(Posted March 16, 2017)

Snowflake

Spring of the Dipping Moon - Summer of the Golden Goslings

The three of us were ushered into the ballroom through a side door, dark and blocked off from the main area by an enormous curtain. Pink, of course- you should really just assume that, unless stated otherwise, everything in the Eros Nest was pink. Venus pulled the door shut after us, and it locked itself with a click. I had been paying more attention to the polite but carefree voices and clinking of silverware on plates from the other side of the curtain and I didn't notice at first. But Anti-Sanderson did. His long ears shot up, and he spun around as the green fur on his cheeks bushed out like a full wastebasket.

"H-hey Dm. Venus, I don't wanna sound like a party poope', 'cuz that ain't really in the, euh, th'anti-pixie natu'e, but can we not do that? I get… I don't like cramped spaces like this." Emphasizing this, he unfurled his leathery brown wings and stretched them out to either side. One touched the curtain, the other a hard cloudstone wall.

"Literally nothing will happen to you," the cherub said as she swept past him with a rustle. She felt about for a lantern and lit it with her wand. "These walls have stood for hundreds of thousands of years without so much as a tremble, and the ceiling is vastly the same. They're endowed with magic of the Tuatha Dé Danann, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison."

"May the Lost Ancients return," Sanderson and I said automatically, touching our thumbs to our chests. We both twitched our heads when Anti-Sanderson didn't mirror our movement. He'd sidled a step back. His arms weren't wrapped around his shoulders and he wasn't shaking or stuttering or pleading, but a thin scowl etched over his face. He pulled his yellow cowlicks down over his eyes.

"Ennet Anti-Whimsifinado," Venus snapped, making him jump (though my Sanderson, at least, was trained enough not to flinch more than a tiny shiver). "You may play by your own rules when you are in the Lower East Region, but you stand now upon sacred vapor, and I will not accept this blasphemy in my own place of business."

He made the sign and repeated the statement. Venus had him do it a second time that sounded less sarcastic, and after that she was satisfied. Brightening the lantern, she escorted us deeper into the long, thin section of the ballroom, and it quickly became obvious to me that we were floating above a stage of some sort. Rounded metal canisters, crates with their lids askew, cardboard boxes, chairs with large holes in their backs to allow one to slip their wings out, and blankets thrown over a few other indistinguishable masses of furniture littered the area around us like a maze, and all of it was coated with a layer of dust (regular dust, not lifedust, or at least I tentatively presumed it wasn't).

As we neared a chalkboard that blocked our view from a smaller source of light on the other side, I heard a muttered word and a great amount of rustling feathers. The attraction signals I recognized at once. They were identical to those of my own pixies, but combining them with the feathers and the voice that had muttered, I knew exactly who we were about to run across.

Of course, they were standing when we came around to their side of the board. Several wooden chairs and stools were scattered about the little corner, and a candle burned on a table in the back. Additionally, among the group stood a very young cherub - still too young to cover her chest or pull real pants over her napcloth - with heavy golden curls in her hair. She broke off her babbling when Venus raised a finger to her lips. The lantern clinked.

"Oh, wow," Sanderson said softly.

"Aw, smoof," Anti-Sanderson said softly.

But while they were nervous, I actually let my face break into a thin smile as the largest damsel of the group stepped towards me. Her dusky-pink robes flowed like the eddies in a stream. "Pixie-Fergus," she greeted.

"Sister," I returned, careful to leave out her name. I extended my hand at the same moment she leaned forward to kiss my cheek, which caused both of us to stiffen up. We settled the faux pas by combining both greetings. Her long black claws glinted with cold in my palm. Our eyes locked for the first time in ages, and then we both averted them again. I wondered if she remembered that afternoon in the honeywheat field, five hundred thousand years ago. Judging from the cough in her throat and another shift in her wings, she did. I then wondered if the confession she had made not long after it still remained a thought in her mind, and watched her watch me a second or two more before concluding, yes, it did.

I raised my eyebrow when the Dame Fergus leaned back, her crimson eyes harder now and calculating. "You didn't call me 'Fairy-Fergus'," I noted. "How do you feel about that?"

"It's delightful." She swept her arm behind her. "I presume you recognize my chicks."

"Inadvertently." Not allowing my smile to drop, I leaned a bit far to my right side and waved one hand at the refract-pixies gathered behind her. All long pink robes, light brown feathers, darker wings, white crowns, long blue tails, and vibrant purple hair styled in various shapes and lengths; how curious. A few of them waved back, although Dame Longwood hid her face in her sleeves as the long blue plumes that sprouted from above her eyes twirled themselves in knots. Dame Sanderson kept both hands to her hips and her sharp little nose upturned like her cowlicks. I noticed, with immediate amusement, that she was the only one of the flock to wear a pair of pink horned glasses that closely mimicked her mother's. They shared the same string of pale blue beads that wrapped behind their ears, but Dame Sanderson's lacked real lenses entirely.

Ah. Interesting. She had chosen them to match the regal air of her mother, I suppose, but in doing so it meant she was the type who wore them as a fashion statement as opposed to functionality and therefore very little magic carried an effect over her (For nothing, of course, works on them).

"Good niece," I said, tracing a thin pattern like an ivy vine over my neck with two fingers to mime a polite, lightly-submissive greeting. Wish you well.

"Uncle," she managed, gathering the skirts of her robe for a stiff curtsy. I gestured towards the other Sandersons with my hand. Mine crossed out the sign for Most honored at once, but Anti-Sanderson just looked bewildered until he saw Sanderson place a hand to his lower stomach and a hand behind his back, and bow. He followed suit a tad clumsily. Dame Sanderson's gaze lingered upon his green face for a moment, and he looked away, flushing slightly yellow.

"There you are," Venus said behind me. I turned. A wedge of white light elbowed its way into the dim room behind the stage as Ludell strolled in from the hall. Madigan was in his arms, though the nymph was transferred to me as she asked her brother, "The anti-pixie holotype is with the others now?"

"Yes, Venus. And Luke with them."

"Anti-Fergus," Anti-Sanderson said. Everyone glanced at him, which made him set his stubborn, straight-edged jaw. "My pop's named Anti-Fergus."

Shrugging off the reply, Venus went on with, "Excellent. Bring the ambassadors into the lecture hall and run them through the policies and procedures overview checklist while the rest of us clear the dishes and put the ballroom in order. Sherri?"

The young golden-haired cherub standing behind the Dame Fergus (or, I suppose we should call her, the Dame Head) gave a little jump. Her clipboard clashed to the thin carpet. "Yes ma'am? I'm at attention, ma'am."

