“Now, don’t be glum,” Professor Devulchas chided. “There are still plenty of paths to power available for you. You just have to be careful with what you choose first! Though, if you really want to go all in, I suppose you could just focus on a spell to regenerate mana faster… it should be theoretically possible. I’m not sure it would get you all the way to opening up the other quadrants, but perhaps enough that a commoner’s mana potion could suffice? Though, in the worst case scenario, you’d be down your only spell slot… Certainly a tough choice to make…”

“I’ll think on it,” I repeated. A line that felt like it might become my catch phrase as the professor continued to pile on suggestions, saying I could try to make shadowy limbs - extra hands to wield weapons with - or a storage spell I could potentially learn to enchant onto bags, to make money for potions. Even Pauline tried to chime in, remarking that even without magic I could still pursue a normal education, which would have its own worth in the world…

I listened to it all, but in truth I struggled to really take any of it in. All I could think of was the fact that I had failed - failed to understand the assignment, failed to execute it properly, failed to make the most of my one chance at greatness. Yes, there were supposedly ways forward, but none of them were guaranteed… 

What if I failed again? What if I tried to use that energy sucking spell, only to end up barely able to offset the cost of the spell itself? Perhaps I could try to become a merchant - a storage spell was bound to be useful there, even if I messed it up in some strange way… but was I really willing to accept that? Did I truly want to live the life of a peasant in this world? To give up the comforts I had and really embrace living in a medieval society? As a woman, no less…

The worst part was, I’d gone into this knowing exactly what spell I wanted to carve. Exactly what I wanted to do first - I even had its first subspell worked out in my head. I was pretty sure it would still work, too - assuming I could figure out the proper way to carve it. It would provide me with utility, defense, offense - everything I needed to take on monsters… As long as I didn’t mess it up.

As long as I wasn’t wrong.

Could I really take that risk? Could I chance it? Everyone had told me I needed to believe in myself. That only I could shape the glyphs that would make my magic reality. They told me that magic was a personal thing… but I, as a person, had once again proven what a monumental screw-up I was, so why should I expect my magic to go any differently? I’d already ruined myself once…

In the end, class ended without me making a decision. Not that I was expected to make one - as Pauline and the Professor were sure to assure me - but… I think some part of me realized in that moment that I was liable to never make a decision. That if I walked out the door of that classroom without figuring out what I wanted, I’d probably never have the courage to actually go through with anything at all.

I walked out the door anyway.

The rest of the school week passed in a blur. I attended classes, but never volunteered or even tried to push myself through the malaise that was consuming me. Professor Devulchas remained optimistic at first, but grew increasingly annoyed with my unwillingness to interact until at last she threw up her hands and gave up on me, saying she’d be with Pauline ‘until I cleared my head.’

Part of me thought she was eager for an excuse to leave a failure like me. The rest of me recognized that thought for what it was - the whispers of depression, in the wake of my failure. Identifying it didn’t help, though.

Eventually, the final day of classes ended. The weekend would officially begin the next day - and the day after that, I’d be meeting with the king to plead my case. Though some part of me hardly felt it was worth the bother, in the moment, I knew I’d feel differently if the executioner’s axe was held over my head again. I had to put my all into this.

It was just… hard. Knowing that even in success, I would be seen as nothing more than a victim. A powerless person thrown into this situation, with no ability to protect herself, or provide… the mere thought of it produced a twisting, knotted sensation deep within me, a pit of darkness so deep and vile that it preoccupied my attention entirely - or at least that would have been my excuse, if Prince Jethroo had bothered to ask why I was trying to pass him without a word.

Instead, he quite firmly planted himself in my path and glared at me until I came to a reluctant halt, some few feet in front of him. Though my home was in view, it might as well have been on another continent for all the help it did me in escaping him.

“What do you want?” My voice wasn’t cold. It was dispassionate. Empty. Something that seemed to throw the prince aback a little, judging by how he blinked at me. In a moment, though, the scowl returned to his lips. 

“I want you to stop pretending.”

“…If this is about me being the real Amelia-”

“Not that!” he interrupted. “I know there’s no sense in trying to talk you out of that, miserable bitch of a plotter as you are - but no. I want you to stop pretending to be so damn miserable all the time!”

“…Excuse me?” I asked, hardly able to believe my ears.

“You heard me! Stop it! I don’t know what your plan is, but stop it. I’ll pay you if I must - anything short of dropping your charges, or putting in a good word for you to father. Just name your price, and it’s yours.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this miserable little impression you’re doing!” Jethroo snapped at me. “It’s worrying everyone who’s actually stupid enough to care about you - which wouldn’t bother me in the slightest, if Pauline didn’t happen to be amongst their number! Did you know she asked me to speak to you today? As your ‘childhood friend’ she said - as if we were ever friends, you and I.”

“Pauline asked you to talk to me?” I asked, frowning. “You… Does that mean she still thinks I’m Amelia?”

