>>5891222>>5891257>>5891331>>5891368>>5891385>>5891409>>5891553>Try to connect her mother’s thoughts with her.>Try to project a mental image of Sigrid today. Not her human persona, but her as she truly is.>Sell the idea as uh confronting her unconscious biases or something."Ah--I've got an idea, Lady Sigrid." You thumb through the index of minds and thoughts available to you. “What I were to link your brain with your mother’s..? You know–project a mental image of you as you are today to her–not your human persona, but you as you truly are. You can–.. you know.. confront your unconscious bi–”
“You don’t need to bullshit me Snuff.” Your master waves her hand. “I can see the idea. You can write a feedback loop–I think of what my mother thinks of me as what I think of me as what my mother thinks of me, so on and so forth, ad infinitum. It’s a clever idea. But risky–I’ve only been able to intuit the mechanics of this memory world from past experiences, and I’ve no clue as to what mental magic like that could do while I’m in my own mind. This is the first time I’ve ever had another spellcaster with me during a memory..”
“You’d rather I not do it, then..?” You ask, hand careful on the tendril that connects their thoughts.
“The greatest developments in all of magic history have never once come from first asking for permission. Just do it. I trust you not to fry my brain. Sever the connection if you feel anything amiss.” Your master grimaces. “The best case scenario is that we get out of this scene fast. The worst case is that I start acting and speaking like my mother. Please kill me if that happens.”
“Of course, my lady.” You bow your head as you plug the two minds together.
The connection comes between the two like wires crossing–neurons sparking, electricity flowing, you feel thoughts ebbing and flowing between the two. You project a mental image of your lady–as unbiased and grounded in reality as you can manage–between the two links. And just like your master said, her perception of her mother’s perception of her perception of her mother’s perception begins to bounce between the two heads. The neural network crackles with light as the ground beneath you seems to undulate and sink. The walls fade into swirling wet paint, the floorboards curling up about you like a wooden embrace.
You feel that same tugging, pulling sensation you felt when you first saw your lady’s head, and you begin crossing into another passing memory.
