[2] Alright, fine. But you’ve got a mission to keep in mind.
[8] Might as well. Maybe you could just try to… relax?

Their expectant stares raise goosebumps across your skin. It all feels so surreal. Maybe you actually passed out after arriving in Makai, and all of this is just some bizarre dream. You know it isn’t. You’re certain that it isn’t, even. Still, that explanation is a thousand times more believable than the strange reality you’re being confronted with.

As intense as the other three girls' gazes are, Elis's is the hardest to ignore. Logically, you know she just wants to distract you from your real mission - to fill your time with flights of fancy until you’re too attached to Makai to leave it again. But the hope in her eyes is so naked, so earnest, that pure logic falters beneath its sincerity.

She isn’t just trying to drive a wedge between Lady Mima and I, is she? Elis was invested in me even before she knew about the seal. She really wants me to stay, doesn’t she? They all do.

Although you truly can't begin to understand why, it is evidently the truth. The full weight of Elis's actions finally crashes down on you, and the idea of rejecting them suddenly leaves you feeling nauseous.

"Might as well," you murmur. Unable to endure their gazes any longer, you break eye contact and lower your eyes to Lady Mima's boulder. Your arms tighten around the stone, clinging to it in search of strength, like how a child might squeeze a teddy bear.

It offers only cold.

The three devils erupt in varying shades of delight. Velvet hair's unnerving stare softens into a gentle smile. Rusty hair nods so enthusiastically you're surprised her head stays attached. And cream hair lets out an unabashed whoop of victory. Most importantly, the subtle tension in Elis’s posture melts away, relieved to hear you accept.

"The temple should be serving the communion breakfast soon. If we hurry, we’ll be the first ones there." Elis doesn't wait for a response, twisting around on the spot and darting away over the fields of marble rubble. The others immediately rush after her, weaving around one another in an exuberant aerial dance.

For a few moments, you remain right where you are. Only after they begin to disappear into the distance does your body finally obey. You follow, each wingbeat hesitant.

Makai suddenly feels very alien.

---

The girls don't seem to appreciate you lagging behind. They'd already slowed to let you catch up, and now the four of them are forced to match your pace. A small part of you wonders if Elis stopped everyone because she didn't want to give you the chance to slip away, but you banish that thought soon after having it. You're in good company now. It’s a strange and foreign feeling, but you reassure yourself with it anyway.

"It'd be best if we all matched, you know." Velvet hair spares you a passing glance as the five of you glide through the sky. "I shudder to imagine that's what passes for fashion in Gensokyo. You really shouldn't be going to the temple dressed in such rags."

Rags? You glance down at yourself with a faint frown. You thought Rinnosuke had done a pretty good job, honestly. The dress was simple, but it was nice.

Cream hair swoops in beside you, nearly tangling up your wings yet again. "Say, that's a good point. What happened to the clothes Lady Shinki created you in?"

Oh, boy. That is not a conversation you want to have with this group. Your mind scrambles for an excuse. “I guess I must have misplaced them at some point.”

The sharp whipcrack of Elis's neck snapping toward you makes you wince. "You misplaced them?!" she blurts, affronted by the idea. "Our Goddess created you in those clothes!"

Every member of the posse wears some mixture of disappointment or disbelief. Rust Hair, in particular, feels the need to comment. "Yeah, that's pretty bad…"

It seems you chose your words rather poorly. Drawing in around the boulder a little tighter, you avoid everyone's eyes. "Okay, okay. I didn't misplace them. I just... put them away because someone gave me another set that meant a lot more to me."

Not that you could get them back anymore even if you wanted them back. You aren't about to step foot inside that cottage ever again. Not with Marisa living in it.

"Really? More special than what Lady Shinki made for you?" Rust hair tilts her head.

"Mm. This must've been a very special someone." Velvet hair smiles sweetly, a mischievous glimmer in her eye.

"Ooh." Cream hair leans closer, her voice dipping into a teasing singsong. "Were you going steady?"

The other girls giggle. The image that flashes through your mind is enough to make your stomach lurch. "Absolutely not! Marisa was like a sister to me."

"Marisa?" Velvet hair's smile fades as she searches her memory. "That name sounds familiar."

Rust hair snaps her fingers. “Isn’t that the name of the kid that tussled with Alice for like a whole day? She wore a purple dress too, didn’t she?” She suddenly gives you a wary glance.

"...Ah." Your thoughts stumble. Marisa had mentioned some absurdly long magical duel with a girl named Alice after returning from Makai. You'd realized back then it was probably the same Alice you knew, but you'd never given it much thought beyond that.

