Mind over Midnight

Chapters

Session 0
Session 0.5
Interlude - Dinner at the Dazzlings
Session 0.75
Session 1 (Twilight Sparkle)
Session 1 (Twilight Sparkle?)
End of Session 1 (Midnight Sparkle)
Interlude - Date with a Dazzling
Session 1.5
Session 1.75

Session 0

Blood. I'm drowning in blood. The crimson ocean washes over me in a furious wave, my lungs burning as I sink deeper into the gore. I want to scream, to cry out, to damn the world for such a cruel end, yet it all falters as I see her. Just a glimpse, the last remnants of light before I'm forever swallowed by the crimson blackness.

"Diamond...Rose..."

My scream breaks the once silent night, my body drenched in sweat. Another nightmare. It never ends. "Just one night" I grouse to an empty room. "Could I have just one night!" Fists slam into pillows as I let out impotent rage, childish certainly, but it felt cathartic. As my heart began to slow, I started the arduous task of preparation, every limb aching as they moved from the messy bed to the bathroom. Why waste time trying to sleep after all ? It'll never happen now.

For fifteen years it had been the same, horrible doom, then a vision of her. In some ways, I was used to it. Caffeine supplements, tacky superfoods and copious amounts of water managed to keep me upright...mostly. Mentally though I wasn't great.

"Ironic" I mumble as the mirror stares back at me with one, Calmy Storms, Canterlot city's only Para-Psychotherapist at its centre. God I looked awful. I wasn't exactly well built for my height, but I'd lost some weight recently and that just made me look twenty percent worse. Add that to a face that looked like someone hit 'generic' on a build-a-character and you've got me. Five foot ten, skeletal exhausted. Oh and the scar. I can't forget that. Just another parting memento of hers, a five inch ragged mark on my left cheek.

A quick finger trace of the mangled flesh produces a wistful sigh. I cut off any more reminiscing though, it may be ridiculously early, but time halts for no man. Breakfast, suit, papers, office. 'Follow the order and you create order' as an old teacher of mine once said.

00000

Six AM and here I am, hurrying off the first bus of the day into the slumbering heart of Canterlot City. It came down to a choice many years ago; keep my car or my practice. It was no choice really. Stony Shore appreciated the company though, some pro-bono couples counselling kept him sweet as well, so he didn't mind waiting a few minutes when I was inevitably late. As the short walk to my home away from home began, I took in the sights. Some didn't like walking the city streets this time of day, but there was a kind of beauty to it. It was peaceful now. In two hours, the streets would be bustling and I'd hopefully have made a dent in the abominable paperwork currently squatting in my briefcase. Who'd have thought building codes were somehow more important than repairing shattered minds? Mayor Grogars snivelling witches certainly did. If that woman turned up one mo-

"Hi boss!"

"Sweet Sombras Spinal Cord!", I blurted out. My high school curse sounded all the more ridiculous so many years later. Ol' Principal Sombra had been a real stick in the mud with us kids, but I was starting to understand why when the cause of my burgeoning heart attack exited the alleyway with an awkward smile.

Her name was Sonata Dusk and, for some god-forsaken reason, I'd made her my secretary. Normally I'd avoid hiring sixteen-year olds for such an important job, but I was a sap for a sob story and the girl was disturbingly competent when she focused. Admittedly it was a rare event, but dammit she was trying to support two sisters and a heavily disabled mother! I'm not a heartless monster.

"Oops, my bad," she apologised, "I totally wasn't prowling the alleyways looking for food, boss." An awkward giggle followed by the usual 'Do-you-really-want-to-know-if-i'm-joking' look on her face made whatever frustration that was building within me disintegrate. She was an odd one, but in my experience those pushed to the edge had more...eccentric coping mechanisms.

"Lets just get going, OK?" was all I could mumble as I rubbed the bridge of my nose. A headache had already started to form. Or it could be caffeine withdrawal. Either way, I desperately needed the solace of my office.

Sonata's cheerful humming breached the morning silence in a not too unpleasant way as we walked the last two blocks. The girl had a good sense of musical rhythm. Terrible voice though. It was like cats fighting in a sack, if the cats had been gargling glass and smoking cigarettes. As we approached our base of operations, however, something on her suit jacket caught my eye.

