Author's Note: For those interested and unaware, Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis is a real, rare condition that makes for a very intriguing and sorrowful read. On an intellectual level I have enjoyed delving into the psyche of a person with CIPA to create Emmaline, and I hope you look forward to seeing my thoughts on how such a condition would affect living in the magical world of the Spiral.

Chapter 22: Painless Torture

(One month and three days Post-Incident)

Rowan sat at her dining table and drank her tea as if this was any other morning, but unlike days prior she wasn't reading a book or doing a crossword. Today she was patiently waiting for Emmaline to awaken. When her grandfather clock in the foyer struck eight and there was no sign of Emmaline, Rowan began to worry. It wasn't like her to have a late breakfast. The girl was always up at seven o'clock and in the kitchen by a quarter 'til eight.

"Damn teenage angst," Rowan muttered to herself, leaving the table and her tea to begin preparing a bowl of cereal for Emmaline. With breakfast in hand she left the room and walked through the gallery in the back of the house to her basement door, knocking on it resolutely. She pounded when she got no answer.

"Go away!"

"I've brought you breakfast!"

"Leave it at the door!"

"We need to talk about last night!"

"Leave it at the door!"

"That's it, I'm coming in!" Rowan opened the door and descended the stairs.

"Stop! I'm indecent!" Emmaline screamed. Rowan chuckled as she reached the foot of the stairs.

"You don't have anything I haven't seen before," Rowan joked, turning to face her housemate.

"That's not the point!" Emmaline screeched. She was sitting up in her bed, covers pulled around her up her neck. She was horrified and flushed with embarrassment. The flush was probably due to crying as well, since her baby blue eyes looked sunken and her cheeks were tear-streaked. "Why are you here?"

"Like I said, we need to talk about last night." Rowan approached the bed and held out the bowl. "And I brought you your breakfast."

"No we don't," Emmaline snapped and turned her head away from Rowan, "and I'm not hungry."

"Would you know if you were hungry?"

There was pure curiosity in the voice without trace of jest or judgment. Emmaline didn't respond, staring at the wall until she eventually listened to her better judgment and freed one arm from her blankets to take the bowl. Otherwise ignoring Rowan's presence, she released her blankets to eat the cereal, revealing a half-sleeve and high-collared pastel pink nightgown with lace flowers adorning the chest. Hardly indecent by Rowan's standards, but this girl was more uptight. Rowan decided to look at the furnace instead of Emmaline, so as to not unnerve the girl further while she ate. When she heard the spoon clatter against the bowl one last time, she turned to regard Emmaline.

"I guess not," Rowan commented, getting a whispered thank you in return. Emmaline's face was less red now, but she still seemed ready to cry. Or scream, perhaps.

"Want to study me like all the others, do you?" Emmaline's eyes narrowed. Rowan's face fell.

"I assume you are referring to doctors?"

"Of course," Emmaline barked. "Poked and prodded, examined over and over. I've seen more of my own blood in vials than I've bled out in menstrual cycles. Which, by the way, absolutely suck because I have absolutely no sensation to warn me besides a slight pressure," Emmaline whined. Rowan raised an eyebrow, thought about asking further on the subject, and then decided Emmaline had divulged enough about the process. She focused on the last part of her statement instead.

"You can feel pressure?"

"Yeah," Emmaline admitted. "Doctors say the nerves work differently for pain and pressure, so I don't feel one but I feel the other." She glared at Rowan. "Anything else you want to know for your research, Professor?" The question was snide, but Rowan let it slide under the circumstances.

"I don't want to study you Emma," Rowan corrected, sitting on the foot of the bed, "I want to understand you."

"Same thing," retorted Emmaline.

"No, it isn't," countered Rowan with mild annoyance. "I don't want to study your condition; I want to understand what life is like for you. I want to understand what makes you who you are." Emmaline turned her head away in rebellion. Rowan sighed. "We all need at least one person in our lives who understands us. Someone who gets our quirks, even the ones they don't like, and accepts what we are completely. Someone who can easily walk in our shoes; empathize with our struggles. Based on what I heard last night, you need someone like that."

"My mother understands me…" It was a soft response, the kind suggesting she didn't believe her own words.

