep, unfamiliar voice distracts them from their discussion.

They turn around in tandem to look at the man who has called them.

Their master, of course. How could their master’s voice be unfamiliar? Well, it came back to them as soon as they saw him, so Caroline doesn't worry.

“Yes, master?” Justine asks, and the sliver of uncertainty that creeps into her voice escapes her sister’s and her master’s notice.

“The inmate will begin his rehabilitation shortly. As wardens, should you not start assembling the equipment?”

Of course! They had forgotten all about the inmate while they were distracted by… What was distracting them? Caroline thinks it doesn’t matter. Nothing is more important than the inmate.

“We shall commence preparations immediately,” Justine replies affirmatively, though she wonders about the subject of their previous conversation for a moment longer than her sister, reluctant to completely let it pass. It is true that there is much to be done at the moment, however, so she files it away in her mind for later consideration.

“Very good,” he says, smiling.

Something about that smile seems off… But no, their master is almost always smiling. Caroline easily decides that this is typical behavior for him. Despite feeling a little uncomfortable, Justine does vaguely remember him smiling like this in the not-so-distant past.

They start with the guillotine. Despite being a simple mechanical device, far less advanced than what humans are currently developing, it is, in their opinion, one of humanity’s more interesting inventions. A humane killing machine, as oxymoronic as the letters on their hats. They are aware that they are far from the authority on human justice, but they are truly baffled that so many humans believe government sanction is an acceptable justification for murder. So while highly doubtful of the morality of capital punishment, they do appreciate that someone took the time to create a device with the welfare of the executed in mind. The sentiment was pretty much ruined with the way executions were a public spectacle, however. 

Humans now consider such entertainment barbarous, so proponents of the death penalty have taken steps to make the process more palatable to the masses. They have attempted to sanitize the act, disguising it to hide the cruel, messy affair that it is. They ignore the suffering those executed often experience, yet they consider themselves civilized because it appears cleaner.

It is not their place to meddle in human affairs, but that does not mean they do not have opinions. Caroline and Justine believe in transparency, in tearing off masks to reveal the truth. If humans insist on capital punishment, they believe they should witness in graphic detail the way they are killing a fellow human being, destroying a life. Maybe being forced to confront the consequences of their actions so vividly will change their minds. They imagine a couple of heads rolling to one's feet, perhaps leaving a trail of blood behind, would make an impression. All with the added benefit of a quick and painless death for the convicted.

This is all irrelevant, though, as the guillotine they are assembling is merely symbolic, and none of those “executed” are actually killed. Metaphysical markers of select traits of existing personas are duplicated and used as ingredients to synthesize a new persona, and the process is completely harmless. The base personas then return to the compendium, perfectly intact and ready to be summoned again at the wildcard’s discretion.

Luckily, the assembly of their guillotine is not as complicated as the construction of an actual guillotine. Everything is cognitive, so they do not have to take the structural integrity of it into account. There is no need to calculate the measurements of the various parts or affix them to each other at precise angles. It will come together as they believe it should, and so it does.

As they step back and observe their new creation, another bolt of unfamiliarity runs through them. Was this always the method by which personas were fused? This way, their master would not have a place to contribute, and is he not the one who presides over persona fusion? Caroline brushes the thought away. They, the wardens, preside over fusion, and their master presides over them, so isn’t that the same thing? Justine is slightly more skeptical. Throughout this process, she has had the strangest feeling. Something is niggling at the back of her mind, but when she tries to snatch it, it slips away. It is making her incredibly uneasy. Their work is far from finished, however, so she files it away for… A sense of déjà vu washes over her. There was something else she had resolved to puzzle out after their preparations were complete, was there not?

“Justine?” Caroline calls out her name as a question.

“It is nothing,” Justine says. She will wait until she has a better grasp on her thoughts before consulting her sister.

“Well, let’s get a move on then.”

“Yes.”

They proceed to assemble the gallows and the electric chair in much the same way. They complete the device, they look at their work, Caroline brushes off mildly strange feelings, and Justine tries and fails to hang on to her increasingly disconcerting thoughts, only to be left with a feeling of wrongness.

“Caroline, does everything feel… Normal to you?” Justine asks.

Caroline turns to her, a little surprised.

“Yeah, pretty much. I mean, there’s a weird feeling here and there, but nothing big. Just, you know, normal abnormality.”

“Can you tell me what you mean by that?” Justine asks, partially not understanding her sister’s casual phrasing and partially wanting to hear her thoughts before they are influenced by Justine’s own.

