“You look lovely, Alice,” murmurs my confusing companion.

“For once, I won’t fight you on that.” I continue admiring myself in the mirror, baring my fangs and playing with my hair. I really do look like everything I’ve ever wanted… barring the outfit, of course. “We should go back; I want some new threads to match the new body.”

Cheshire leans against the wall. “Definitely, but we have a pair of items to get through first, while we’re still in your throne world. You wanted some lifesteal, right?”

“Oh! Yes, absolutely.” I rub my hands together and grin. I’ve always loved lifesteal effects in video games, and it just seems practical given the kinds of fights I’m getting in. “How do we do that? New spell?”

“Mm, not quite. But, before that, I want to make sure you’re okay with the downsides: parasitic transfusion is addictive, and its use lessens the effectiveness of other kinds of healing on your person.”

I’m sure those would be harsh enough penalties to make most people hesitate, but I don’t slow for a second before saying, “Yep, sounds good. Totally willing to pay that price.”

“Then here’s how it’s going to work: we don’t have enough metaphysical grist to shape you a whole new spell, so we’re going to use what you do have to make some modifications to one of your existing spells. We could add a life-draining property to [Carrion Swarm] and have you steal essence through whatever you summon, or we could add it to [Exsanguinate] for a more direct draining spell.” Cheshire holds out both hands and creates a rat in one hand and an orb of blood in the other.

Hmm. I’m actually not sure which to go for here. [Carrion Swarm] is a useful spell and not as restrictive as [Exsanguinate], but it’s almost more of a utility spell than a damaging spell, so how much healing will it actually contribute? From a Truths perspective, [Exsanguinate] is very Blood-aligned, and I imagine a life-draining effect would fit somewhere between Blood and Gluttony?

I wish I could tell what the symbols mean when I prime a spell and see its matrix. That would probably give me a lot of data for planning my synergies better.

…Wait. Idea. We’re modifying the spell, right? Adding something to it? Does that mean the matrix will gain new symbols? And, crucially, could we try and compare the matrix before and after the modification to see which new symbols correspond to the life drain effect?

I feel a frenzy of insight coming on. I need to be able to record this. I need paper. I sink into the throne world again and will a stack of paper into existence, and a pen next to it. “I have an idea,” I tell Cheshire. “Let’s do [Exsanguinate], but don’t change the spell yet; I want to see what changes.”

Cheshire peers over curiously. “Well, this should be interesting. Just tell me when.”

“[Exsanguinate].” The spell matrix appears in my mind’s eye, that complex array of interconnected signs and symbols. I take the pen and start scribbling away, trying to represent the spell matrix as best I’m able. It’s a challenging task; I have to restart several times as I make one mistake or another, and even when I draw one part right it’s hard to properly represent the connections between shapes. After many attempts I get a paper diagram that more-or-less matches the diagram in my head, if not as clean. My brain is starting to strain from keeping the matrix active for so long, so I dismiss the spell and sigh with relief. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Cheshire banishes the rat and holds the blood orb in both hands. Her fingers press into the orb and dance across it in strange patterns, and then she slams her hands together and the orb vanishes between them. “Try it now.”

“[Exsanguinate].” The spell matrix is, as I suspected it would be, different now. I grab another piece of paper and start drawing the new diagram, taking my time to try and get every detail right. When I have a copy that I’m happy with, I set it next to the first paper diagram and compare the two.

The result is exactly what I was hoping for: a clear set of interconnected symbols that appear only in the new diagram, like a tumor growing out of an organism or like a section of new code inserted into a program. I don’t know what each individual part does, but taken as a whole this must be magic programming language for draining life. I quickly sketch the isolated section onto a new page, and title each of them so I don’t forget. I have my first insight into the magic system!

…I’m not entirely sure what that really gets me, at this stage, but it feels important. I feel like I might have a chance at coming to understand this whole language, and then I could, I don’t know, make my own spells? Make spells outside the restrictions of the scion system? Bah, it’ll be useful for something, it has to be.

But on the topic of the scion system, I’ve got one other detail sticking in my mind. “Hey, Cheshire, you mentioned we don’t have enough for a new spell, but I was wondering: do all scions start with three spells? Is that anything to do with the three Truths?”

“It is, and they don’t.” Cheshire traces a finger over one of the walls and draws glowing symbols for my three Truths: the drop of blood, the toothy maw, and the skull without a jaw. “Elves and liches get their Truths straight from the Throne, so they always start with three spells, but the other kinds of scion generally don’t. Wizards start with a Truth relating to one color of dragon and slowly develop Truths relating to two more colors; exalted start with the Truth that drove them to become a champion and develop the other two as their legend grows; and most demons don’t know themselves well enough to shape more than a single Truth at ‘character creation.’ Luckily, you’re very introspective, so we get to start with three Truths and three spells.”

