Fungal Halo

My thoughts heave and surge like the tide, flooding, claiming, reshaping the world around me. However, so little of this is my design. The world is clay in my hands, but my hands are not alone, and my hands are not even entirely my own. I recognize Velle’s fingerprints here and there, nudging reality in delicate and subtle ways that contrast with my own wild flailing. Something within me lashes out even at those I love, possibly because I love them. My mind has become a kitchen with too many cooks, all of whom hate me.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I wake up pain-free.

I also seem to be completely naked in an unfamiliar bed with someone else’s arms around me. I feel and smell filthy. With a groan of disgust, I try to regain my bearings. Memories of what happened yesterday slowly drift back to me as though from a great distance away.

The princess makes a fine show of roleplaying as a maid, perusing her own wine collection and presenting several bottles for me to choose from. I play my own part, acting as though I have strongly held opinions on which vintage is most ideal for the occasion. She fetches us glasses and pours for the both of us. We lounge on the couch together directly opposite Canina’s favorite mirror, clinking glasses and toasting to each other.

In truth, I feel nothing toward Princess Canina, despite the effort I put into obtaining a position of service within the palace and the long years I labored to earn this position as her personal attendant.

I have a Plan, and that Plan requires me to earn the confidence of the princess.