“I don’t know, just a little off. It’s not a big deal. I’m all hyped up that the inmate will start his rehabilitation soon. I bet it’s just getting to me a little,” Caroline replies.

“You are certain it is nothing more?”

“I’m sure!” Caroline says, seemingly a little irritated at her sister’s insistence, “Justine, you’re overthinking things again.”

“I apologize, but I cannot shake the feeling that we are forgetting something.”

“If we’re both forgetting it, it can’t be that important.”

“I do not think that is how it works, Caroline,” Justine says, growing slightly irritated herself.

“Oh, just relax,” Caroline rolls her eyes, “If it’s that important, it’s bound to come up sooner or later. There’s no need to keep obsessing about it.”

Justine takes a deep breath in, trying to maintain her composure. It is not just vexation with her sister that is upsetting her. She really, truly cannot shake this perturbing feeling. Something is not right. Something bad will happen—has maybe even happened already. She knows better than to rely solely on emotions, but she also knows it is foolish to disregard her gut instincts, particularly when they are this strong.

She is about to expand on her worries when she is abruptly interrupted.

“Have you finished the preparations, girls?” The deep voice calls out to them again.

“We have, Master,” Justine intones, trying to hide her disquietude. She strongly feels this is something that must be hidden from their master. Normally, she would not doubt it was due to a reluctance to burden him, but now, she is a little frightened to think there may be another reason she wishes he remains ignorant.

“Good. I will be summoning the inmate now.”

They both startle. This should not feel sudden, but somehow it does. Caroline, again, brushes off the feeling, vibrating with excitement, but Justine’s enthusiasm is a little more reserved. She is sure there was more time. It is not possible that this would sneak up on her—she has been anxiously awaiting this moment. She recalls that she and Caroline woke up on the floor earlier, and she wonders how long they slept for. It also occurs to her that they did not question why they had woken up on the floor. They had gotten distracted by… By what??

Even with all of this swirling around her head, she knows that she cannot afford to be anything but perfectly composed right now. It is vital she makes a good first impression on the inmate. She reluctantly files away this jumbled mass of confusion for later…

As their master begins to summon the inmate, Caroline grabs her baton, and she catches a glimpse of the first page on the clipboard that Justine picks up. It’s the task list they devised for the inmate. They take a moment to skim through the assignments, and Caroline and Justine have similar thoughts.

Ugh, because of course Justine’s handwriting is perfect.

Hmm, Caroline’s penmanship is far nicer than I expected.

Chapter Text

Lavenza very much did not intend to embed a piece of her soul into the beacon she made for the little black cat, but she supposes things inevitably go awry when one attempts to perform magic while being rent in twain. Still, it is not an unwelcome development, as this makes her current task a little easier.

While she had faith that her beacon could have led her newest sibling—oohh, it just hit her that all this means she has an adorable baby brother!—where he needed to go, she could not guarantee that he would actually follow. He is a sentient creature with a will of his own, and she knows her master had to rush his creation. It is entirely possible that the information regarding their current situation and his task was not implanted correctly. Without a goal in mind, he may not deem this little butterfly interesting enough to follow. This will be his first foray into the world, and even if he is not as curious as the cat he is shaped as, any being would be drawn to investigate the new and exciting things they would surely encounter.

For her beacon to possess a sliver of sentience as well, her task becomes infinitely more auspicious. She can provide him with dynamic guidance based on his own unpredictable actions, coaxing him away from any distractions until he is a safe distance from the Velvet Room. Once he is out of danger, of course, she will not attempt to curb his exploration. Even if there is urgency in his task, it would be cruel to restrain his agency—this is exactly what they are trying to prevent on a greater scale, after all. He must be allowed to grow into himself unimpeded, just as all his older siblings have.

This has not become a problem yet, however. Yaldabaoth breached the Velvet Room on the side that borders the sea of souls. Perhaps it is because the fragments that comprise his being were pulled from here, but Morgana feels the novelty of the butterfly is more deserving of his attention, and he continues to chase after her. She is reminded of the adorable videos Elizabeth has shown her of cats chasing laser pointers. This baby brother has already usurped Margaret as her favorite sibling!

They traverse the sea of souls like that for quite some time before she notices his pace slowing. She wishes she could allow him to rest, but she knows they need to press on a bit longer before he is safe. She could watch over him while he sleeps, but there is not much she could actually do to protect him. She flitters a little more energetically, shedding a few more sparkling scales from her wings, and flies in loop-de-loops to retain his focus. It works, for the time being, and they continue forth.