"Keep your mouth shut while the research ambassadors are here."

"Oh, you've got it, ma'am. I am so there."

Venus made us wait while Ludell cleared the breakfast crowd. Once their chatter had disappeared down the hallway, she lifted a segment of the curtain aside with her hand and motioned us all off the stage and down to the floor. Half a dozen cherubs were already hovering near the wall, awaiting a signal. When they received it, they scattered like valentines spilled through an open window on a windy day.

"Rather than present you up on the stage, you will be stationed here throughout the ballroom at fair distance from one another as though in a gallery, allowing the ambassadors to mill about as they please," Venus said to me, although I hadn't asked. Personally, I made no move to clear the tables until she flapped twice to lift herself higher, took hold of my shoulders, and turned me around. With two pats on my cheek and a push against the small of my back, she sent me on my way. I debated fighting with her out of spite, then admitted to myself that she was only giving me the best help she knew how, and she did seem to be hot on the trail of unlocking the secrets behind my reproductive system. More than anyone else was, anyway; if there was an answer to be found, Venus Eros would be the one to find it.

Also, she's very pretty in a plain and no-nonsense way even now and it perhaps isn't wise to burn bridges that you don't have to.

There were ten great round tables set up in the ballroom, and each one brimmed with seven or eight seats that all looked as though they'd been filled. It seemed unfair to me that Venus had been willing to teleport her entire crew to the Nest from the clinic in Faeheim at a massive cost, but no one here made any attempt to flick so much as a kitchen wand. Really. I moved about in the end of the ballroom opposite the stage where the cherubs hadn't yet gotten. Sanderson tailed me, and I kept him busy with towering stacks of dishes, cloths, and trays. At one point, after he'd finally agreed to leave me and deliver such things down the hall where the rest of the cherubs were going, I linked my arms behind my back and floated over to the Dame Head.

"While I wish we could have met under different circumstances, it's nice to actually see you face to face, sister. It's been a long time."

"Nearly five hundred thousand years, hasn't it?" She looked up, dishes clicking as they shuffled, and tucked one of her short purple curls behind her pale brown ear. Dame Sanderson's hands were full of dishes as well, but she lingered at the edge of my vision to hear how this conversation ended.

"I miss your letters."

"With seven chicks and the mill to manage, I rarely have the time to write anymore."

"And more on the way, I suppose, since the cherubs want to hold us here awhile to see if I give birth to another…" My gaze moved lower, past her chin and robes to land on the chair beside her. Still, I recognized when her eyes softened.

"While you may not suffer the honey-lock or any other trace of a sync between the three of us, it is no cakewalk to live as the being in our trio to represent Choice either, is it?"

I snapped my fingers. "The 'being' who represents Choice. That's what it was. I made an attempt to explain this to our Faeumbra counterpart once, but the precise phrasing eluded me."

"An interesting sort, isn't he? Charite told me of his coloration earlier, as did you through our letters. Although I shouldn't be given his sinful nature, I am admittedly excited to finally meet him." She nodded beyond my shoulder, and I turned to find Anti-Sanderson staring after a clump of refract-pixies folding up a tablecloth and perhaps remembering his brothers. "I like that one."

"You'll stop as soon as you see him in his natural environment. He puffs his confidence bigger than it actually is. He only seems quailed now because this is all becoming too much for him."

"Hmm." Dame Head continued to study him for another few seconds, then sent Dame Sanderson scuttling with a sharp, "Daughter, you have dishes to run to the kitchen and eavesdropping is rude". She refocused her attention on me once again as I stretched out to take the glass she'd been reaching for. "What about you? How are you handling it?"

"It's being handled. That's all I can say about it. I have seven nymphs… That's a thing now. That happened. Oh, my lines…" I pinched the upper portion of my nose and gave my head a shake. "I don't know, sister. I don't know how I'm handling it. I want to go back in time and erase it all, but I don't because I'll lose too much, and I wish it never happened but it did now and I wouldn't trade that for the world…" Taking my hand back, I supplied her with a rueful smile. "We should have turned ourselves over to the Eros Triplets the moment we met in that field and realized you were the wrong colors."

"Perhaps. But we didn't. I certainly didn't mind the time we spent together. Well." And here all the dishes went back on the table. "I wield no power over the flow of time, but let me take your hands for a moment here and…" Dame Head tugged me after her, always the one to move backwards. I wrapped my hands over hers and followed her pattern as we circled the table, calculating as I went. Her movements were soft, mine sharper, but both fast and accurate. She cocked an eyebrow as she noticed my lack of slip-ups. Quicker, quicker, each twirl on a lyn, until finally she gave me one last spin and I ended up held nearly parallel near the floor, and she leaning down with her face not terribly far from mine.

Dame Head wiped her brow. "Good vapor. Evidently I am getting out of shape."

"It's not entirely you. I've easily put on an entire pound since the last time you did this."

"Just one?" she groaned.

I snorted when she whisked me back to my feet and released my hand. "Oh, look at us, sister. We're both getting on in years. Five hundred thousand, in fact. I used to think I'd be young and carefree foreve-!"

I'd been so caught up in our moment that I didn't notice the shift in the energy field until too late. That's an uncommon thing for me, so it deserves special emphasis- very rarely can I be caught off my guard this way, but when an arm wrapped around my shoulders and another wrapped around Dame Head's, I did raise an eyebrow, and yes, I will admit to having been startled by the sudden jolt too.

"Aw, lookit the three a' us Fergusiuses, hangin' t'gether for a sec in the chaos. Not e'eryone gets ta have this kinda chance in their whole lives. Now, if only we knew how ta unite ourselves inna the single combined form we's s'posed to take after we all die. We'd-a be unstoppable!"

"The thought terrifies me," I drawled.

Dame Fergus looked about to answer, but just then Venus stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled for our attention. When I glanced over, I understood why she had sent us to clear the tables by hand. The air flowed with tangled magic- one of the long rectangular tables she'd poofed up had a leg sticking from the top, and three more below it. Ah, the curse of being imbued with so much power; I am fortunate enough not to carry that burden.

"Mr. The Head Pixie, sir," Sanderson said, coming up behind me; Dame Sanderson brimmed with smugness at his side. When he glanced around, trying to piece the situation together, I could tell who had had the audacity to fetch him and end my conversation with the Dame Head. He confirmed this by saying hesitantly, "I was told you needed my help."