“I think you are. She is less certain - but seemed to think that playing the childhood friends card would move me, either way… In truth, I’d rather see you rot in hell, but the mere idea of having to sit there and listen to my dear Pauline as she worries about someone so despicable as you, is… it’s despicable!”

“…Noted. Is that all?” I asked, a faint trace of irritation breaking through my calm. Still, I was careful to keep my face neutral.

“Is that all?” he snapped. “Is that all?” He stepped closer to me, fire in his eyes - and in his hands. “I should burn you where you stand, for the insolence you heap upon me daily, you horrible, horrible woman. I almost hope that Father falls for your lies, just so that I can have the pleasure of personally exposing you the next time you act like your usual self - because next time I catch you trying to hurt Pauline, I will personally burn you to ash.”

He reached for me as he spoke, his burning hands coming perilously close to my bare flesh. I flinched back, tried to step away - and stumbled, twisting my ankle and falling to the floor. He stared at me, from above, contempt and disgust in his eyes, and I realized in that moment that he really would kill me if he thought he could get away with it. That he well and truly wanted me dead.

“You look good on the ground, Miss Amelia,” he spat out, the fire spreading down his arms. “Maybe I should make sure you stay that-”

“Henry!” came a voice, as Bridgette suddenly appeared behind Jethroo. “Oops, sorry - Prince Henry, right? On school grounds and in front of Amy and all… Ehehehe…” Bridgette rubbed the back of her head, laughing, while Jethroo scoffed - and yet there was something almost… performative about it. What’s more, the smirk he showed her looked almost… happy. 

“You need to get these things right, Bridgette - or one of these days you’ll say the wrong thing when I’m king and I’ll actually have to do something about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it!” Bridgette replied, nodding her head with a smile that implied she’d gained nothing at all from the exchange. “So, what are you doing with Miss Amy, huh?”

“Just… giving her a warning,” Jethroo replied, glaring down at me. “One she’d best heed.”

“Uh-huh,” Bridgette replied, nodding. “Because you don’t believe she’s Amy, right? I get it - you wanna look out for everyone! To be honest, though, it uh… kinda looks like you’re just being a jerk and traumatizing an innocent girl.”

“Innocent?!” Jethroo demanded. “You know what she did to me - the things she got up through, all throughout our childhood! The ‘pranks’ she pulled, the schemes she plotted - and every time, she came out of it with an explanation! An excuse to push all the trouble onto me! But not this time! Not this time!”

“Yes, yes,” Bridgette replied, sighing. “You’ve been heavily traumatized. I get it. But… maybe you can go talk with your sister, for a bit? I uh. Really don’t wanna have to go to any of the faculty about you bullying Amy like this…”

“Bully-you…. Fine!” He announced, throwing up his hand and stomping away from us. “Fine. Do as you will.”

“Well, that could have gone better,” Bridgette said, holding out a hand for me. “You want help getting up?”

I said nothing, merely taking her hand and allowing her to pull me upright. Then I brushed myself off, and headed towards the door.

“Not even a thank you?” Bridgette called from behind.

“For what?” I asked. “Sympathizing with the abuser who just threatened to kill me?”

“Yeah, well… Henry has his own things going on…” Bridgette huffed. “I wish he’d go easier on you too, but… you have to know you could have called on me to step in at any time, right?”

“Can I?” I questioned. “You seem pretty chummy with him - how is it that you’re on a first name basis with him, anyhow?”

“You… don’t know?” Bridgette asked, tilting her head to the side. “I thought you said you wrote about all of us?”

“Yes, well, you were… something of a side character,” I confessed. “I wrote that you were close, but I suppose I never realized just how close… Honestly, now that I’m actually thinking of it, I find it odd that someone as prickly as him would befriend the daughter of a baron.”

“Oh, I wasn’t a baron’s daughter when we met,” Bridgette replied. “I was a commoner! An orphan, in fact.”

“An orphan?” I asked, now turning my full attention to her. “Then how…?”

“Well, I was something of a… uh… ‘honorary knight’ even then, I guess? Though really it was mostly just kid’s play… but, well, you know how I can hear people talking, sometimes? Sometimes, I’d hear something really juicy - something downright wicked - and I’d go to the guards, and give them the info, and they’d check it out. They didn’t really take it seriously at first. Just thought it was part of me playing around, you know? But my intel proved good often enough that they started putting their trust in me… So when I told them there were two kids tied up in a merchant’s barrels, they went to check.”

“You don’t mean… Henry and Firanna?”

“Yup! Though uh… don’t let them catch you calling them by name, okay? Prince Henry lets me go on account of the fact that we’re sorta childhood friends, and Firanna… Well, honestly, I think it makes her pout a bit when I put some distance between us at school… She was always tagging along with me and Henry when we were sword training and such, wanting to fetch me water or snacks or… whatever I needed, really. I guess she was just glad to feel included?”

“I’m sure,” I replied, dryly, before turning my attention back to the house. “But I suppose we should get back inside…”

“I suppose we should!” Bridgette agreed. “Or uh… you should. Clara wanted to have a bit of a talk with you.”

