Defensive Magic

WINTER TERM - January 29th

I was trying with the shape-changer’s grimoire. Or at least after weeks of just bearing out the pain from the mark of Orendell, I decided it was time at least to actually try to get the dark grimoire back.

The short of it? Shape-changing blows.

It’s Orendell’s magic and it shows. For one thing, every spell hurts. Marblebrook asked that I learn five of them. I’m pretty sure she did that without thinking she was signing me up for several weeks of self-inflicted physical torture, but she was nonetheless.

Orendell liked pain, remember? It was a nice thought that it might help satiate the burning mark on my arm, but no. Orendell apparently didn’t give a shit if I wanted to learn to change the color of my eyes. (Which, if you wanted to know– it hurt like hell, made it impossible to see anything for a few hours, and was functionally just a useless aesthetic change.)

And I still had to learn four more.

Aisling’s already asked me for the instructions on the familiar summoning ritual— Ripley wants to use it next. She’s still insisting they’re not even really friends. Though Whim likes him.

I had to be the one to break the news that I hadn't written it down, and the book was in a locked drawer in Marblebrook’s office for the time being. Aisling offered to help read through the shape-changer’s grimoire to help find one that didn’t cause temporary blindness.

We were in the greenhouses today. Aisling and Noodle were taking a class on Botany, which meant for “research purposes” Noodle was digging through one of the vacant plots, still undecided on what he’d plant and Aisling was back to her poison-testing habit, holding an aconite clipping under her tongue to see if it had any effect. I gave Aries a patchwork potion and instructions to watch her in case it did. The too-warm air was making me sleepy. We’d found a collection of patio furniture that had been brought in for the winter. There was a wicker loveseat, inviting enough I could settle in for a nap.

I slept better now— than I had, that is. A few months ago even without the dreamwalking, I didn’t really sleep. I woke too early, chest tight, breathing heavy. Like I’d been running from something I no longer even remembered. And those were the better nights.

Now, I was drifting off to the sound of Aries panicking in short little bursts— Aisling could fake poisoning symptoms twice before he caught on that she was still just kidding. I knew she was fine. My confirmation came in the feeling of a strange weight settling on my chest, invisible little claws first. It was unsettling. I froze until I felt a sweep of something soft swipe across the bridge of my nose. Whim.

Aisling was fine.