"'Mr. The Head Pixie Sir' is rather chunky, isn't it?" As Anti-Fergus released our shoulders, I scratched my chin. "Why don't we leave it at 'H.P.' except in very formal instances? That's two syllables, just like 'Fergus'."

"All right, Mr. H.P."

"Okay, no. Try just 'H.P.', Sanderson."

He puffed up his cheeks and then blew out all the air. "This might take some getting used to, H.P."

"We've apparently got time."

"So that makes me th'Anti-H.P.," Anti-Fergus guessed, whipping off the tablecloth that Dame Fergus and I had been too distracted to get to.

"If you want to be technical, I think it makes you the Head Anti-Pixie, which would be abbreviated as 'H.A.P.'"

"Eh, that's a mouthful and I think if I have to use that then I'll scramble up the order sometimes and tell people all different things. Call me 'that guy' or 'green and yellow freak of nature' and I'll answer to it. Always have before."

Venus waved in our direction again. After Anti-Fergus took up Anti-Madigan from the floor, and after Dame Sanderson had deliberately waited to catch my attention before turning up her pointed nose, and after I'd rolled my eyes at her and signalled for my Sanderson to follow me to the other end of the ballroom, we went back to work. Venus wanted tables set up all along the walls, and posters, and model reproductive systems and various stacks of analyses and research that I for some reason wasn't allowed to look at for longer than a minute or two. "What goes here?" I asked her as I straightened three podiums in the center of the area that were all labeled 'Holotype'

"You'll see in a minute."

I already knew. That's why I had asked.

Later, the Sandersons, Dame Head, and I were setting up the last of the chairs when Anti-Sanderson's ears pricked up. I heard the noise a few seconds later, and then one nearby door to the ballroom swung open. A shout went up, then another. "Mr. Fergus, Mr. Fergus!" chorused several voices, and I was mobbed by pixie youths. My brood knew my policy on physical touch, so they clustered an arm's length away from me. I reached out to rub scalps and pat shoulders and scratch behind ears, but I searched each face in the group. "Where is Wilcox?"

"I'm here, boss."

Wilcox had been scrawny since I first really met him- neither round like Hawkins nor tall like Longwood, and skinnier even than Sanderson with all the energy his transformations burned. Although I hadn't even been away two months, in my eyes he seemed to have lost weight. His sunken cheekbones reflected the lantern light, which turned his normally paper-pale skin a sickly yellow. He came my way with Emery and Dr. Ranen behind (the latter of whom had been released from the Nest only a few days following his arrival; the two had shown up today merely for moral support, but would be shuffled off in a moment to tour the Nest facility, I suppose). Wilcox leaned on Ambrosine's upturned starpiece staff. His process was slow and jarring, but he made it to my side.

"You never came to visit me," I said, placing my hand behind his back. Partly accusatory, but also in jest.

"I've been bedridden since I got shot. The yoo-doo doll thing didn't help, if you were wondering. But I'm off the IV tubes, so it doesn't matter so much now."

"You look like you got hexed by an anti-fairy."

A narrow smile crossed his lips. He twisted the transmitting tip of his crutch into a spiral on the pink carpet. "Mm. I look worse than I actually am. I feel great. At least, I assume I will when I can feel my right arm and leg again. The leg especially. It's not so hard to stand when I'm looking at it." He snorted. "But shut off the lights and I'll collapse."

"I'm glad you're finally here," Longwood burst, tugging on my sleeve. "We've been doing nothing but sit in that other room all morning. I wasn't even allowed to leave for a drink of water."

"And I have a court date scheduled for you," said my father, materializing with young Bayard wrapped in his arm. "I'm not holding out much hope, I will admit. The Aphrodite Protocol is not a thing one can fight easily. But by the end of next month, I'll have presented my position."

"Thank you. Uh… Have you met the other Sandersons? And my Refracted counterpart?"

Dame Sanderson dipped her head politely with a murmur of, "Salutations, Grandfather Prime." Her mother followed suit with "Uncle". Anti-Sanderson stood at the opposite end of the table and hadn't moved. Ambrosine gave him a wave.

"I spoke to your little brothers for the first time today. Cute family."

"… Thanks. They coming? Venus usually calls me'n th'other underages 'paratypes', so it sounded like they were…"

"I think they should be right… There we go." Ambrosine, Emery, and Dr. Ranen shifted apart, and I noticed a fourth adult for the first time. He was thin and tall, dressed in casual but rather form-fitting black and white clothes. Ears even longer and more pointed than seemed normal. His skinny arms folded behind his back, and he smiled when his eyes fell on Anti-Sanderson. I felt a flinch of leathery wings.

"Ah," Anti-Ambrosine said then as he returned his blue gaze to me. "My favorite n-nephew."

My own wings twitched at the tips. I hadn't missed the fact that as the anti-pixies had come in behind him, they hadn't rushed to greet their elder brother, or their father helping Sherri move the chalkboard, as mine had greeted Sanderson and me. Though one or two of them lingered in the hall, Ludell had ushered most into the ballroom. Still, they flattened themselves to the wall in a little huddle.

Anti-Ambrosine strode forward at a slow pace, head tilted up and the soft blue fur at his neck confidently exposed. His hands bounced against his sides, his eyes were heavy-lidded, and really, he gave off every indication that he didn't have a care in the universe. When he reached me, he enveloped my shoulders with a hug. He didn't let up quickly. I patted his back once, and even then he held me restrained longer than I was really comfortable with. Then he leaned me away and pointed a finger at the Dame Head. "Let's see a little s-smile there, niece. What is it with the Whimsifinado batch? You little ch-charmers always act so s-s-serious; I swear I'm the only part of this family who remembers how to have f-fun."

She slit her eyes. Anti-Ambrosine rolled his and held one of his hands low. "Ennet, little man. It's been awhile. Up top."

Anti-Sanderson didn't respond, and when I glanced down I found him only staring straight ahead. At this, Anti-Ambrosine chuckled and crouched to his level before rubbing him between the ears. "You always did have a real s-sense of humor, ducky. You're my precious gumdrop and a gift to the e-expanses of the universe, eh?"

I took hold of his wrist. When his eyes flicked up to mine, wide and innocent, I tightened my grip. "Excuse me. Why were you invited, exactly?"