"Your mother understands your condition, not you," Rowan retorted with maybe a harsher tone than she meant. "My mother is the same. If there is anyone in the Spiral that could understand your experience, it would be me. Emma… Emmaline… Let me be that person." Rowan placed an open hand between the two girls, inviting contact without pushing.

Emmaline finally turned to regard Rowan with genuine surprise. Rowan had not spoken her full name once since their first day as housemates, when she jeeringly renamed her as 'Emma'. Rowan was likely aware of the significance of this for Emmaline. She's trying to manipulate me… Emmaline reasoned and narrowed her eyes, lips pursed. "What do you get out of it?"

"I know I'm a horrible, selfish person, Emmaline, but I do actually do things altruistically," Rowan countered calmly. "But I suspect you would also understand me, and my life, better than most in the Spiral, so I do suppose I would benefit from the friendship as well."

"That 'target' of yours don't understand you?" Emmaline quipped. Rowan snickered.

"Kane Darksword doesn't even understand himself. He is not cursed with self-awareness," she responded, shrugging her shoulders and staring into the distance. "He accepts me for who I am, but he doesn't understand me and my life. He knows how I function, mostly, but he doesn't really get it, how it feels to be me. No one does."

"I'm the closest thing you have to a kindred spirit," Emmaline mused as she too stared into space.

"And I am the same for you," Rowan pointed out. She watched as Emmaline processed her words and examined Rowans face for signs of falsehood. Tentatively, Emmaline reached out her own hand and placed it into Rowan's. Noting it was the hand that was previously swollen but now seemingly healed, Rowan very gently squeezed it.

"Shall we head to the lounge, get comfortable, and talk about what a life without pain is like," Rowan offered, and Emmaline nodded.

The girls sat in the plush black chairs in Rowan's lounge, each in a separate corner of the long room. Rowan looked very comfortable in a short sleeved summer dress with a black and white tartan design and grey leggings, bare feet kicked up on a footstool while she sipped steaming tea from a mug that said 'bad to the bone' in femurs. Emmaline was dressed to be comfortable, wearing that oversized beige sweater and bright red leggings paired with fluffy white socks. But she sat hunched over in her chair, nursing a cup of iced tea and curtained by her straight white hair.

"Do Marleybonian doctors have a name for your condition?" Rowan asked after Emmaline had sat there brooding for several minutes. Emmaline didn't respond. "Is it unique to hybrids?" Nothing. "Do we need to sit in quiet a little longer?" Emmaline sat motionless and stared at the ice in her tea. Rowan shared in that silence, contemplating a better way to start the conversation. It took a few minutes before a solution dawned on Rowan.

"I'm one of the first non-medical, and non-familial, people to find out, aren't I? You've never had to tell your story before and don't know where to start, huh?" Finally there was a response as Emmaline shook her head affirmatively. Rowan smiled. "Let's start with the bland Marleybonian medical information then, and then get into the daily life details."

Emmaline's shoulders relaxed and she sat up slightly, taking a sip of her tea. She didn't look at Rowan however, her face remaining concealed behind her hair. "The Dogs call it congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis. It is not unique to hybrids, but it is incredibly rare. Congenital means I've had it from birth," Emmaline started to explain.

"And anhidrosis means you can't sweat," Rowan interrupted. "I know what it means. I did some medical research myself about my own 'symptoms'. I technically have congenital anorexia, congenital hypothermia, congenital anhidrosis, congenital hypoventilation, congenital arrhythmia, congenital constipation, and some others I've long since forgotten. It was amusing at first but tiring after a while."

"Unlike you," Emmaline retorted, setting her tea on a small table and leaning back in her chair, "I don't have a magical explanation for my condition; my congenital condition is the best explanation, so I'd prefer you not mock my medical history."

Rowan gasped and shook her head. "Sorry, I never meant it that way. Please continue." Emmaline rolled her head across the cushion, looking incredulously at Rowan through cascading strands of hair. "No, seriously, I'll stop."

Emmaline rolled her eyes, sighed, and looked at the ceiling. "I always feel like the doctors are judging me, even if they too do not mean it that way," she explained. "They always made it feel like I was being graded, determining how normal or freak I was on a scale of 1 to 10 or something." Emmaline shrugged and tittered. "Never found out my score, of course."