"No. Must've been another Marisa," you answer, forcing your words out. It’s a flimsy excuse, and no one looks convinced, but fortunately for you, nobody decides to press further.

"So people outside Makai can really have the same name?" cream hair wonders aloud, to which you nod in response. It had taken you a while to get used to that idea yourself.

Rust hair looks back at you. "What was this Marisa girl like, then?"

It’s an innocent enough question, but one that pinches at your heart in a painful way. Your face crumbles into discomfort, and you struggle to find your voice. There are countless things you could say, myriad grievances leap immediately to mind. Yet somehow, speaking any of them aloud feels wrong. Thoughts are just thoughts, but words make them real.

"She… turned out to be a bad kid." Your voice barely rises above a murmur, grimacing the whole while. It's the closest thing to a proper answer you can manage.

A moment passes with nobody seeming to know what to say.

"Hey." Elis drifts closer until she's flying beside you, her voice gentle. She flashes you a small grin. "You're here now. So how about we focus on getting some grub and having a good time instead, eh?"

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips. It doesn't make the ache disappear, but it's nice to further confirm that she really is worried about you.

The moment you land in front of the cathedral doors, two members of the posse seize your hands and haul you forward - causing you to release Lady Mima's rock - while the third plants both palms against your back and shoves. The floating stone rises as high as the rope allows, bobbing about in the air and gently bumping against the doorframe as you're scooted into the building. Elis gestures her arms about to direct the posse on where to take you. It’s all very invasive, honestly, but you keep that opinion to yourself.

It's difficult to make out much of the chapel hall past the gaggle surrounding you, but the quick glimpses you catch give the impression that little has changed. The main sanctuary hall is lined with orderly rows of pews and cast in colored light from the stained-glass windows, all of it encased by walls of carved, embossed marble. The air possesses a faint, silvery haze, fresh and pure on the lungs. Here, there is no trace of the miasma that clings to every other corner of Makai.

You'd forgotten just how magnificent the place looked; the chapel promises so much at a glance alone. Every detail is precision placed to reassure, to make you feel as though you've placed yourself in capable hands beneath the watchful gaze of benevolent overseers. How could a place like this - endorsed by Shinki herself and maintained by her most trusted confidants - not deliver on that promise?

It leaves you hollow, being back here. Every chamber in the temple is arranged according to their purpose, each functionally existing only to serve a single activity. All the decorations and architectural choices were carefully selected to tell visitors what they should feel within any given room. The atmosphere is captured perfectly, curated down to the smallest detail. There is no room for any interpretation save the one Shinki wanted when making this place.

For everyone else, all able to see what you can’t, you're sure it's wonderful.

Ushered down a side hall, you soon arrive in a pleasant refectory - this room much more modest compared to the cathedral proper. Cheerful tapestries decorate the walls, depicting various scenes of devils sharing meals and holding celebrations, all clearly intended to foster a sense of communion. Freshly prepared dishes line the countertops running around the room's perimeter, their aromas mingling.

Through a nearby doorway, churchgoing demons and devil volunteers bustle in and out carrying platters and pitchers, stacking the tables for anyone who wishes to help themselves. There's even a named demon among them, somebody called Wayousei. She moves through the room with several trays orbiting around her like planets circling a star, drifting wherever she goes.

The girls deposit you into a chair with little regard for your input. Velvet hair and rust hair immediately shoulder you on both sides, while cream hair and Elis take their seats across from you. Your hands fidget anxiously in your lap for a moment, feeling empty without Lady Mima nestled between them. Unconsciously, you reach for the rope to pull her back down, only to be interrupted by a light tap on your nose.

Stilling your hand, you look over at Elis, who withdraws her wand with a faintly smug smile. "Tea, coffee, or blue juice?"

Even though you’re never thirsty anymore, it feels like it’d be particularly rude not to partake in the continental breakfast now that you’ve been dragged here. “Um. Coffee.”

Nodding, Elis twirls her wand and five streams of luminous thread spill from the points of its star tip. They weave and writhe over tables and chairs, each strand seeking out cups, plates, utensils, and breakfast items before curling around them. One by one, the floating ingredients are gathered together and arranged onto five separate serving trays.

Elis bites the tip of her tongue in concentration, clearly struggling to control the spell. Every adjustment seems to require conscious direction, her wrist constantly turning and flicking as she corrals the glowing threads into obedience. They twitch and sway, threatening to drift off course whenever her attention slips.

