>>5127692Sidling up to the shopkeeper, you brush by her hand as you make a show of inspecting her wares, weighing whether you should take her up on her—or rather, Rupert’s—offer. You assume she’s a Fibromancer/Artisan hybrid, though from your own experience Skintalking and neuromancy rarely show their hands so flagrantly. Perhaps she’s just quirky, or maybe she assumes you to be a Daughter with a particularly potent brand of corruption.
In either case, you find your focus drifting to who exactly you’d gift your free accessory to. Amara’s the obvious choice, but your Creator would undoubtedly appreciate the surprise. But she might put two and two together, so maybe Marco or Rath would be a better-
“Hello.”
You instinctively turn to the shopkeep at the greeting before you realize who’s speaking. Turning to the amalgam, his eyes glitter at you from the shadows, the shadow of a goat’s pupil shining in the waning light.
“Did…are you talking? To me?” You ask, feeling the absurdity of the question the moment it’s uttered.
“Yes. You understand. This is good.” The amalgam utters, satisfaction evident in his tone. “You are like me. I thought this. And it is true.”
“Are you a Skintalker?” You ask, bewildered. “Or did you consume a-“
“No. I am simply old. An Amalgam. ” He clarifies, six main legs folding beneath him as he nods to a well-worn pillow beside him. You are young. Once construct, now something new. Both of us. Similar.”
“I…how are we doing this? How are you talking to me in this way?” You politely, yet firmly demand. “We’re talking in thoughtform, like with Mar-…with other swarmlings.”
“I said. We are similar. Please. Relax.” Rupert repeats, patting the seat next to him with a single distended hoof, reminding you of his standing (or sitting) offer. You reluctantly oblige, partly out of courtesy but mostly to understand what this being is getting at.
“I am a construct, and you are an amalgam. When you say we are similar, what do you mean?”
“Crucible reduced all to dust. Made things from it. Made Daughters. Made Amalgams. Both make constructs.” He explains in a quiet, meandering tone. “All are one. Barriers break. Definitions waver. We are the same.”
“How do you know this?”
“No ‘knowing’. Only theory…and not mine.” He replies softly, staring up at the scarves on display. “Camila was a friend. Skintalker. I attacked her and her ally. She asked what I wanted. I understood. As you understand me. I followed. We talked more. Shared ideas. Experiences.”
He looks down at you once you finally settle in to the surprisingly comfortable pillow, misshapen eyes fixed upon you with a curious glint.
“Tell me…”
“…what is your experience, friend?”
>>…Tell him about your intrusive thoughts.>>Confide your fears about showing you Creator your true self.>>Ask him more about his experiences, first.>>Write-InSHE IS IN CONTROL