"I get that," Rowan admitted with a chuckle, "I also wondered just how freak they thought I was whenever someone started questioning me. I didn't care as much though," Rowan shrugged. Emmaline returned the shrug. "So how does this work? Can you feel pleasure but not pain?"

"I can feel pressure like you noted earlier and pleasurable things like softness, so I do have a sense of touch, but I cannot feel pain of any kind, even minor discomfort. I have anhidrosis because I cannot detect the discomfort of rising temperature, so I never start sweating. I also cannot detect the discomfort of lowered temperatures, hence the hypothermia risk," Emmaline folded her arms. "I cannot feel hunger pains either, so thanks for the breakfast."

"You're welcome," Rowan responded. She shifted position in her chair, leaning closer towards Emmaline's direction so she could rest her mug-holding hand more comfortably on the arm chair.

"That," Emmaline exclaimed, and suddenly pointed at Rowan without looking at her. "That's another thing I can't feel and have to remember to do."

"What," Rowan inquired, perplexed as to her reference. Emmaline wiggled excessively in the chair, awkwardly settling back down. "Oh… seriously?" Emmaline growled, bristling at the unintentional judgmental tone. "Right sorry," Rowan quickly reversed and hummed as she contemplated. "It does make sense when I think about it. I just-"

"Don't have to think about it," Emmaline finished. "Like you and breathing, I have to remember to fidget now and then when sitting or standing, or risk pressure ulcers developing and getting infected, and hope they don't get serious before I find them."

"And you have to remember to respond to hitting table legs," Rowan pointed out. Emmaline cringed. "You did a pretty poor job of that."

"It's harder, you know," Emmaline countered, "pretending to feel the world." Emmaline folded her arms again. "People aren't that alert to the movement of your chest when you are breathing." Rowan snorted excessively, and Emmaline groaned. "You know what I mean!"

"Sorry," Rowan apologized through a giggle. "You raise a valid point, I suppose. Injuring yourself without any response does alert people more than a lack of slow, tiny chest movements."

"Thank you," Emmaline nodded. "You can also hide your lack of eating easier, never going to the bathroom can be written off as being secretive about it, and most people aren't going to touch you. Meanwhile I have to eat at set times every day or else I forget. I have to use an alarm to remember to relieve myself every two hours, because I never feel the pain associated with those urges."

"Potty training must have been a nightmare," Rowan commented with wide eyes.

"I was eight when I finally got a reliable, controllable pattern down," Emmaline admitted. "Can't drink or eat too much though, or I can throw that schedule off."

"No Taco Tuesdays for you," Rowan giggled. Emmaline did too, for the first time since last night.

"Please, Bartleby, never," Emmaline added. "Anyways… I also have to check my whole body every two hours, make sure I have no ulcers or splinters or broken ankles."

"Please tell me the broken ankle thing doesn't happen often," Rowan pleaded. The thought, even for one who barely felt pain, was sickening.

"Yep, it does," Emmaline declared nonchalantly. "I can't feel a twisted ankle, or notice if I stepped onto an uneven surface wrong. I have to have high ankle shoes for extra support. And even then it doesn't matter." Emmaline raised her right arm and began rotating her wrist. "You can't hear it, and I can't feel it, but I am told I have arthritis in all my joints. Some worse than others; last visit I had with my doctor predicted my knees would be useless in a few years."

"Theurgy can't heal arthritis?"

"No," Emmaline sighed, "there is something called a Law of Natural State that prohibits healing magic from repairing damage done naturally to the body by the body. That's why Headmaster Ambrose is so hunched over even though he is so powerful. He can't heal the aging of his own body. Likewise, my arthritis is caused by my own unknowing abuse of my joints, moving in unhealthy ways because I feel no pain. No outside force caused this degradation." The women were silent for a few moments.

"You'll be in a wheel chair before you graduate Ravenwood," Rowan realized sullenly.