"You've gotten so good at that spell!" Rust hair says encouragingly.

"Alice would be jealous," Velvet hair adds. "I bet you're already better than her."

If Elis hears either comment, she gives no sign of it. Her entire focus remains on maintaining the spell. She tilts her head this way and that, as though changing the angle of her gaze might somehow improve the responsiveness of the magical strings.

Once the trays have been fully assembled, Elis takes a deep breath. The threads of light coil around the completed breakfasts, looping beneath the trays and tightening their hold before lifting them from the countertops. With visible effort, she guides the hovering meals across the room. The strands flex taught and wobble slack like jerking on a marionette's strings, carrying the trays back over to the table.

"Ooooh. Aaaah." The devil posse watches with wide-eyed fascination. Even you have to admit it's a somewhat novel use of magic.

The trays come to a halt directly above their destinations, hovering there for a brief moment as Elis tries to lay them onto the table gently. Once she gets as low as she can, she dismisses her spell, causing the threads to vanish and all five trays to drop down an inch onto the tabletop. The impact is rough enough to rattle cups and silverware, but miraculously, nothing spills.

The posse immediately gives a congratulatory round of applause, and Elis exhales with a pleased smile, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. As fascinating as the display was, you can't help but wonder whether it would've really been so troublesome for each of you to walk over to the counter and assemble your breakfasts by hand.

Sitting in front of you is a stack of pastel red "pancakes" alongside sliced purple "mushrooms." The former are made from powdered stone that turns into batter when mixed with water. The latter come from a process not unlike the way clump biscuits are formed. Sitting next to your plate is a steaming, oily cup of "coffee." You're not entirely sure how that's made in Makai, but it probably involves rocks, miasma, petroleum deposits, or some combination of all three.

Not long ago, you'd thought Gensokyo's cuisine was bizarre, but returning to Makai is rapidly forcing you to revise that opinion. Food made from dust, stone, and miasmic residue suddenly strikes you as almost dreadful by comparison to what you’ve gotten used to these past few years. Would it really kill Shinki to create a few crops?

"So, um." Picking up a fork, you prod one of the pancakes before sawing off a manageable piece. "How are... things?"

Despite how stilted your question was, the trio of devils jump to answer.

“Ugh, work sucks!” Cream hair groans, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner. "You smile, you compliment people, you draw cool doodles on their drinks - and all they do is complain. Plus my feet kill me after standing behind a counter all day. I think I need to take a spa day."

"Oh if you’re going, you gotta take me with you!" Rust hair says immediately, her eyes lighting up.

"Mm. That does sound rather lovely." Velvet hair tears open a packet of sugar without looking up from her plate. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in joining us, Daydreamer?"

Flinch. Your hand freezes halfway to your mouth. Now they're using that name too? "I, um. That's not really something I'd be interested in."

"Nonsense." Elis chuckles. "You're practically a bundle of nerves. A self-care day is exactly what you need."

Wonderful. The conversation has only just barely started, and it's already heading somewhere you'd rather it didn't. "I don't have the money to join," you say quickly. "So what do you all do for work again?"

It's an obvious pivot - a desperate one, even - but fortunately, it works.

"What? You don't remember?" Velvet hair gives you a cool look over the rim of her cup.

"I mean, none of you recognized me immediately either," you fluster, finally taking your bite of pancakes. They’re sweet and fluffy, as one would expect, but there’s something off about them when compared to the ones you’d cooked for Marisa in the mornings. The flavor feels manufactured, specifically engineered to appeal to your devil tastes. Still, considering they’re made from powdered rock, they’re more than edible.

Rust hair studies you for a moment. "You don't remember us at all, do you?"

"I remember!" Heat rushes to your face, and you stare down at your plate. You already weren’t hungry, and this conversation really isn’t helping with your appetite. “Being around you three, that is. I’m struggling with a few of the details.”

Velvet hair clicks her tongue, shaking her head in dismay as she sets her cup down. "Well. None of us have names, obviously, but Elis calls me Firecracker. Partly because I can make sparks, partly because I run a fireworks shop in the city."

"And because she totally explodes whenever somebody annoys her," cream hair adds chipperly.

Firecracker shoots her a pointed squint, immediately rebutting by flicking a handful of sparks at her. Cream hair waves her hand, wisps of vapor trailing behind her fingers and catching the sparks, snuffing them before they reach her.