"Is that a patch on your back, Sonata?" I asked, eyebrow raised in confusion as we reached the door. She knew how much of a stickler I was on the dress code. People had expectations of us after all. The girl had been lucky I'd not dismissed her interview when she turned up in that glitzy outfit of hers. I'm not one for the razzle dazzle as my peers often learnt.

"Yeah," she replied "Daggy's not great with an iron and kinda burnt a hole in it." She gestured to the patch with a proud look on her face "But I fixed it...too bad about her shirt though." Saying nothing but writing a mental note to shunt a few extra dollars her way with a 'buy a new jacket, not more tacos!' note attached, I unlocked the door. The familiar odour of 'Calm Minds, Para-Psychotherapist For Hire' leeched away all negativity in my system. There really was no place like home.

It had taken years to gather the funds for this simple three room building, but it was my pride and joy. Plush chairs, neutral wall tones, oil paintings of flowers. All the basics to create a calming atmosphere. The drip coffee maker was more of a personal choice, but it paled in comparison to the Iceking 3000. The monstrous fridge lorded over its corner of the room, holding a treasure trove of fruits, greens and a disturbingly large number of microwave tacos, ready for the monarchs radiation spewing crown. I admit it's not the most professional choice, but without it I suspect I'd collapse from exhaustion.

Feeling surprisingly chipper, I smiled at my secretary, "You ready?" She nodded enthusiastically, despite admitting two days prior she didn't quite *know* what a psychotherapist was, let alone a 'Para-Psychotherapist'. Still, she had a good heart and that's what counted in my eyes. Well, that and typing eight hundred words a minute.

With my secretary at her desk , a pot of coffee already brewing and a schedule that actually had more then one client, I decided to be reckless, daring, foolhardy even. “I've got a good feeling about today, let's make some lives better."

Author's Note

Its been years since I wrote a fanfic and I decided on MLP! I'll admit I've been on the edges of the fandom for a while, I fell out by series six I think? Either way I kept a loose eye on it and actually had a reasonably good time with G5, reigniting an interest in the franchise. Combine that with a need to write more to get in the habit and we've this fic.

Whilst I'm usually against OC's, I feel this will be the only way to get the story going.

Session 0.5

When it comes to Psychotherapy, one of the most important elements is the establishment of a relationship between the therapist and their client. I'm neither a friend nor an enemy, but someone who you feel comfortable in confiding in, assured that there will be no shame, judgement or derision. Without it, I can't help anyone, with it, I can build bridges and start the arduous task of self-help that my work entails. People often forget that, I'm not here to fix you but help you fix yourself.

Keeping this in mind, I really wish Lily Valley would actually start the "self" part of self-help. As I reclined in my office, I ruminated on our fifteenth session. She wasn't particularly bullish, merely stubborn. She'd internalised her anxiety to the point where it was 'normal' for her. That is, not to simply exist and cope with it like many do, but to willingly let it direct her every move and reaction.

"Note to self," I mumble, talking into my beat up old tape recorder, "Discuss control issues re: Lilly Valley. Maybe she requires a different approach, cross-reference with compulsions and irrational phobias?" I pop the cassette out and quickly place it in my briefcase for later, the small tape standing out amidst the —finally - complete work for Grogars snivelling adjutant, Hydia. It would inevitably be checked over supper, as was my habit. Speaking of food, the tell-tale hum of the microwave indicated Sonata had started her daily binge on Tacos. The girls dietary habits worried me, but then again I couldn't really talk. A kale and avocado smoothie currently sat on the desk, burning my eyes out with its luminosity.

Taking a tentative slurp, the expected shudder ran through my system. These things had been awful five years ago, and they'd never got better since. My condition required a balance of limited action and 'unique' dietary choices. After all this time, I could just about function. So much for human adaptability. Still, when did medicine ever taste good?