"You're a f-feisty one. I like that. Hands off the g-g-goodies." He stood again and dusted off his thighs. "Comparison contrast, hon. I'm reference material, here to r-remind everyone that unlike you pretty things with your mutations, alllllll th-this is 100% natural. After Venus was through yelling at me about why I'm an awful p-person, she dropped a hint that she wanted to catch the refract-Ambrosine as well, but my dear s-sweet sister is s-slippery - no jokes intended - and doesn't care for the l-l-limelight, so she won't be joining us today. Heh. That tooti-fruity would've still been a v-virgin by the time she moulted into her adult f-feathers if it weren't for my big brother here, know what I'm s-saying?" Anti-Ambrosine kissed his fingertips. "Except for the bad wr-wrists, I've had some fun times in life thanks to him. Ever s-since Ilisa Maddington's counterpart l-lit my eyes-"

"Places," Venus interrupted from behind me, and began shooing us to different areas of the room. Before I could make a move, she took hold of the short sleeves of my purple shirt and smoothed a few of the wrinkles and folds. "Your wings, with their different structure, are the most interesting. You, your offspring, and I suppose Anti-Fergus and your refract may stay dressed for now. But Ennet?"

He scrunched his blond brows and started to reply, but Dame Head and Dame Sanderson both cut him off by slapping their hands to their mouths with a swift intake of air. "Dm. Venus, you can't be serious," my counterpart sputtered. "He's a drake- a child- this is extraordinarily inappropriate. There are damsels present."

Venus placed a hand to one hip. "I do find your use of the word 'damsel' interesting and limited, but of course, I shall not force you and your daughters to look upon him. Not that I believe they should have the problem with it that you seem to think they will- children don't sexualize such things. Ennet? Now."

Anti-Sandrson hadn't uncrossed his arms. "Venus," he said, and pointed with his square chin at Anti-Ambrosine, who lingered innocently behind her.

"Oh, by Undry…" She rolled her eyes. "Ludell will watch him, and he shan't abuse you. You will be compensated."

"Huh. I'll play your game, dame, but if I do this, I want you leavin' the rest a' my brothe's outta it."

"Or?"

Anti-Sanderson had nothing to say. No threats, no tricks. Venus gestured again at his clothing. His claws hovered above the middle button of his sweeping jacket- the only one he ever used, and only on sparse occasions.

"Venus," Ambrosine interrupted, "I've been restraining myself, but if you don't remove my counterpart from this area, I may just snap."

Sherri tucked her clipboard beneath one arm and led Anti-Ambrosine behind a screen of poster boards. After several long seconds, Anti-Sanderson undid his button, tossed his jacket aside, and stepped out of his purple pants. The Dame Head covered her face; Dame Sanderson just blinked in a stupor. From there it was the orange and pink tie, and then he started on the buttons of the collared robin's egg-blue shirt.

As he shrugged that one to the ground, Dame Sanderson's eyes popped. My Sanderson stiffened, and I didn't blame him. For the very first time, it occurred to me that I'd never seen Anti-Sanderson undress before. Aside from that one time he'd thrown it at my feet, he always kept his hideous knee-length jacket on. I'd never seen beneath his shirt. It was rare enough for him to change his dirty, clashing outfit every three or four days, but whenever he did bother to go for a wash, he always wrapped himself up until his clothes had dried off again.

"What?" he muttered when he noticed us staring. 'Noticed' may not even be the best word here, because he didn't look up. His ears were flat.

"Nothing." Dame Sanderson jerked backwards, which knocked her horn-rimmed glasses from her nose. They dangled around her neck by their chain. Her gaze darted to the ceiling. "What exists? Since when? I didn't know things were real."

"Daughter!"

He gave her a disgruntled look and turned away again. Sanderson reached behind his shoulders with one hand and traced an invisible line down his middle with the other. I let my gaze linger as the anti-pixie trudged off across the ballroom to a table where Ludell hovered, waving him down. "Promise you won't turn me in, Fergus. I can't go back to them doctors. I can't watch them rip Ennet open again."

By the time I turned back around, Dame Head had both hands clamped over Dame Sanderson's shoulders. Bitter black talons glinted among folds of pink robes. She growled, "Nakedness is sin, which leads to pandering gazes, which leads to fornication. You may not lay a nail upon me, my daughters, nor upon any one of my people, Eros. Your precious Aphrodite Protocol may let you drag us from our clean abode and down into the depths of sinful society, but it does not give you the authority to abuse us or our beliefs. You are not the only one here who serves a higher power."

The two seemed to glare at one another, although Dame Head still refused to open her eyes in case her gaze should fall upon Anti-Sanderson. Dame Sanderson glanced at me. Biting her lip, she seemed almost embarrassed on her mother's behalf.

"All right," Venus said, very calmly. She never looked away, never wavered, even though my counterpart was nearly a head taller than she. "You may hold to your traditions. However, if I am not mistaken, it is also the Refract way not to sit if in the presence of drakes. We will be here for some time. You may have both, but you may not pick or choose, for if you violate your traditions, they will not stand between me and the need to do my job." The threat of the Aphrodite Protocol was obvious, but Venus went on anyway with, "Are you and I clear, dame?"

The Dame Head clenched her long claws into her daughter's skin, prompting a squeak. "We are perfectly clear, dame."

As they headed in opposite directions like two passing cloudships, Sanderson whispered in his counterpart's ear, "Good luck".

"I trust my innate abilities, not fate," she sniffed back.

I was sentenced to my central white podium, where I sat with my hands clasped between my legs and my feet dangling. Anti-Fergus frog-leaped onto his and hit his stomach hard, which did at least urge a patient smile out of the Dame Head as she floated towards us. I reached down to grasp her wrist as she gathered her skirts and climbed onto the podium on my right side.

There we were - me sitting at attention, she standing with her hands in the gaping sleeves of her robes, and Anti-Fergus struggling to catch his balance with his red-spotted yellow cloak tangled around his legs - as the research ambassadors filed in again. A respectful hush fell over them as they began to study us from afar. Delkians. Yugopotamians. Snobulacs. Nemaphins. Boudacians. Hoseks… Aliens I didn't even recognize. One with a beakless but bird-like face leaned his head near Sanderson (who stood by a poster of my life timeline, as far as I'd been willing to share with Venus) and sniffed through slitted nostrils.

Anti-Sanderson sat on one end of another table with Anti-Madigan squeezed in his arms. He didn't look away from Anti-Ambrosine, who had struck up a vaguely-inappropriate conversation with Dame Hawkins and Caudwell that carried throughout most of the room.

As for the Dame Sanderson, she stood on Anti-Ambrosine's other side and kept sneaking peeks at Anti-Sanderson's naked body until his focus shifted from him to her, and left her to hurriedly glance away and rub behind her neck. Oh dear niece, don't let Venus catch you doing that, I thought. I studied her idly, trying to decide if her obvious fascination with him was based on the likely truth that she'd never seen an Anti-Fairy before (let alone a naked one) or if Rhoswen syndrome held the same sway over her as it did her mother.