"Since we're old friends, you can call me Skywriter. I do commissions, writing and drawing messages in the sky. Until that takes off, though, I'm stuck working as a barista." She taps the rim of your coffee cup. The oily surface stirs and froths, shaping itself into a tiny foam doodle of Elis.

Rust hair takes a moment to finish chewing a mouthful of food, having already made a sizable dent in her plate. "Elis calls me Beachcomber. And, uh. I like to find neat stuff in the ground." She scratches her cheek, realizing halfway through her introduction that she had nothing prepared.

Skywriter leans over, cupping her mouth as if she were telling you a secret, despite speaking in a loud stage-whisper. "She doesn't actually work, by the way. Just uses her power to sense impurities in the sand, then sleeps on the beach all day. Says she's sunbathing."

"Lady Shinki got rid of the sun last year," Firecracker notes.

"And she's still doing it!" Skywriter giggles girlishly.

Beachcomber blinks, then her cheeks puff out indignantly. "Hey, I think I'm detecting some impurities in your leadheaded brains."

Skywriter snorts, looking over at her with an amused smirk. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you drink lead or something, stupid!"

"Hm." Firecracker cuts into a mushroom. "Are you sure that's the insult you're committing to? We can give you another attempt."

"Heeeyyy!"

What a noisy bunch. You turn your attention back to your barely touched plate, occasionally stealing glances up at the three as they quickly descend into bickering. You want to say that they’re annoying, but given how hard they’re trying to connect with you, it wouldn’t be fair to dismiss them so soon. Things have been rough for you lately, so you’ve probably just got a shorter fuse than usual.

Elis watches their antics with quiet amusement. Every so often, her eyes drift toward you, checking whether you've completely withdrawn from the conversation.

“How about you, Daydreamer?”

Flinch. You snap your eyes onto Beachcomber, who seems to be using you as a way to redirect the conversation away from teasing her. “Me? What?”

“Yeah, what about you, Daydreamer?”

Flinch. This time it came from Skywriter, who’s grinning wide at you. “What’s your deal?”

“Oh. Um.” You poke at your nearly untouched plate, tone murmurous. "First of all, I'd appreciate it if you stopped calling me that. It's not my name."

Three blank stares meet you, their response perfectly synchronized. "Huh?"

You immediately regret speaking.

“She lost it,” Elis says, answering in your stead. The pressure of her gaze settles squarely on you. “Disappeared one day ‘cuz she signed a familiar contract. Now her precious master is sealed in that rock she’s got floating around on a rope. Poor girl wants to break the witch out.”

“What?” Skywriter looks at you like you’re crazy.

“Oh my.” Firecracker raises a hand to her mouth, unable to hide her shock.

“No way!” Beachcomber yelps, planting her hands down on the table.

Thanks for airing out my dirty laundry, Elis. Setting your fork down, you open your mouth to explain yourself.

“Are you serious?” Beachcomber blurts before you can attempt to defend yourself. “Don’t you remember what Elis said? Becoming a familiar sounds awful!”

"Total trap," Skywriter agrees, leaving your voice to die in your throat as she speaks over you. "All those contracts end eventually. Then your name gets stripped away."

"Why in the world would you ever want to go back?" Firecracker’s brows pinch together in concern, once again leaving you no room to speak. "You're free to make a name for yourself again."

"Gosh, and I’d been wondering about that weird rock!" This time, you don’t even bother trying to speak when Beachcomber points up at the floating stone bobbing a few feet over your head. "You should throw that thing away, Daydreamer!"

Flinch!

That name again. After you’d politely asked them not to use it, they went ahead and said it again.

You feel your jaw tighten on its own, your fingers curling in on themselves as their words dull into background noise. Withdrawing into the safety of your own mind, you patiently wait for them to finish. All they’re doing is parroting one another. Just like before.

Jab. Jab.

You blink, mind returning to the world mere seconds after you’d left it. The posse have all fallen silent, eyes flicking between you and Elis. Across the table, the devil magician has reached out with her wand, repeatedly poking your shoulder with its tip. Her expression is strange - thoughtful but guarded, like she's deliberately concealing whatever conclusion she's reached.

“Spill,” Elis says.

You blink again. “Sorry?”

“Not hard to tell when you start tuning things out.” She holds an even stare. “So if you aren't going to listen, then at least enlighten us. Why'd you go and become a familiar?”

For a third time, you blink, this one slow with realization. It's almost as if she read your mind and immediately handed your own thoughts back to you on a platter. Looking from devil to devil around the table, you suddenly feel a little ashamed for doubting them. Seems as though you were being unfairly cynical. They’re just concerned.