“A talk?” I asked, turning around to face her. “With me?”

“With you, My Lady,” Clara confirmed, opening the door to our manor even as she spoke. “About this ‘malaise’ you’ve found yourself in.”

“What about it?” I asked, uncertain I liked where this was going. “I’m just-”

“Wallowing in self pity?” Clara interrupted, arching an eyebrow. “It’s a bad look for you - and even worse look for my Lady. She always projected strength, and yet here you are quivering like a rabbit.”

“But-”

“You made one mistake, and now you’re afraid to make another move lest you make a second?” Clara continued, steamrolling right over me. “You’re so afraid of making a problematic choice that you’ve left yourself entirely defenseless. Useless. Worthless. Just as you see yourself.”

Each word she spoke felt like a physical blow coming down upon me, leaving me emotionally bruised and ready to cry. 

“Then what would you have me do, instead?”

“Only what you already wish to do, my Lady,” Clara replied, pulling a few sheets of paper out of her apron. They had drawings on them - crudely made, twisting lines that I myself had drawn, over the course of the last few nights. “You have an idea of what you want to do with your core, don’t you, my Lady?”

“So what if I do?” I demanded. “I had an idea before, and look where that got me!”

“It got you to the threshold,” Clara calmly replied. “One choice, leading to another. Is that not life? Making choices? Stepping forward? Or would you rather give up on your life entirely? Allow the king to kill you?”

“I… no,” I replied. “Of course not… I don’t want to die.”

“Then live,” Clara instructed me. “Live, and carve your core - now, so that you can get used to it by tomorrow.”

“Why?” I asked. “It’s not as if I’m going to be asked to show the king my progress, is it?” If anything, flashing spells in front of him would likely get me arrested, if not outright killed.

“Because you need to believe you can do it,” Clara replied. “You need to believe in yourself - or else I’m sure you’ll not only be permanently locked in as a simple commoner, but perhaps banished from the school altogether.”

“That’s a possibility?” I asked, aghast.

“Of course it is! This school is for bright minds to learn how to serve their country - not for dullards to mope around. You’ve done no networking, made no attempt to stand out, have done nothing to make yourself useful in the eyes of this kingdom - and now you want to march in front of the king in a depressed sulk and simply hope things go your way? I don’t know what mistakes you have or have not made before, but I will tell you this - that would likely be the greatest and last of them.”

“…You’re right,” I whispered, taking a deep breath. “You’re right…”

Of course, saying so didn’t magically make my depression go away. Neither did it make me feel the least bit more relaxed, or less scared about what might very well be my next mistake… but at least, in that moment, I knew the step I had to take.

Perhaps it was a mistake to act without further thought. To begin carving, without first running my ideas past anyone. It was entirely possible that anyone reasonable would have a thousand ideas why the spell I wanted to carve was stupid. They might even be able to give me better ideas, or else suggest improvements… I knew that…

I also knew that this was what I wanted. That it called to me, in a way nothing else did. That it was a note of potential and possibility amidst the darkness of despair, such that I had been doodling my mental image of it on the sly even as I moped…

So I carved it. A single squiggly line, followed by another and another, all attached to a central point. Right in the middle of the first quadrant - the first book. A central theme that all the subspells would attune to and shift, from that point onwards…

“Is it done?” Clara asked, as my eyes flickered open. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them…

“I… I think so,” I said, taking a deep breath, and focusing. Down, beneath my skirt, where the light did not reach - where shadows dwelled upon the earth - something stirred at my command. I felt something in my core shift as the ink within began to pour out, taking the form I had made for it.

Long, sinewy limbs, dotted with suckers emerged from beneath my skirts, pressing against the ground and lifting me high up in the air. They writhed across the ground on my command, curling around Clara’s ankle and grasping hold of Bridgette’s wrist before she could grab her sword.

“Don’t worry! It’s just my new spell! What do you think?”

“It’s…” Bridgette began, before falling off. “I can’t believe you actually made…”

Clara looked almost shell-shocked, mouthing a word that looked suspiciously like ‘pervert’ again and again.

I let neither of them bother me, absolutely thrilled to finally announce my new spell’s name. “Behold - Eldritch Tentacles!”

~~~
Author's Notes

I feel the need to start off by saying no, this will not lead to any perverted scenes... (At least in the main series. There's potential for future Patreon exclusive chapters, but any such content will be completely skipable so feel free to disregard its future existence.) 

Depression Suddenly Worsened, which is a big part of why you're getting a chapter of this and not Double Trouble. I can apparently still write this even in the throes of such depression, since I'm just a little bit obsessed with it right now - though I'm terrible at judging the quality of chapters in such a state, and invariably forced to turn to friends for reassurance...

Still, I'm pretty sure this chapter's a good one, and I've been excited to show it! (And my friends all swear chapter 18 is great, too, if you wanna read ahead for as little as $1~!)