Finally, they reach a portal out—for there is no end to the sea of souls, only exit points that appear and disappear randomly—and she leads him through it. The portal makes a sharp cracking noise as it vanishes behind them, and Morgana turns around and hisses in surprise, piloerection in full force. It is a good thing she is incapable of grinning at the moment, because she would have had a hard time hiding it. Instead, she tries to emit a soothing aura. It seems to work, as his puffy fur begins to smooth down, but he is still eyeing the place where the portal was with sulky blue eyes. So. Cute.

Maybe that little scare is the last straw, because he surrenders to his fatigue, practically collapsing onto the ground. Still, while they should be beyond Yaldabaoth’s reach at this point, he is not the only danger out there, and she is unsure where they are. She looks around and sees they are outside of a medieval European-style castle. 

But it is not just a castle—this is a palace. An element of the current iteration of the shadow dimension that regularly attaches itself to the human realm in strange and varied ways, a palace is an area where human distortion has gone out of control and manifested itself as a distinct location. She knows that shadows swarm the inner sections of these areas, but for whatever reason, they do avoid the outer boundaries. The portal seems to have delivered them to the palace’s exterior, so they should be safe for now. Morgana can rest.

He is tired enough that he falls asleep on the cobblestone, but as his elder sister, she cannot allow it. As she searches the area for a soft place to rest, she realizes she has few options. Eventually, she decides she can only use the ridiculous cloth banners draped over the battlements. She gathers them up and pulls them to the ground, winding them together to form a little nest. It is admittedly rather pathetic, but it is the best she can do and at least better than the cold, hard ground.

She tickles his nose with her antennae to wake him. To her chagrin, he sneezes, and she is almost blown away. When she sees him sleepily open his bleary, limpid eyes, the adorableness earns her total forgiveness. Cute is justice. Now that she has gotten his attention, she flutters over to the bundle of cloth she arranged next to him, hovering above. He musters up enough energy to crawl into it and curls up to go back to sleep, tail laid over his nose to keep it warm. Yes, it had really been her own fault for tickling his nose, anyway.

She is relieved he is finally resting relatively peacefully. Sleep is one of the most necessary factors for healthy growth—for creatures that sleep at all, of course—and it is important to maintain a regimented sleep schedule, sleeping and waking at the proper times. She hopes once Morgana has settled with her Trickster that he is able to sleep well. Her Trickster, too, as his age puts him well within the human growth period.

(Lavenza had no way of knowing that her connection to Morgana in this form allowed a degree on nonverbal communication, and these strong feelings introduced while he was in a state most open to suggestion had ingrained themselves in Morgana’s impressionable young mind. Inadvertently, she had doomed her Trickster to a very strict bedtime.)

While Morgana sleeps, Lavenza conducts a more thorough investigation of their surroundings. They seem to be immediately in front of a stone barbican, complete with a typical drawbridge. She would be scrunching up her nose if she had one. She can already tell that this palace is styled after a castle because of the ruler’s sense of self-importance rather than being a representation of fortification. While it is impossible for there to be guards, the drawbridge could at least be up. Yet, it is down, implying the ruler does not believe anyone could threaten their authority. Arrogant and fully confident in their own power.

As she looks beyond the curtain wall, she notices those tacky banners have already replaced themselves—her proverbial nose gives a haughty sniff, feeling this ruler should have been grateful for her renovation. It does not escape her attention that the banners appear to be similar to what one might find decorating a modern party venue rather than standards indicating heraldry. Ultimately, she can not see much. There were some shadow guards patrolling the inner ramparts, but both the lower and upper baileys were covered, and all she saw peeking through the windows of the keep was gaudy decor.

Frankly, the total banality of it disappoints her—this person clearly has no imagination. The dull environment does not concern her, however. She is looking for anything that identifies the ruler of the palace, so when she spots an uncharacteristically nondescript sign, she flits over to it.

Shujin Academy.

She remembers that that is the name of the school her Trickster will be attending. It seems she has led Morgana to exactly the right place. This is likely where her wildcard’s journey will begin. Her job is done.

She looks down at the sleeping cat, loath to leave him alone, but she knows that she must. If she were to remain with him, he would either grow dependent on her guidance or resentful of her interference, both of which should be avoided. Still, there is no harm in watching over him a little longer if she stays out of sight, yes? Well, she will just stay until he wakes up, and then she will… She is not actually sure what she will do. This beacon was set to dissolve once its purpose had been complete, but with the accidental addition of herself, it seems that will no longer be the case. Or perhaps this beacon is still necessary. She did not actively set any specific parameters by which to judge the completion of the mission, after all. There could be more left for her to do.