"Yep," Emmaline affirmed without any sadness. "My condition is rare, but almost all cases don't live long into adulthood as our bodies deteriorate rapidly no matter how much we try to avoid injury. There's a Law of Diminishing Repair as well, dictating that repeated healing of any body part will, over time, result in a weaker tissue and reduced healing. It takes a lot of repeated healing over the years to become noticeable," Emmaline glared at Rowan lazily, "and probably doesn't even apply to you, but for folks like me that law applies pretty early in life."

"Yeah," Rowan admitted without shame, "my version is a Law of Eternal State. I grew to maturity, and my body completely stopped there. When my body heals, it isn't really healing so much as returning to exactly the state I was in before I was damaged. I don't scar and I can't gain weight, but I also can't lose weight or even cut my hair to try out new styles. It grows back within a few days to this length," Rowan ran her hands through her hair. Emmaline snorted.

"Such a tortured life you lead," she remarked sardonically.

"It also means I will never grow old, so hiding what I am will become increasingly difficult as everyone else in the world grows old," Rowan retorted. "And if my 'target' ever does decide to have a relationship with me, I'll have to endure watching him grow old while I increasingly look like his daughter, grand-daughter, or great-grand-daughter, until he finally dies and leaves me alone in this world once again."

"Oh…" Emmaline turned her head to look ahead at the opposing wall and sipped her tea. "I suppose that is its own kind of curse." They shared a renewed silence. "At least you can have a relationship though. I can't."

"Oh come on," Rowan rolled her eyes and leaned back to fold her arms. "There is nothing inherently physically dangerous in falling in love."

"Except if he is too large for me," Emmaline snapped back, but softened her voice suddenly and looked into her drink. "Or I get pregnant." That silence returned, apparently undefeated, to consume the conversation. The slurping of tea was the only sound for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry for bringing that up," Rowan finally broke the silence, glancing at Emmaline. "I should have remembered how it felt, realizing I couldn't have children when I was fourteen. Should have been more sensitive." Emmaline nodded her head. "But still, you can have an asexual romance," Rowan added and Emmaline snorted. "Or… have you given thought to loving a woman?"

Emmaline blushed profusely, and Rowan briefly worried she'd broken the girl again. Emmaline was still for a moment before violently shaking her head and straightening up. "Nice idea, but there are nails and teeth and… toys… that pose risks. Sexual relations are just too risky."

"But you have thought of it," Rowan pointed at her with a raised brow and a smirk. Emmaline blushed again. "Don't worry; I won't seduce you or anything. That one time was just me trying to mess with you."

"Yeah, thanks for the mental imagery." Emmaline rolled her eyes at the opposing wall. "There's also the complication of, you know, revealing my mixed heritage and hoping whoever they are accepts that and is willing to shackle themselves to a social pariah," Emmaline added. "Hybrid prejudice is paranoid, supremacist bullshit!" Emmaline suddenly grabbed her tea cup in anger and threw it at the wall, immediately following it with a fireball from the same hand. The cup exploded before it ever hit the wall, tea and ice rapidly vaporizing in a cloud of steam as ceramic shards peppered the wall and floor. Rowan sat across the room and watched the tantrum without flinching.

"Nice shot," she commented when she saw Emmaline's breathing steady, "feel better?"

"No," Emmaline answered harshly. She pouted and wiggled awkwardly in her seat again.

"Well try being an undead woman in the aftermath of a war against a Necromancer who threatened to destroy the whole Spiral with his undead army," Rowan countered, folding her arms and legs. "I may have killed him, but people are still suspicious of my allegiance when they find out I am literally an unsummoned, permanent undead creature, and technically more powerful –potentially- than Malistaire."

"You killed Malistaire?" Emmaline finally looked to Rowan again in disbelief.

"Don't look so surprised," Rowan waved her off. "Yeah, I killed my former mentor. It was better I did it than allowing Kane to callously behead him and turn his skull into a wind chime, or whatever vengeful crap he decided on. Malistaire went off the deep end, but he had been a great man before then, and deserved better."

"Malistaire mentored you… That's why you are so good," Emmaline contemplated.

"No," Rowan corrected, "I'm good because I have the natural talent of the undead. Malistaire taught me almost nothing about Necromancy." Emmaline tilted her head and frowned. "His mentorship was in teaching me to live with myself."