“Why?” you echo quietly. If they're genuinely willing to listen this time, then you owe them an honest answer. Closing your eyes for a moment, you search the deepest corners of your memory.

The summoning ritual flashes through your mind’s eye. That moment - the moment - where you set your old life aside and stepped willingly into a new one. You rarely revisit it, but everything you are now was made then and there. The most important moment of your life.

“...Lady Mima-”

“Wait. Mima? The witch that-?” Skywriter begins to interject, her voice faint and fuzzy.

“Let her talk, Skywriter.” Elis scolds, her voice barely registering. Your attention has already drifted upward, drawn upward by a force beyond your control.

The floating stone hangs overhead. When you blink, there is no rock, only her. Your master. Looking down upon you just as she did all those years ago, just as magnificent as she ever was. The longer you stare, the more the temple around you dissolves. Stone walls and devils alike fade into the dark veil of the witching hour.

“Lady Mima just… has this way of being.” You struggle to explain. How could words possibly capture what you felt that night? “Something about the way she holds herself. Like it’s all so effortless. For someone like her, nothing is beyond reach. I could just tell.”

The temple has disappeared entirely by now. You're sitting in the summoning circle again. Crimson sigils glow, carved into the dirt beneath you. A strange prickly carpet brushes against your bare palms - grass, as you'd later learn to call it. Towering, non-crystalline trees crowd the horizon beneath a sky filled with countless stars, each and every one twinkling in such delightfully noisy ways. Everything here is so strange and alien, yet irresistibly different from Makai. Was this the world Shinki had always strived to emulate?

Even so, none of it compares to the magician hovering before you. Her full attention is fixed upon you, her eyes studying you carefully and picking you apart. You feel so small, and she feels so big. And yet she’s decided to grace you with her genuine consideration regardless. It makes you feel seen. Truly, actually, seen. In this moment, you are important.

“And she summoned me of all people,” you half-whisper. “I don’t know how it makes any sense for someone like that to see potential in somebody like me, but…”

The contract appears - not a physical paper to sign in ink, but an ephemeral needle and radiant thread that can only be sewn by your own hand. You’ve been offered the chance of being something much more than you could ever have been on your own. Something much more than you were ever meant to become.

“How could I possibly say no?”

You press the needle’s tip to your chest, breath caught in your lungs as you brace yourself. Then, you push it past your skin. There’s a sharp pain that punctures your heart, followed by a sense of wonderful relief. A spiritual thread now tethers your soul to hers.

The vision vanishes with a blink, and you’re back at the table with the others. But the feeling remains, emotions as fresh and wonderful as they had been back then. You can’t help yourself from reaching upward and pulling the cold stone down into your arms, hugging it tightly against your chest, unwilling to ever let it go again.

Your eyes glister and shine as you laugh, unable to hold your voice back. The cheer draws the attention of several devils across the room, having flitted in at some point or another after your arrival. The posse look at you with dumbfounded expressions, stunned into silence by your sudden jubilance.

“You just had to see her to understand. She was unlike anyone else.” You nod emphatically, wings fluttering in place as you struggle to put your feelings into words. “She was powerful, whimsical, brilliant - a true visionary. She understood things that magicians three times her age still wrestle with. Stuff that I still don’t understand too well, honestly. Harmonization of magical components, the verbalization of intent, shaping an object’s spirit for ease of enchanting-”

A light tap to your shoulder stills your yammering. Forcibly stopping yourself short, you curiously look toward Elis as she pulls her wand.

“I know you really want to share what you’ve learned. I’m sure I was the same, as a junior magician.” Elis lets out a sigh, her eyes sharply focused on you regardless. “But you know, I haven’t seen you eat much of anything since yesterday. You’re still barely eating. Are you still not feeling hungry?”

The abrupt change in subject leaves you off kilter. Your white-knuckled grip on the boulder loosens, and your smile falters as your eyes drift down to the table. Only a single bite is missing from your plate. Meanwhile, everyone else is nearly finished. Beachcomber's plate is practically polished clean, even. Embarrassment twists in your stomach and you reach for your coffee, hoping a sip might disguise how rude you've been.

The drink tastes wrong, just like the pancakes did - nothing at all like the coffee you'd seldom sampled in Gensokyo. Maybe that’s because coffee is a precious drink over there, whereas Makai’s is more widely produced. It carries a distasteful quality, its bitterness spread out with uncanny perfection. It’s very fake.