I frown. “You said three Truths is the max, right? So when I eat souls and grow in power, I’m not adding new Truths. And I remember Bashe mentioning ‘carving.’ So how exactly does that work?”

“With each soul you absorb and assimilate, your pleroma expands and your core becomes purer and weightier. The process carves off imperfections, focusing your existence more tightly on those three essential Truths, until the three combined have so much power to them that they can override local consensus reality. Then, you get to be an archdemon.”

There’s something uneasy about that notion. I mean, obviously it’s fucked up that I’m going to be cutting up my soul for the sake of power, whatever, but aside from any bullshit moralizing about the issue there’s the matter of liking my imperfections. I’m messy, I’m complex, and that’s a part of my identity that I’m not excited to give up. But I also want the power that comes with the focus she’s describing. I want to be an entity of absolute power. So how do I have my cake and eat it too?

“Now,” Cheshire continues, “I have one more item before we leave: a final demon ability that will prove very useful in our shopping trip. As a scion, you have a power called ‘conjuring,’ and it lets you move items between your throne world and your local reality.”

I blink. “Like a pocket dimension? Inventory system? Bag of Holding?”

“Pretty much! You can take an item in your hand and send it to your throne world, or focus on an item in your throne world and place it in your hand. It’s just another exercise of will, like manifesting your geist. Just picture the item or name it to summon it from your throne world, and picture or name a location in your throne world to send an item there. To that end, you should make a few storerooms before you go back to the Labyrinth.”

Holy shit I get an inventory system! Okay, we officially have all the elements of a litRPG except the “number go up,” and honestly the numbers are always the worst part of a litRPG anyways so we’re basically golden.

…Actually that was a joke but maybe not entirely??? It’s like a weird semiotic metaphysics litRPG. Instead of having a [Status] skill I can read a person’s soul, and instead of accessing an inventory system I can place objects inside an internal world that is also my soul. I still have to kill people to get stronger, but that process seems tied to evolving and sharpening my identity rather than making an arbitrary number go up.

Which prompts the question: is that intentional? Am I seeing connections that don’t exist, or did the Demiurge actually design this world’s magic system to be a weird parallel to how litRPGs work? And if she did… why?

I keep pondering that question as I head back into the grand hall and start shaping rooms for future storage. I expand the dressing room into a proper wardrobe, add a kitchen with a working fridge, add a grand library full of empty shelves (I take inspiration from Beauty and the Beast), add a bedroom, and finally add one storeroom that’s just a big empty box.

When the last room is finished, Cheshire takes me back to the outside world. I open my eyes in the bookstore, still holding The Machinations of the Ashen Warlock. That seems like a great target to start practicing my conjuring, so I focus my will on sending it to the library inside my vampire castle. I close my eyes and picture a shelf in my mind, but the image is hazy, so I say in my head, to the first shelf on the left when you enter the library.

This time there’s no learning curve; when I open my eyes the book is gone, and when I reach inside myself and ask for the book back it appears in my hand. I send it back to the library… and then I look around at all the books I’m currently surrounded by.

Oh yes. This will make a fine addition to my collection.

A few hundred books later, I’m ready to go clothes shopping. I have a bunch more stuff I want to grab and send to my throne world–now that I have effectively unlimited storage space I intend on bringing an entire castle’s worth of goods with me wherever I go–but I’m still stuck in the outfit I stole from a dead figment and I really want to spruce up my style.

It’s a weird otherworld mall, but it’s still a mall, so of course clothing boutiques are plentiful. I flit through a handful just marveling at the different options and picking out clothing at random before Cheshire finally pulls me aside and asks me, “Alice, how would you describe your sense of style?”

“Poorly,” I quip, but then I give the question some actual thought. “I mostly just wear jeans and graphic tees, in all honesty. Usually a jacket over the shirt. Sometimes I’ll spice things up with a witch’s hat and cape, a skirt, a loose top. I just don’t put much effort into my appearance, so I kind of wear whatever’s around.”

Cheshire tilts her head questioningly. “Is that for aesthetic reasons, or mental illness reasons?”

“Those aren’t the only two options,” I complain.

“Got a third option?”

I glare at the stupid correct catgirl. “Okay, fine, the latter reason. I do like how more put-together aesthetics look. I want to look like a spooky vampire! The elegant gothic countess stepping down the stairwell to her adoring court. Maybe not so far as the fancy femme kind of vampire, though, something more like when a vampire lady is in a frilly suit, or something almost like a magician’s uniform? Yeah, weird vampire magician gender-nonconforming countess. Like a Bloodborne protagonist. Also, not gonna lie, part of me really just wants to dress like an anime witch and wear a big hat.”