As she is considering the meaning of her little butterfly life, Morgana begins to stir. She quickly conceals her presence, as it is time for Morgana to act independently. She will remain hidden and observe, however. She takes the time to admit to herself that concern is only partially the reason. Equally as important… Her younger brother’s first errand! It is her duty and her privilege to secretly supervise this momentous occasion!

Morgana stands up slowly and stretches, one hind limb lifted and pointed straight behind him. He pulls back and sits down inside the makeshift nest, languidly blinking his blue eyes, indistinguishable from any regular housecat. It is not until a minute later that he seems to fully wake, and his gaze takes on the sharp glint of sapience.

He cautiously but deliberately looks around, and she is unsure if he is taking stock of his surroundings or looking for her specifically. It is more likely the former. While it would be very sweet if it were the latter, he probably does not have any distinct memories of her. The time immediately after creation was hazy for her and elder siblings, and that was without the added excitement of an urgent evacuation. He probably is unaware of how he arrived at this strange place.

It upsets her to think he is waking up alone and confused, but she knows she needs to stay hidden anyway. Besides, despite her worry, she believes in him. Not only is he her little brother, she can sense it in him—hope. She is not certain how her master created him, but she can feel that he contains a greater amount of hope than a random sampling of the sea of souls. Even in the face of solitude and confusion, he will not give up. She also knows that even if he remains confused, he will not remain alone for long. His meeting with her Trickster—no, their Trickster is nigh. Just as their Trickster is about to embark on a journey in an unknown world, so, too, is Morgana. She has faith that each will help the other adapt to their new circumstances.

Seemingly done with his deliberations, Morgana stands up and pads over to the drawbridge. She follows him as he makes his way into the grand hall, which appears to be deserted at the moment—fortunate from their perspective, but another sign of the ruler’s hubris. She finally has the chance to take a look at the palace interior herself, and it is just as ostentatious as she expected. Among the over affected display, one piece is particularly conspicuous, and not just due to its prominent placement. At the landing of the double grand staircase is a portrait of a man with a curly, triangular haircut and thick sword eyebrows in plate armor. It gives the impression of being painted by a technically skilled but overdramatic middle school boy given the prompt “manly man.” Considering the central location and self-aggrandizing nature of the painting, she feels it is safe to assume this man is the palace ruler.

Morgana seems to finish his perusal of the room, and he walks out into the left hallway. As he continues to explore the castle, Lavenza finds herself missing the hideous grand hall. It does not take long for her to go from disdainful of the ruler to sickened by him. The sculptures of sexualized female bodies are vulgar on their own, but the implications turn far darker once she realizes just how young the subjects appear to be. This ruler is not simply a lecher—he is a sexual predator.

She is not sure just how much Morgana understands, but it seems he also realizes something is wrong. At the very least, he appears extremely uncomfortable. While he approaches the first statue he sees for a careful inspection, he stiffly backs away soon after. He intrepidly continues his exploration, but she notices he avoids looking at the other figures they pass.

For a while, they encounter very few shadows, and Morgana is able to sneak by them, but their good luck inevitably ends. Lavenza panics as she sees three shadows dressed as guards confront Morgana, but there is nothing she can do. She tries to distract them by showing herself and fluttering in their faces, but they ignore her entirely, dead set on chasing Morgana.

Eventually, he is cornered by the shadows, and Lavenza is devastated, sure her precious little brother’s young life is going to end before it even starts. Instead, she witnesses something incredible.

Morgana shouts at the guards, and a surge of power erupts from him. He triples in size, and while he still appears distinctly feline, he stands upright. A yellow kerchief appears around his neck and a black one wraps around his round head, two holes revealing his big blue eyes. The most amazing thing is the figure that materializes above him.

A persona.

Lavenza can hardly believe her eyes. While her older siblings and she are able to wield the personas their guests register in their compendiums, none of them have ever awakened to one of their own. It never occurred to them that it was even possible. Yet here is Morgana, bravely staring down his attackers, bolstered by the will of his rebellion. His persona releases a burst of wind that blows away the guards, and he takes this time to heal the small scrapes he acquired in the chase.

For the first time since Yaldabaoth attacked, Lavenza feels at ease. Though she wishes to stay and watch her little brother show these shadows just how foolish they are to challenge him, she can tell her task is fully complete. Now that she knows Morgana can defend himself if need be, she should go to their Trickster and watch over him until he and Morgana find each other. She gives him a fond, final look and flitters away to the realm of human reality.

If she had stayed only a few moments longer, she would have seen Morgana collapse, the small cat overwhelmed by the fatigue of awakening to his persona.