If I remembered correctly, when Ambrosine was growing up, it was a popular belief that there existed a parallel to the Finella reflex where, in the presence of their anti-self, a Refract might find themselves overcome by a pressing urge (not of honey-locking strength, but undeniable nonetheless) to mate with them despite the differing reproductive systems and obvious impossibilities; such a concept had spawned the phrase "pining like a refract" (as well as the slang term "off batblitzing", which loosely translated as 'I'm trusting you not to tell my folks that I lied to them about where I was going and what I was doing and instead plan to do something they'll disapprove of', but that was frowned upon in the majority of social circles for obvious reasons).

I had always been under the impression that such a theory had been disproven not long after I was born. Or rather, that those who did not believe (as I always had and still firmly do) that following their deaths, the three counterparts reunite in a single form reminiscent of the Aos Sí long ago- I had always been under the impression, understand, that those who did not believe this theory had done their utmost to drive the notion of the "urge to reunite as one" underground, whether it had been "disproven" or hadn't (As far as I'm concerned, the core is the organ from which all thoughts stem, and if it happens to be the organ shared across genera, then it stands to reason the minds and personalities of three separate beings would retract into it following the deaths of their distinct bodies, which prior evolution were shared to begin with. Wedge that up your counterpart's lines, Anti-Cosmo).

But, this "instinct" also wasn't a subject I generally kept tabs on. Either way, my point is, she was doing it and trying to pretend that she wasn't. I suppose the statistical bell curve can't catch everything. And as far as this potentially existent or nonexistent urge is considered, perhaps either counterpart is fair game for the Faelumen; the Dame Head's attraction to me had always been undeniable, or so I liked to think. I suspect it was because I was the one whom she met first. But, no one asked me.

While Dame Head, the Sandersons, and I had been finishing with the chairs, Anti-Fergus and Sherri the cherub had eased the green chalkboard down from the stage and wheeled it to the center of the room where I now found myself. Venus floated beside it, and had been giving her alien friends the rundown on various external characteristics that suggested my mutation. I'd heard most of it before, which is why I'd been watching Dame Sanderson watch Anti-Sanderson watch Anti-Ambrosine, and only jolted to attention again when I heard my name. I tightened my lips.

Venus motioned for me to stand, and I did. Murmurs flickered from mouth to mouth to… parts that I assume were mouths. Some figures shuffled over to nearby tables and withdrew their inkpots and quills. Others, with technology more advanced, rattled notes off on beads and keys. As for Venus, she hovered with her wings softly beating and arms folded behind her, smug as a nix. As the rustling began to die down, she made a motion to me with one finger that implied I should hop down. I descended from my podium without hopping.

"Fergus, if we were to remove his shirt, would demonstrate that his wings did not form the same attachment at birth as those who show the direct muscular structure. Take off your shirt, Fergus."

Stripping down in front of enraptured biologists had become routine to me long ago. I did as she asked (wishing, again, that I hadn't worn something so tight and prone to showing sweat stains), easing my wings through the tight holes in the back and all. Sure, Venus praised my wings for their uniqueness, but she had never once offered me clothes with larger holes custom-made to fit them properly; I even owned one shirt now that so restricted their movement that I lost my ability to hover at all. Facing the chalkboard, I wrapped my arms around my chest and blew out a long, thin sigh.

"That's the way. Good drake. Now, you can all see for yourselves, his wings are quite different from the anax wings one would expect to find in a Faedivus fae. His structure is clearly indirect muscular, leaving him without the ability to pivot each one independently."

"What about his crown?" called a Boudacian from the back. A hairy fellow- even facing away from him, I could pick up that much through the energy field. He panted through his mouth and gurgled a bit in the back of his throat. I disliked him from the start.

"Excellent thought, Kinderi. I had nearly forgotten." Without asking my permission, Venus whipped my hat from my head and set it to her hip. My nails tightened into my freckled skin. She was a cherub; her kind were ranked as the second rung on the social ladder purely because her family were the ones who had designed the thing. But the truth was, their bodies contained embarrassingly meager amounts of natural magic. They had evolved out of the need for crowns long ago. I hoped she would remember that without my cap, I utterly lacked the ability to filter my lines. Fifteen minutes; that's all I had before my system would begin to overflow and shut down.

"His crown, as can be plainly seen, or rather not seen, has been entirely removed and replaced with this cohuleen druith you see here. When we proceed to the paratypes, you'll have a better look at the broken crowns which should have been mentioned in the earlier presentation. Each one is broken in similar fashion, though the cracks found upon each crown vary like fingerprints. In light of this information, in addition to the unique mutation of his wings and squarish features, I wish to underscore the fact that Fergus Whimsifinado is not a real fairy." Venus put her hand to her midsection and bowed.

The shortest Yugopotamian of the three who had come - a purple one who held himself some ways off from the crowd - lifted a loop of tentacle. "Forgive me if I'm getting ahead of myself, but as a Fairykind researcher, Venus, I find myself questioning whether his wing pattern shares any similarities with that of his mother."

"A fine question, Simeon." She stretched up and tugged my hat down over my ears as I continued to stare at the chalkboard. "Solara Wurpixiz is a traveler by nature, and we are aware of her existence only when she should be taken by passion and show up on our monitors. It has been some time since this has happened, and I was unable to locate and bring her in her today. However, I do have some information from her file, which I will share with you near the close of our tour. Follow after me, please."

Their group migrated off. I hesitated a few seconds longer, waiting for any instruction to pull my shirt on again (or, I don't know, a thank you). When I didn't receive one, I did so anyway and climbed back up to take my seat between my two counterparts again. "My guess is that she didn't give either of you an estimate as to how long we'll be here."

"Not a word."

"Will you and your offspring be able to manage? Standing all this time? I don't suppose they're used to much contact with drakes."

Dame Head stared down her beak-like nose at me, eyelids heavy. Her feathers rustled. She tucked a plume behind her small square ear. "My daughters know their duties, brother. I would concern yourself with your own brood."

I glanced after Venus's group. She'd already ordered Sanderson to shed the black shirt that hung too loosely from his shoulders. He was taking it in calm stride, the way I'd trained him. I saw nothing to worry about.

"A poppyseed muffin on that there Beast knockin' that table over with her tail," Anti-Fergus said, pointing to a large yellow creature dripping in thick hair. Orange stripes ringed her arms and legs. Despite the excessive hair that covered them (and the floor), her six limbs were thinner than broomsticks.