"Malistaire knew?"

"No, Ambrose made sure of that," Rowan explained. Emmaline continued to look confused so she elaborated. "He charmed me so my true undead nature was concealed. I think Malistaire was seeing through it after a few years, but by then Sylvia –his wife- got sick and he paid almost no attention to me. Malistaire mentored me in controlling my powerful talent, and respecting it. Like you I grew up just a little bit resentful of being so… special," Rowan shrugged. "Malistaire helped me realize I am more than whatever society labels me, and worthy of at least self-respect. Pretty much made me the woman I am today. I want to give back and help you as he did me."

"I'm already learning to live with my condition, Rowan," Emmaline whined. "I went against the Book of Secrets and chose Necromancy for that reason."

"Wait," Rowan held up a hand at Emmaline, "you aren't a natural-born Necromancer?" This was a genuine surprise; few students chose their school of study. Anyone who hadn't already had several accidental magical incidents reveal their destined school of magic consulted the Book of Secrets during their enrollment ceremony. It was a large free-floating tome that would hover on the stage during the ceremony, glowing invitingly. The exact machinations of its methodology were unknown, but most students who gazed at its pages reported later that they saw images, or several sentences, for a few seconds before the pages would turn autonomously to reveal new words or pictures. This would go on for roughly two minutes before the Book of Secrets would emit large light particles in the shape of the school symbol it had deemed the student's primary study. While there was the option to choose a primary school other than the one revealed by the Book, students rarely did so. The Book of Secrets was known to be extremely accurate, and there were consequences to ignoring innate magical energies.

"No, I'm a Pyromancer by birth," answered Emmaline, before making a finger catch fire and holding it up. "But unfortunately it is extremely dangerous to wield fire when you can't tell if you are burning yourself." She blinked and the flame snuffed out, leaving a dark red fingertip behind.

"I thought Pyromancers were inherently fire-proof," Rowan commented.

"Common misconception," Emmaline shook her head. "Day one, we start learning how to resist flames for safety reasons, but it is not easy to master. Most people get several burns along the way, though Professor Falmea does make sure no one gets too burned. I have been failing that project miserably. I can't gauge how successful I am during the practice if I can't even feel the heat of my own flames."

"That's why you're failing in dueling too," Rowan realized, snapping her fingers. "You feel no pain from offensive spells, so you keep forgetting to shield!"

"Yeah…" Emmaline sighed. "Duelmaster Diego is getting really frustrated with me at this point. It's also why I am doing poorly with spellcasting in Necromancy classes." Emmaline groaned and resettled into the back of her seat, no longer looking at Rowan. "I've got the philosophies, theories, and bestiaries down. But I completely fail the application in all spells except defensive ones. Since I don't feel pain, I have no instinctual fear of mutilation. Of the five basic fears we learned in first year, fear of ego-death and fear of separation are the most familiar forms of fear to me; I do feel those, but they don't apply as easily in combat applications. Fear of extinction and fear of loss of autonomy are mixed bags; I sort of feel those fears, but it is like pain for you, muted and dull. To make matters worse, because I lack these basic fears, I cannot conceptualize or understand them in others. Never feeling pain means I also cannot understand the pain of others to manipulate it."

"That… that is tough," Rowan thought, bringing her hand to a falling strand of wavy hair and twirling it. "The only fear I lack is fear of extinction, since I can never die, but I feel the others as strongly as any other human. It is what makes me so powerful; I can wield all the fears I have as a living human against opponents, and like all undead I also wield their own against them… oh…" Rowan reached for the amulet under her dress collar and thumbed the onyx gem through the cloth. "That's why your shields are so strong. That's why we felt no fear from you that first day we met."

"Because nothing you could do to me scared me," Emmaline nodded. "And in combat, my fears of separation and ego-death aren't that relevant. I've been studying the philosophies of Necromancy hard, to fully realize an acceptance of my eventual disability and death, mitigating my already minimal fears of loss of autonomy and extinction." Emmaline reached out and pointed at the amulet, a new confidence present in those baby blue eyes. "That's why you can't break my shields, Grim Reaper. My shields are crafted from the absence of fear, not the normal and fragile willful resistance to fear most people use."