“I can work with that,” Cheshire says, and then she’s dragging me off from one store to another, picking out articles of clothing for me to try on and add to the collection.

When all is said and done, I’m left with two complete outfits and some miscellaneous clothing to mix-and-match when I feel like it.

I grab a red leather coat that reaches below my knees, a black leather jacket with shiny studs, a black hooded cloak to replace the one I lost, and a red hooded cloak for variety. I pick out some lace-up thigh high boots that have incredible stompy energy, and also some cute white bunny slippers for when I’m feeling lazy.

I probably won’t wear them often because I’m trying for a more impressive sense of attire, but my wardrobe wouldn’t feel complete without a few pairs of jeans. The Labyrinth doesn’t have graphic tees for any piece of media that I recognize, but there are some cool fractal designs and scenes of nature that make for pretty decent shirts.

On the fancier end of miscellanea, Cheshire selects a few dresses for me: a skater dress with a flowy skirt that’s patterned to look like black tentacles reaching for a white void; a backless barely-there scarlet dress that I will never wear; and a frilly maid uniform that I will extra definitely never wear… though I suspect the vicious little shit intends on wearing it herself to taunt me.

The last of the items to not make the final cut are a pair of black-and-white stripey leggings, like I was wearing in the dreamscape. I also stock up on underwear and socks but those obviously aren’t worth detailing.

I decide to name the two main outfits I’ve picked out, because I am a nerd. The first one I call my Witch’s Threads: a gothic lolita dress in black and white, an oversized wide-brimmed witch’s hat in black and red, black opera gloves, a black funeral veil over my face, and dainty little kitten heels that curve up at the tip.

The second outfit, which I settle on wearing for the rest of my shopping, I name my Vampire’s Regalia: a black faux-corset button-up vest over a white blouse with poofy sleeves; black denim shorts over diamond-patterned tights in white, black, and red; a pair of magician gloves; and a high-collared black cape with coattails and a silver ruby brooch to pin the cape in place.

I ditch the belt, since I can just summon its knife from my throne world directly. None of the mall dressing rooms have mirrors, which is irritating, but there’s one big mirror in the center of the mall’s third floor that I use to examine my completed outfits once I’ve assembled them.

Cheshire claps for me as I twirl for the mirror, and for once I don’t begrudge her the pageantry. It’s silly, but this whole shopping trip feels almost like more of a power fantasy than the rest of my time in the Labyrinth? Part of that fantasy is being able to look at myself in a mirror without feeling revulsion, and being able to just genuinely enjoy shopping for clothes and putting outfits together that look nice on me because I look nice! But, also… all of this is free, and I cannot overstate what immense freedom that is.

Time and again through our little shopping spree I find myself putting something away because I instinctively start thinking that it’ll be too expensive to afford, only for Cheshire to remind me that nothing costs money. I can just pick what looks nice and what I want to wear, and I don’t have to choose between buying a new pair of jeans and getting to eat dinner. That’s so weird!

I sit down on the nearest bench and take a moment to just watch the figments pass by. I dip into soul sight and focus on a few, seeing sketch-lined bone-porcelain and flowing oil-painted fabric. I see blank-faced masks and bleeding eyes, and I see the strings on each limb. This time I ignore the strings, trying to look behind the mask, to see deeper inside.

The mask gives way, but there’s nothing behind it; they’re hollow, every one of them. Puppet shells walking on strings, no thought or emotion stirring beneath the surface. I withdraw from the inner core and stare at the exterior of a figment, but now even that look empty and hollow; the color fades, the eyelights dim, meat rots, and fabric tears. It all sloughs off like so much dead skin, and then I’m left staring at a blank mirror.

I blink away the soul sight and find Cheshire sitting next to me, watching me intently. There’s a question in her eyes that I choose to ignore, instead saying to her, “This city is a horror paradise.”

“Oh? Do tell.” She’s grinning, like always.

I gesture at the figments. “A city full of perfect citizens that double as perfect victims, each of them just a… just a reflection of your wants and needs, filling the role they’re called for. Horror, if you stop and think. Paradise, if you just accept it.” I gesture at my own clothing, and then at all the stores around us. “A city where money doesn’t exist but all the trappings of rampant consumerism are still present. All the glitz and glamor that people associate with unfettered capitalism, but none of the soul-crushing debt and disparity. Paradise, or adjacent.” I drum my fingers on my legs. “And a city where every free-willed soul is preparing for a fight to the death with their fellow prisoners over nothing. There’s no scarcity, no lack of resources, but the security dilemma is still forcing everyone here to gather in packs and kill each other. Famine is slain, but War still claims his due. Horror.”

Cheshire shrugs. “I think it’s a matter of perspective. Horror to the weak, but paradise to the strong. Conflict is a crucible; for a scion of any Throne, this city is a perfect opportunity to rise in power. There are few better whetting stones to cut your soul against.”