"I don't reside in the same, ah, enclosure as you drakes do, which somewhat limits by ability to gamble away portions of my meals."

"I'll take you up. Why not?"

We watched Kalysta place her hand behind the small of Sanderson's back, holding him to her side as she continued to ramble on. After a few minutes, the yellow Beast in question became excitable and did indeed swipe an entire small table over with a crash. As Venus narrowed her gaze and the apologies stuttered out, I rolled my eyes and faced my anti-self again. "Simeon will stay behind to fix it up as the group moves on without him. Double or nothing."

Venus's tour around the ballroom took an hour, including the time spent answering the questions of her adoring fans. As noon approached, tables and chairs were rearranged. We "holotypes" were made to stand, with "paratypes" arranged in various positions around us so that we could all be sketched for assorted field journals.

"You used to draw all the time when you were a nymph, Sanderson," I said after the first hour, turning my head slightly so I could peer down at him ("Uh- Don't- please-!").

"I did?"

"You did."

He scratched an itch on his wrist. "What did I draw?"

I thought about it as he was softly scolded for his movement. "Oh, scribbles, mostly."

"I think I'll stick to my music, sir."

Venus wandered her crowd as they drew and mumbled to one another about certain features they found "Exquisitely fascinating" or "Similar in other species". One Delkian tapped her wrist with his pincer as she came by.

"My emp'ess wanted me t'ask if we might 'etain one of the Faedivus quad'atum pa'atypes fo' furth' analysis once they've been placed in the p'ese'vative."

"I'll do anything for a lyn!" Bayard hollered from further down the line of my offspring as a flustered Caudwell scrambled to shush him.

"Wait a second," I interrupted. I put one finger to my chin. "Repeat that last part. I don't remember that being part of our agreement."

Venus swatted my question out of the air with a flick of her hand. "Oh, back in ancient times, my ancestors encased the holotype's bones or body or whatever remains could be found of it in preservative goop. Theoretically, this setup would withstand the wrath of time and nature. It worked swimmingly for most beings, but the Fairy class were not among them. Sure, some magic seeped through the preservative walls for a time, but the lifespan was extended by a year at the very most. Then death took them and left us with their dust."

"Ah… So, you don't do it anymore?"

"That knowledge has been filed away and all but forgotten. Fear not, holotype. Of course, we'd take you when you were nearly dead anyhow, so there isn't much to fear." Venus placed a hand to her hip and eyed the squirming Dame Longwood, who stood beside her counterpart. "Kasim Eros was the one to change the rules, and with him my family began a multi-lifetime search to obtain living neotypes from every creature in the known universe. The sole exception, of course, being the Tuatha Dé Danann, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison, and may the Four Birds of Direction serve Aengus forever."

"May the Lost Ancients return." I stared down at my hands for a long time. "Encased in a preservative for all eternity. Imagine that."

A moment after she'd moved beyond me, Venus paused in front of the Dame Head and nodded at the sleepy refracts leaning on her leg. "Your daughters look as though they're close to sitting down now, dame. You had better hold them."

Dame Head opened her mouth. No words came out. She shut it again and looked at the hem of her robes, despite the way her eyes had been closed ever since we'd begun. I watched her own legs shiver once beneath her robes.

I shoved my way over before my counterpart could formulate an actual response, snapping my fingers for Sanderson to follow me. He did so without question, despite the protests of Venus as well as her guests. Without pausing, I snatched a chick up in either arm. Their shivering muscles relaxed immediately. Following my lead, Sanderson scooped up Dame Bayard with a hand behind her knees and one behind her back. I returned to my podium, holding each chick around her middle. Their limp legs barely held them upright in my lap, but most of their weight pressed into my shoulders. "Not sitting," I said, looking Venus directly in the eye.

She pressed her lips together. "Not sitting," she admitted at last. And, with a nail digging into each of my cheeks, her nose a sliver from mine, "Don't ever get up in the middle of a model drawing session again."

That was our morning, and our early afternoon. We were all drawn and poked and prodded. Saliva samples were collected in ways I wish they wouldn't have been. Several areas of my body from my ears to my feet were rubbed and played with, my forehead chamber examined. Venus had pored over me before, amassing notes, but it seemed all of them had to be translated into a multitude of languages throughout the cosmos, and if they were going to do that, the research ambassadors wanted their chance to examine us directly.

Most of my pixies had been trained to keep still for long periods of time with little expression. The refracts held themselves aloof and refined. Anti-Fergus managed himself for some time, mainly by nodding off with his goggles askew and his cloak bundled beneath his head. His offspring had more difficulty. Anti-Hawkins maintained his poise, hands clasped in his lap and back straight. But eventually, Venus caved and released most of the rest to Ludell's care.

"No," she said when Anti-Sanderson made to jump to his feet. "You stay."

His ears swivelled down behind his shoulders. "But-"

"'Leave my brothers out of this. I'll do it all'. Weren't those your exact words?"

He stared at her with his wings half unfurled. Then, through his fangs, he growled, "May I be excused to use the basin?"

A sigh, a finger flick, a "Sherri?" "On it, ma'am! Right away, ma'am!" Behind Venus's back, Anti-Sanderson looked straight at me and made the hand sign for You're going to want to watch this, and they left. Hawkins had asked for ink and parchment some time ago, and he showed me then what he'd done with it. I couldn't repress my snort. He'd sketched Venus out to be a mouse (identifiable by her jacket and braid) with her chest puffed up as she waved a finger at a room of cats in various stages between lethargic and irritated.

Anti-Sanderson and Sherri wandered back after a few minutes, when Venus had begun to open various ballroom doors and glare into the hallway. I followed their progress from the corner of my eye. "Aw, glad I could help you carry that, twizzlerbit," he teased, handing back her clipboard with one hand.

"You're a real gentleman, Drk. Ennet Anti-Whimsifinado."

"I refuse to ever shoot them," Venus muttered beneath her lines.

The pair had nearly reached us when Sherri made the mistake of holding her eyelids shut, or perhaps darting her gaze away, and Anti-Sanderson lunged for her face. She screamed against his lips and slapped at him with her hands and snapping wings, but with his arms wrapped around her and a table at her back, even the yoo-doo doll in Ludell's hand struggled to tear him away. As the cherub scrambled off, we all dropped to our knees- Refracts included. The two dames in my arms hit the floor and began to whine. We knelt, hands behind our backs, glowering at one another, until Venus stormed across the ballroom and grabbed the offender by the elbow.