"Defense through starvation, not willpower," Rowan nodded, genuinely impressed. "Dworgyn chose his emissary well." Deep within her mind, she felt the Grim Reaper growling; the cavern of her mental subconscious reverberated his growls till they resembled the threatening rumbles of a confined dragon.

Emmaline faltered, surprised by the complement. She muttered sheepish thanks before she curled her arm back into the embrace of her chair.

"But when you say you are learning to live with your condition," Rowan pressed on the girl, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, "I do not see any signs of a woman living happily, or respecting herself and what she is capable of."

"I respect myself," Emmaline muttered.

'Uh huh," Rowan nodded and countered, "and your mother understands you." Emmaline sulked. "My mother always told me how you dress was a reflection of your self-respect. Just look at how you are dressed right now. You're wearing bright red pants that scream 'pay attention to me' while simultaneously wearing a beige sweater so big I swear it'll consume you one day. That sweater conceals everything about you; your femininity is lost in never-ending folds of wool that tells people you want to be ignored. Do you even have a feminine form?"

"What does it even matter, Rowan?" Emmaline huffed and rolled her eyes. "Why bother looking good when I don't want to attract people? I wear these red pants because they are comfortable and I like the color, even if they don't match anything I have."

"When you look good, you feel good," Rowan explained. "It's a fact of life no matter if you are male or female. Once it is safe for us to leave this house, I'll take you clothes shopping. I promise you'll see yourself differently with a good makeover."

"I disagree," Emmaline scoffed, "I looked very pretty when I met your sisters at Tasha's palace."

"Maybe you did," Rowan raised an eyebrow, "but did you let my sisters walk all over you? Command you and talk down to you? I know how Alia and even Tasha can be at times. Did you push back or cower?" Emmaline was silent. "There is my point, Emmaline. You let people walk all over you, and you deserve better than that. You've spent your entire life struggling to live normally and keep your secret hidden, tortured by a painless existence but still here and fighting. Such a woman shouldn't let people like my sisters talk her down."

"Ummm…" Emmaline hugged herself and looked away. "Thanks, I guess… That was kinda an insulting compliment but thanks."

"There ya go," Rowan applauded. "A little wit goes a long way to keeping people from pushing you around. By the way, something's been bothering me since we started this talk," Rowan switched subjects and sat back into her chair, "if you've been hiding your heritage, but also seeking medical care in Marleybone, how did that work?"

"Oh, that," Emmaline sighed and leaned back as well, looking towards Rowan. "For the first several years we bounced around, never staying with one doctor or magical healer long enough for them to figure out my parentage. Most of them, I think, didn't even know what CIPA was, so just treated my injuries as I got them. Mom learned Theurgy when I was very young so that she could heal my minor wounds and reduce my medical visits, and she taught me too before I went to school." Rowan nodded, understanding now why she felt Life magic in her house. "About four years ago though we found one doctor though who specializes in hybrids though."

"Wait," Rowan perked up and raised an eyebrow, "I know there have been researchers who specialized in hybrids. I've read some of their work. But they tended to research them post-mortem, or in secret and their research was unsanctioned by any governments. This doctor is licensed?"

"Yep, though only recently," Emmaline admitted. "Dr. Montgomery Denoire, a very young Dog doctor who is very private with his clients and researches hybrids specifically. I've been with him since, so it's been pretty easy to keep my secret. He has been threatened by the Monarchy a few times for his patient records; but the medical community in Marleybone has the most powerful political power of any medical community in the Spiral, backed even by non-medical scientists. The political backlash and growing interest in Hybrids amongst scientists here is the only reason he isn't an underground doctor."

"That's quite a miracle," Rowan commented.

"I know," Emmaline nodded. "He's actually really nice and tries not to make me feel like a test subject, though I know I am. But unlike other doctors, he seems fascinated by me, rather than frustrated. It's… endearing, I suppose."

The girls fell into a contemplative silence after this. Emmaline turned away from Rowan and fidgeted while Rowan gazed at the wall across the room. Finally, Emmaline spoke up, addressing Rowan over her shoulder.

"Any more questions for now?"

"Yes. You want those cookies?"