“You aren't, are you?” Elis says, refusing to let the moment pass. Her tone is low yet pointed, as if she were accusing you of something.

Now unsettled by how she’s acting, you set the cup down. “Well, no. But-”

“That’s kind of strange, don’t you think?” She interrupts you again, her face scrunching up. “You’ve been here for a while now, and you haven’t snacked on anything or taken a nap. But somehow, you’re still totally energized. Why is that?”

“Oh.” Your stomach sinks. “Yeah, um.”

You already know where this conversation is going, and you don’t like it one bit. You glance desperately around the table, hoping someone will intervene. Every member of the posse suddenly finds their plate fascinating. Crumb collecting and cup straightening, is apparently much easier to look at than the two of you.

Fidgeting in your seat, your fingers creep back around the rope tied around the boulder, clinging to the rough fabric as if it will steady you. “I'm a familiar. Should be obvious that’s why I don't need food or sleep. Didn’t you say you know all about familiar contracts?”

“I do. Which is exactly why this is bothering me.” The senior devil’s expression only hardens. She points directly at the boulder in your lap. “Your master is sealed inside that rock. Which means the connection that sustained you should have been severed.”

Right, right, that little inconsistency. You'd wondered about it before as well, in passing. But you don't care to find an answer. Some questions are better left unanswered. And now that someone else is asking it, you’re left feeling deeply uncomfortable.

“Elis, I really don't want to talk about this.” The urgent plea slips past your lips before you even realize you're speaking.

She meets your eyes without blinking. “Wake up, Daydreamer.”

Alarm bells explode through your mind as you stare back at her. Please don't say it.

“You literally can’t be a familiar anymore.”

---

[ ☯ Please Wait… Makai is Loading… ☯ ]

A sharp pain washes over you. Your vision swims, your stomach lurches, your ears ring, and your fingers clench. Sick. Dizzy. Everything hurts.

“We can't see your familiar name anymore, which makes sense.” Elis continues, each word landing heavier than the last. “But somehow you're still chugging along like you never got the memo, which doesn’t make any sense.”

The pounding in your skull grows louder. You pray that her words get drowned out beneath the roaring in your ears, yet, every word continues to drill into your brain with perfect clarity. Your fingers now grip the tightly bound rope knots around the boulder as though they were guardrails stopping you from falling down a steep cliff.

The rock feels warm.

Even as the world smears at the edges, you try your best to muster up a defense - all spoken in a single, rushed breath. “It’s been weeks since Lady Mima was sealed and I haven’t needed to eat or sleep at all. The only way that could be the case is if I were still her familiar. So that’s what I must be. It’s as simple as that.”

“I know you don’t like hearing this, but what’s happening really should be impossible.” More stupid words come out of her big stupid mouth. Although you try to tune her out entirely, to withdraw into the safety of your mind, her words echo - all-consuming and inescapable.

“This energy you’re living off of has gotta be coming from somewhere.” It’s Lady Mima. It has to be. Maybe she left something behind. Some hidden spell or reserve that’s still feeding you in her stead. Certainly she would think of something like that, wouldn’t she?

“How do we know this isn’t the result of something else?” No. Nobody ever noticed you. Nobody except Lady Mima. So it has to be her. It has to be.

“What happens to you if this flow of sustenance suddenly stops?” It won't. As long as you're Lady Mima's familiar you'll be fine. You simply know this to be true.

“Why would-” Quiet.

“When this-” Stop talking!

“You need to-” Make her shut up! Make her shut up! Make her-

“Shut up!” The words rip out of you like a roar, your chair scraping across the floor as you jerk to your feet.

Silence falls over the room, the air as thick as miasma. Elis can only stare, wide-eyed with astonishment. The others aren't much different; the eyes of everybody in the room are on you. Nobody dares to speak.

Now, more than ever, you need yourself to be known.

“I am Lady Mima’s ever loyal familiar,” you declare, voice trembling with a level of outrage and conviction that surprises even yourself. “And if you think anything else, you're wrong.”

Another long beat passes, and gradually, the pounding in your ears begins to recede. When you've wrestled enough control back over yourself, you lower yourself into your chair again, dragging it back to the table with a tired scrape.

You release a deep sigh, voice quieter now. “Now can we please drop it? I'm starting to feel really sick.”

Nobody responds. After that outburst, you can't exactly blame them. Bile churns in your stomach, and you hug Lady Mima firmly against your middle, as if it might somehow settle the turmoil deep within.