Ah. And that reminds me of my other concern. But this time, I have an idea. I rise from the bench and skip over to the nearest jewelry store, searching through its displays until I find something that looks perfect: a stainless steel locket in the shape of an anatomically-correct heart.

Cheshire follows me in and raises an eyebrow at my choice. “Did you run off just for a new shiny, or is there a deeper meaning to this?”

I hold up the locket and say, “I have an idea to fix a problem. To… remove a downside. Depending on if I can make this work and if it’s even possible for my powers, but, I’m optimistic.”

Cheshire leans in, curious. “Go on.”

“When you talked about carving away my imperfections, it made me uneasy, because I like a lot of my imperfections. Imperfection is beautiful. I’m a messy weirdo and sometimes that gets in the way but a lot of the time it makes me more interesting. For most of my life I’ve been, let’s say not particularly physically attractive, or physically capable, or particularly affluent. I’m also not particularly sane or neurotypical, and I’ve learned to leverage that to make myself seem more interesting, more charming, more likable. I’ve learned to use some of my biggest aberrations and contradictions to improve my social stats. I’m unique in a way that I really don’t want to compromise, even for the sake of power, and I’m worried that the process you describe will sand away some of the weird little inconsistencies I really like about myself. But what if I could keep those qualities and become a purer, stronger soul? What if I took a shard of my soul and shoved it into a locket, and every time I had to cut away a piece of my soul, it found its way into that locket? A horcrux. A phylactery. A piece of me, kept safe inside this vessel.”

Cheshire licks her teeth. “That is a very ambitious project, Alice. I like it. For an ordinary demon I would say it’s an idea with more vision than sense, but your Gift might make that dramatically more achievable.”

I preen. Yes! I did a clever! My intelligence has been validated by a creature that may be lying to me and manipulating me for nefarious purposes! “Then let’s give it a shot.” I hold out the locket and will it to take shape as an artifact, to be transformed as [Ashthorn] was but in a more focused manner. I know the effect I want, I can imagine it sinking into the locket and transforming it. I imagine the heart becoming my own metaphysical heart, the carrier of my conscience and anything else I have to sacrifice from my soul to become an archdemon. I give it a name: “Alice’s Heart.”

Shit. That wasn’t in brackets. Cheshire frowns at the locket. “That doesn’t sound like it worked.”

“It did not,” I grumble. “And I do not know why. Is it something about the effect? The name? Does it need… a power source? Shit, that one makes sense, I remember you mentioning that I drew some lingering magic from Eirdryd. Okay, power, I can try power. There has to be some way to like, take my mana and feed it into the would-be artifact, right?”

Cheshire taps her chin and looks off thoughtfully. “I don’t think you can do it directly, actually. To my understanding of Gifts, they don’t usually interact with mana at all. Mine certainly doesn’t. I think your Gift doesn’t use mana, it just seizes local resonances in Pandaemonium itself. When a spell is cast, when that caster asserts their will over the local oneiros, an echo is left behind: a lingering resonance. Throne magic draws mana from similar resonances of different sources. It’s just a guess, but I would theorize that your Gift lets you capture certain resonances, like spell resonances, and pour those resonances into a suitable vessel.”

“That makes sense with the fire aspect of [Ashthorn], but what about the agility boost?” I point out.

“There’s more to a spell resonance than the spell itself. The elf’s flame spell would have resonated with fire, wyldfire, maybe violence or destruction, and maybe stories of fire-wielding fae, but it also would have resonated with broader notions of the Throne of Summer and everything that Throne contains, which includes supernatural agility. I’d wager agility surfaced among all those resonances because of the vessel you poured them into: a dagger, a weapon defined by being fast and lightweight.”

Fascinating. Is this what underlies the whole magic system? The… “deeper” magic behind Throne magic and witch magic both? “So I need the right resonances to craft an artifact out of. And to get them, the easiest way would be to cast a spell and take those resonances… but the only spell in my arsenal that I think might work is [Prey Upon], and that requires dead bodies.”

“You also might want to wait until you eat your first soul,” Cheshire suggests. “If you’re able to harness more than just spell resonances, you should be able to get a few resonances from the act of eating a soul and carving your own, and maybe even incorporate your first cast-off soul shard as the foundation of the artifact.”

“Shit, that’s a good idea. Yeah, okay, if we can confirm that non-spell resonances work, that’s the plan for making the locket.” Your help is appreciated, and also makes me very suspicious that something about this plan is a bad idea. At the same time, I feel like getting paranoid about every idea I have is a recipe for disaster. I place the locket around my neck and step out of the jewelry store.

“So,” Cheshire asks, “shall we continue our shopping spree?”

“Let’s.”