"That's it. I have hit the roof with you. You were warned before, and now you can spend the next five hundred years in solitary confinement."

"Ennet!" Anti-Fergus hollered, struggling against the authoritarian doll.

"Good! I'm sick a' Maddie being a brat and my Prime-Dad snapping at me every time I step outta line and lying awake all night tracing all my scars and hating how I'm trapped and dreaming of pretty cherub damsels to smooch." Just before Venus dragged him into the hall, we were released from our hold enough that Anti-Sanderson was able to punch the air. "Fight the system! No surrende'! Rebels neve' die!"

She smashed the door shut behind her.

"I don't even blame him," I said as movement returned to my fingers. I rubbed Madigan's hair where it had grown long at the back of his neck. "I'm afraid I'll be the next to go crockers if we have to put up with much more of this today alone."

Ignoring the ambassadors' grunts, Sanderson set Dame Bayard aside and rushed to the door to watch his counterpart go. His wings whirred, and he smudged the glass window with his nose and fingertips.

"I l-like that kid," Anti-Ambrosine said. Why he was still around was anyone's guess; I knew only that Venus had made him sit on the opposite side of my podium from Anti-Sanderson, and he had been far too pleased with the idea of people drawing him in the nude. He leaned back, arms folded behind his head. "He has a c-certain spunk. Reminds me of myself. I was quite the ch-charmer back in my day. He's gonna be a l-little Alexander: first time cons-senting when his primary's at fourteen lines. Learn the ropes and it's easy s-sailing from there on out."

Dame Sanderson whirled on him, her glasses flying behind her neck and whipping back on their chain. "No Sanderson will become the disgusting manure ball that you are, Anti-Grandfather. And should I ever hear word that you have set your grubby claws upon him again, I swear upon Sleá Bua that I shall descend from the High Kingdom, Barrier notwithstanding, and- and- and tell the authorities on you."

One of the younger ambassadors started a low, "Oooooh!" They were just drinking this up, all of them scribbling notes as fast as they could- presumably about mental capabilities or some other such thing. "Temper, temper, s-s-sweetcheeks," he scolded, tipping up one eyebrow. "Wrath is a S-Sin. Let's s-see a smile on that p-p-pretty li'l face."

"Anti-Ambrosnatter," Sanderson said, stepping between the pair, "Shut up."

When Venus came back, Anti-Fergus fell upon her at once. "Yew know the scamp- He don't mean any harm! He's jist restless, that's all! He'll apologize! Venus, he's mah son!"

"His fate has been decided. Aphrodite Protocol. You will be compensated. Now sit. Down."

So it was. Later in the afternoon, the research ambassadors packed up their things. I said my farewells to all my offspring sans Sanderson and Madigan, and to my father and Emery. They all left, as did the other "paratypes" that the Triplets had invited for the day. Anti-Ambrosine too. Venus kept the rest of us around to assist her cherubs in cleaning up the ballroom before we all partook of lunch. It was the last time I'd see or hear from the Dame Head and her brood for decades.

We returned to our enclosure. The Year of the Dipping Moon drew on, and eventually faded into the Year of the Golden Goslings.

And so it was. Our opportunity to truly live life was limited. We would be compensated.

As summer neared its end, Venus called for me to visit her office one evening. Alone. Charite walked me down there, and shut the door behind me. I floated just beyond it, refusing to take my seat in the bean bag until Venus bothered to acknowledge my presence.

"Stubborn," she noted at last after our staring contest had entered its second minute. "I don't like that. I would suggest you sit, because I suspect you aren't going to be thrilled with what I have to tell you."

Out of spite, I lingered a moment more.

"Quickly."

"Hm." I sauntered to my place, lowered myself, and took my time getting comfortable. Still without pulling my eyes from hers. I said nothing.

"You appear irritated."

"I'm not leaping with ecstasy over the way you're running your system, no."

A haughty note cut into her tone when she jerked her hand from her chin and said, "My methods are none of your concern, Fergusius. I do what is necessary."

"I understand that I've been summoned." As I spoke, I linked my arms behind my head and pulled a leg over my knee, because I was in that sort of mood. "Seeing as I'm not hooked up to half a dozen intravenous tubes and monitors, I can't imagine it will be that important."

"Your hat may be gray, but your salty words are even more colorful than that pink blazer you're wearing."

"Thank you. It matches the rest of these imprisoning walls."

Venus set her mouth in a line. "You waste my time, Fergusius."

"I haven't seen your face for nine months; surely you can spare a moment for a spat of banter? I missed you, V. I missed this. I missed us. Did you prick my thumb with an arrow this morning? After all these millennia, I'm still constantly intrigued by how unrevealing your business suit is, how unshapely and unconventional your body, how poorly-applied the cheap make-up on your eyelids, the sloppy braid of unwashed hair- Gods, I want to sleep with you."

"That would jeopardize our research."

"Oh, is that the only reason? Come now, you can't pretend there isn't a spark-"

Venus slammed both palms on her desk and shot to her full diminutive height. Her wings exploded in a mess of outstretched stork feathers behind her. "Feet on floor. Hands on knees. Sit up straight. Your disrespect insults not just me, but my entire family line and the Tuatha Dé Danann themselves, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison. The Aos Sí spit upon your forehead."

I studied her for a moment, then complied with her instructions one limb at a time. "I'm your Faedivus quadratum holotype, Eros. You can't lay a finger on me. Don't think I haven't recognized my extrinsic value."

"Your monotonous revelries bore me." Unlike during my last visit, her chesberry desk was neither clean nor organized. Parchments, scrolls, and folders bulged from each open drawer and piled on the corners. A space had been cleared in the center. Venus removed a bound set of papers from one of the stacks and flipped to the second page. "Over these last many months wherein we did not speak, as you so rudely pointed out, I have pieced together an interesting bit of research that I wish to share with you, and I no longer have the patience to sugarcoat it."

"Mark it."

She handed the set of pages to me; I got up from my seat and came to stand beside her desk. "We've deconstructed fifteen of the egg samples we took from you. As far as can be determined with what limited information we possess, there is next to no sign that your eggs are any different from those of other Faedivus drakes."

That made me wrinkle my nose. I turned my attention to the research I had been handed. "Really now? That deeply surprises me."

"Thus far the evidence is conclusive. It was… my hypothesis that the genes in your eggs held the answer. However, we found contrary data. By all logical accounts, your eggs ought to contain the same genetic blueprint that you have. Yet each haploid gamete that was studied was clearly different from the next in myriad ways. My cherubs don't yet understand why this is."