Maybe coming here was a mistake. You’d been hoping talking with the posse might somehow de-stress you. Instead, you're even more tightly wound than when you'd arrived. At best, all these topics of conversation are noisy. At worst, they instill you with dread.

You know they’re all just concerned for you, but you can’t help feeling farther away from everyone present with each passing minute. Before, you felt so excluded that your own head was less isolating than reality. Now, you’ve been dragged so far into the center of attention that you can't breathe.

“Daydreamer!”

This time, you don't even flinch. Strangely, the nickname doesn't sting anymore. Maybe because what you just lived through eclipsed it entirely. Wearily, you lift your head, eyes settling on Skywriter.

She's staring at you as though you'd suddenly grown a third wing, hand clamped over her mouth. “You were always sitting at the back, almost never spoke up about anything!”

Is she talking about before I became a familiar? “Um. Yeah?”

The other two posse girls glance at Skywriter, seemingly just as confused as you are. Elis, too, flashes her a sharp, if exasperated, look.

“Now’s not a good time, Skywriter.” Elis sighs, settling limply in her seat. She seems quite dismayed by how the whole interaction played out, even though she was the one trying to burst your bubble.

Skywriter blinks several times, color rushing into her cheeks. The cream haired devil shoots Elis a fleeting glance, then suddenly looks very interested in staring a hole through the tabletop. Her fingers fidget restlessly, unable to keep still. A few seconds pass before she speaks anyway.

“What I mean to say is that, uh.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Things got kind of intense right then. Maybe we could talk about something you're actually interested in instead? Since you were always brooding and stuff. You know?”

Elis's brows knit tighter.

“Dear, leave it,” Firecracker says gently in her stead, sending Skywriter a cautious look from beneath her silken bangs. “We don’t want to wring out the poor girl even more.”

The offer takes a moment to reach you, forcing its way through the lingering haze of emotion still clouding your thoughts. By the time you process what Skywriter said, all you can manage is a tired, contemplative stare. It's kind of her to try, but after everything that's happened, you don't even know where you'd begin with a topic of interest to you. Thus, you remain quiet.

“Like…” Skywriter presses on, pretending not to notice everyone's eyes on her. “What was life like in Gensokyo? I've only been there once.”

“Hey, ease up.” Beachcomber frowns, holding her hands up as if to push the words away from your ears. “She obviously doesn't want to talk anymore. What's gotten into you?”

“Trust me, girls. None of you work in customer service,” she says snippily. “Besides, it’s not like I’m asking her to bare her soul.”

You pause, studying the cream-haired devil. Something’s different about her, all of a sudden. She's visibly anxious, squirming in her seat with that same nervous energy you often exhibit yourself. “You've been to Gensokyo?”

The others blink in surprise, whereas Skywriter looks relieved to hear you engage with her. She lets out a small laugh, lightly tip-tapping her palms on the table. “Just for a moment. Right after the tourism push flopped. I thought it was really weird. The trees looked so soft! Green and brown are strange colors for them, don't you think?”

That gets you to crack a surprised little smile. “...Yeah. Super weird,” you agree. “But I like it, honestly. It’s… different.”

“And that's what you like?” Skywriter asks, folding her hands together. “Things that are different?”

“Yeah.” The answer lingers on your tongue like a pebble in your shoe. Mulling it over for a moment longer, you shake your head and correct yourself. “Well, no. Kind of?”

Skywriter nods slowly. She flicks a cautious glance toward Elis, as though acknowledging her directly would somehow break an unspoken rule. Drawing a quiet breath, she looks back at you. “What do you mean ‘kind of?’”

Fiddling your fingers together, you shoot Elis a wary glance, half expecting her to cut you off again before you can get started. Surprisingly, she remains silent, her expression guarded yet thoughtful as she waits for your answer. Hopefully she's decided against interrupting you this time.

Closing your eyes, your thoughts are swept along on a gentle breeze. Gensokyo is a wonderful place, more beautiful than any escape fantasy you were ever able to imagine. There was always something interesting happening - not merely in the sense that incidents constantly erupted, though there was certainly no shortage of such nonsense. No, it was alive.

“I don't really know how to explain it,” you admit. “Everything has a mind of its own, I guess. In small ways.” Lifting your hands, you twist your fingers and shift your palms in an attempt to visually showcase what you're trying to convey through limp gestures. Reopening your eyes, you stare down at your hands, fixated on your own struggling motions.

“Like how the sun isn't just a source of light there. It gives warmth to everything it touches. Or how the wind doesn't blow with the same static strength. It can be gentle one moment, then howl with enough force to shake trees the next. And how the clouds aren't just there to admire or imagine shapes in. They brighten and darken on a whim, carry water, ice, and electricity in them, and can unleash any combination of those upon the land without warning.”

Your words, slow and uncertain at first, now come out steady and strong as you find your footing. “It's not just the land that lives by its own rules. Everyone does. The natural state of everything there is simply... to exist. There isn't an overarching divine creator that handmade everybody - or if there was, they've long since stepped back and let the place continue along without them. So nobody feels compelled to search for whatever purpose they were made for, because people there weren't created with one in mind.”

Tilting your head back, you pretend - for this brief moment - that it's the night sky which meets your gaze instead of the reflector’s ceiling. How that breathtaking sea of shimmering lights above would welcome you home after what already feels like an eternity apart. The way their twinkling would seem almost joyful, as though they were greeting an old friend. They'd be so wonderfully chatty.

“But I was made with a purpose in mind: To earn a name. Created with the ability to scry the stars and expected to make something of myself by doing so. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do it. Not until Lady Mima showed me Gensokyo's stars.” A small laugh escapes you, vision blurring as tears gather in your eyes.

“That’s when it finally clicked in my head. The stars there are different. They dance and twinkle in ways that actually mean something.” You press a hand lightly against your chest, the memory making you feel whole again for a brief instant. “She looked up at them... then looked down at me... and told me I was one of them. And that’s how I got my name.”

Sniffling, you wipe your eyes, and with the tears the memories fade away. Finally returning your quavering gaze back down from the ceiling, you give your fellow devils a solemn nod. Each of them, by this point, are staring at you with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and unease.

“I could finally do the one thing I had been created to do there. And I was with the one person who valued that gift even more than I did,” you say, voice soft. “That’s what I mean. About liking how it’s different there.”

They all continue to simply just stare at you for a period, struggling to digest everything you just said. The room feels strangely smaller now, as though your words have taken all the air with them.

“Gosh.” Skywriter squirms in her seat, profound concern written across her face. “No wonder you were always so quiet.”

“Is… is that even possible?” Beachcomber finally asks, scarcely above a whisper. “Lady Shinki wouldn't make someone with an ability that doesn't work... would she?”

“No,” Firecracker murmurs automatically. “Of course not. There has to be some mistake. Are you sure you were using it correctly?”

“That’s… I didn’t-” Elis tries to speak, but the words catch in her throat. Of everyone present, she looks the most shaken by your confession. “I never knew…”

Before anyone can say another word more, the church bells ring out through the cathedral, their grand thrumming chimes rolling through every corridor and chamber. The daily sermon is about to begin. Around the refectory, chairs scrape against the floor as devils and demons alike rise from their tables. Everyone begins clearing away their dishes before filing into the hall. A few cast you stray looks as they pass, having been eavesdropping since your outburst.

At your table, however, nobody moves. The others glance toward Elis, silently deferring to her judgment.

She grimaces, her eyes never leaving yours as she absently twirls her wand. Threads of magic coil around the scattered dishes and cups, gathering them into a clumsy stack. The plates clink awkwardly together, a cup nearly slipping free before the spell catches it again. Her concentration is elsewhere entirely. Once the table has finally been cleared, she simply continues to stare at you, visibly shaken.

“Listen, I- you’ve obviously grown a lot in your time away. More than I’d expected. I suppose I have to give Mima credit for that, at least.” A reluctant smile flickers across her face before fading just as quickly, her expression hardening with a renewed determination. “But now that we know this? We can fix it. Find a way to make the stars here talk to you. You don't have to go back to her, Daydreamer.”

Slowly, she extends a hand across the table, leaning forward slightly. Her violet eyes search yours, desperate. “Come to the sermon with us. I know it never meant much to you before, but you've lived somewhere else now. Like you said, something’s clicked in your head since back then. Maybe with everything you've experienced, it might finally make some sense.”

A fragile, hopeful smile finds its way onto her face. “Just give it one last chance. Please?”

---

[ ] Take her hand. If you actually manage to finally understand, maybe it'd feel like you could finally close this whole chapter of your life.
[ ] You’ve got better things to do. Check out the temple’s library, you’ll surely be able to parse the Hakurei scroll if you cross reference it against the many texts within.
[ ] Stand up and leave. This has been an enlightening experience, and you can now say with confidence that you don’t want to spend any more time in this temple.