"You appear irritated," I said, doing my utmost to keep the sing-song from my voice, although not really.

Venus tapped her desk to get my attention. "I said 'next to no sign'. Interestingly, each of your eggs contains your half of the fertilization process. All of them."

For a moment I considered that, then looked up. "You're saying they're all half-fertilized… but that their genetics don't match mine. Not identically, I mean."

"As far as can be determined without rupturing your egg nest, yes. Every one, all the way down the line, no take-backs. But only for you. These are the lab results." As she spoke, she rifled through her papers, then pushed an open folder across the desk to me. On each side lay three images mostly black, accented with green markings. Mine lay to the left side. Sanderson's the right (See Figures 22.1 and 22.2).

Venus briefly walked me through what they meant and how she could tell that 100% of the sample of my eggs had been partially fertilized already, but Sanderson's appeared identical to any other fairy drake of his age from the clusters of bright green dots in certain areas. As she closed the folder again, she said, "It should be very interesting to see what happens the next time you give birth."

"Ah, so that's why you won't let me sleep with you." I flipped to the sixth page of the study in my hands. "I've been reproducing automatically. You know that much. I don't suppose my reproductive system can be shut off. Or altered to function at my own will."

"That doesn't appear possible at this time, no."

"Then there's hope for us yet."

Venus allowed me to peruse the study at my leisure before she spoke again. "It appears you will be reproducing parthenogenetically until you die. Which, at the rate you're giving out your magic, should be about…" She placed her fingertips on the page I was skimming through and tilted it slightly down so she could see. "Eighteen thousand years."

As the living holotype of a young species, I've often been asked by peers, superiors, and young researchers, "What was it like? The moment it happened?"

"The moment what happened?" is always my dull response.

"Why, when you found out you were special, of course!" As though it weren't a process. They might chatter a moment, telling me of imaginary societies they'd dreamed up full of people who respect them, honor them, trust them, while I hold my tongue and temper. They name themselves queens, sometimes dukes. No one has ever told me they wish to retire young and live a simple life in the Eros Nest guided by Cupid's hand.

Everyone dreams of being crowned the next Ilisa Maddington, not the next Ky Braddocki. Not the next Fergus Whimsifinado. Or if they do imagine themselves in my place, they can only criticize. You could have had it all. You could have built a palace. You could have had an infinite number of servants. You could have been a warrior. You could have raised a family. You could have sold your progeny for research- you'd spawn more soon enough. You could have worn a crown. An unbroken crown, and had everything you ever dreamed of in the palm of your hand.

Ha ha, ha ha. Hearing Venus confirm a year previous that she had run the tests and concluded my biological uniqueness… that was not the moment the universe shifted. It wasn't even close. Don't any of you blitzing dare pretend it was close.

"You're… giving me eighteen thousand years to live?" I asked when I found my voice again. The stack of bound papers had slipped from between my fingers and landed on the floor.

"Give or take."

"Oh." I touched my cheeks, my throat constricting. "I only have eighteen thousand years left to live. That's… impactful. Sanderson will hardly have five lines to his core. Hawkins four… Well, drat."

"Sorry."

I pushed my fingertips into my eye sockets. "Isn't there anything that can be done?"

"Stop using magic," she said simply, leaning down to pick up her research. Despite the fact that they were bound, she bounced the pages on the edge of the table before placing them on a stack that wasn't straight enough, and which would have bothered me more than it did had I not been caught up in other matters. "I presume you learned in biology class that Alien-types age as a result of the passing of time, and the Fairykind through magic usage. If you limit your use of magic, you'll limit the strain placed on your core."

"I can't stop using magic if I'm giving birth every five hundred years," I pointed out, still pressing my temples with my forefingers.

Venus shook her head. "That's the biggest problem that we've been trying to solve these last several months. It's our job, as Eroses, to ensure the survival of a species. Every species. There must always exist a living neotype, and we will slit throats with the Aphrodite Protocol to keep it that way. Right now, we have some of the most brilliant minds across this dimension working on a solution for your situation, and we believe we're exploring the right track. The task, at least, is made somewhat easier since we only need you to survive until your eldest offspring has come into his years of reproducing."

"Why only until Sanderson can reproduce? Oh. Oh…" I swallowed. "Yellow magic sticks forever. Purple cancels after death. I knew that. Er… By any chance, Dame Venus, are you able to tell what color I used to fertilize my offsprings' eggs?"

"Normally, yes. That's our sacred duty - the original duty - bestowed upon our family line by the Tuatha Dé Danann, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison, and may the Four Birds of Direction serve Aengus forever. We ensure that yellow magic is channeled when fertilization is imminent, and if it isn't then we fire arrows of passion until it is. However, as you seem to have fertilized without copulation, we were not watching and we have no record of the color on file."

Venus examined me up and down with her ghostly blue eyes. No ounce of pity there; how strange that a being meant to embody warmth and passion could seem so cold.

"If your parthenogenetic reproduction is on an automatic schedule of producing a nymph give or take every five hundred years and isn't anything you hold control over, then since magic in its default state is purple I would assume your body used purple magic automatically. That, though, is only a hypothesis without any proof behind it as of yet. If this should be the case, there is nothing that I can do. Your eggs, as I pointed out, have all been half-fertilized already. It was automatic. My assumption is that this happened shortly after you entered the sexually mature phase of your life. Even with all the Eros power at my disposal, that cannot be undone."

I scratched my nose with one finger before linking it behind my back with my other hand. "I see. Thank you… But unless I misunderstand, then assuming that they reproduce before I die, might my offspring hold the ability to channel yellow when the time comes for them to fertilize their own eggs?"

"Now that we know what to watch for, we'll adjust our system to make sure of it. Targeting your line to alert us for fertilizations rather than copulations is a simple fix."

Well, that was some comfort. But I found myself debating if this meant she would keep me alive longer should all of Sanderson's eggs be fertilized with purple as opposed to yellow as well.

Hmm. Reproducing on an automatic schedule… Five hundred years required to replace an offspring that didn't survive…

I wonder…

A/N - Me: *Has plenty of chances to talk about actual biology in this chapter*

Also me: Did you guys know H.P. doesn't wear his hat when he's sleeping because his metabolism and magic usage slow down? So yes, he actually does wash the thing (Technically Sanderson does it as part of his retinue duties. This gets referenced in the "Grooming" prompt of the 130 Prompts, so I just wanted to make sure none of you freak out thinking that H.P. can't breathe).