"Oh, you remember... ," a serpentine voice hissed in my mind. Ah, base treachery. Gotta love the human brain. The familiar ache begins to reverberate in my arms, like someone strumming a guitar string. Drowning it in another gulp of the smoothie helps momentarily. Memories of sandstone bricks, bloody knuckles and cold, pitiless eyes do a better job. I jump up from the desk, seeking busy work to keep my mind occupied. Paperwork was fine, but it let me drift, with an hour till my next client, action was needed. Thankfully, there would inevitably be a few bills to catch up on, calls to be made, that kind of thing. Time killers, but they got me active. A small smile rose from within. My secretary was reliably unreliable.

"Sonata do you-", the words turned to ash in my mouth. The girl was chatting animatedly whilst pouring a cup of coffee for a well-dressed woman, a familiar, well-dressed woman. As her eyes met mine, I felt my veins turn to ice. She was standing in my kingdom, my home, my little slice of heaven. The Devil had entered Eden and her name was...

"Cadenza."

"Calmy.", it was a professional tone, full of the kind of false sincerity every middle manager gave before firing you. "I was just telling your secretary how we me-"

"What do you want? " I spat, years worth of training paying off as I somehow managed to keep a neutral posture. One smile, though, and I felt it pushed to the brink. This was going to get ugly.

Moving out of the crossfire, Sonata snapped her fingers rather theatrically," Ill... uh... take the rest of my break now if that's OK boss?" I waved her away, in no mood for fun and games. Perhaps it was living with two sisters, but my secretary had a good sense for when an argument was about to break out and the smarts to have an exit manoeuvre ready. Scrambling out of the building, she grabbed her lukewarm "Mexican" fare, flashing a concerned look as she went.

"So." Cadenza began dryly, shifting a large satchel on her shoulder "Now you're done being a grump to your staff. Can we talk like adults?"

Snarling, I stormed up to the women till we were eye to eye. "No. You don't get to say a damn thing! " She frowned, and a dark glee filled my soul, "You think you can just waltz in here after fifteen years and talk like nothing happened. Nothing at all? No, no way in hell!" long cooled embers roared to life within me. If the serpents voice in my mind had a face, it would certainly be grinning now. She baulked at my aggression, a step backwards nearly tumbling her as a heel caught the carpet. "Good," the serpent whispered, gorging on her discomfort.

"C-calmy p-lease I just want-"

"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU WANT!", the beast was in control now. The snake triumphant as tears formed in the woman's eyes. She had hurt me, hurt me in so many ways. This was merely the smallest down payment of all the pain she owed me. I'd expected explosions, expected her to run. The Cadenza of old had flight or fight, no in-between. What I hadn't foreseen was this trembling women standing her ground. Mascara laden tears running down a face many -myself included at one point- considered beautiful.

"That's... that's fine, Calmy. I knew this wouldn't be easy." Her voice wavered as she gulped down air. "I just thought you could help an ex student of mine. Someone young and troubled." Helping others? It was like a beacon of light in the dark, an uncomfortable revelation of my current state, a man full of rage and hate taking joy in others' misery. I could almost smell the desert air and feel the needles once more. Shame bubbled up as my malice faded. The serpent dragged back to its hole, corralled by layer upon layer of compartmentalisation. This wasn't me.

Steadying myself on Sonata's desk, exhaustion slammed into me like a dump truck. I was a fool. My lifestyle was maintained by conserving energy at the best of times, now though? Well, all that rage and hate had taken back what it gave so freely. "Why me?" I sigh, desperately fighting to overcome the wave of fatigue.

She looked at me, a blend of concern and sadness on her features before uttering one word. There were more of course, but only that one mattered. Oblivious to its effect, she began unloading her satchel, laying documents out on a chair, no doubt intending to talk them over with me.

"Get. Out." The rage was different now, not infused with the bleak cruelty of an animal but with the white-hot intensity of a star. She looked shocked, even confused, but could tell when her time was up, whatever courage that had pushed her here had run out. With each second that passed a hundred thousand gears span in my mind, fists shaking, blood pounding. She couldn't be here anymore. I'm not a violent man, I never was. Never could be. I told a lot of people that once. I'd refused to give them satisfaction for years. Right this second though? I'd prove them right, with interest. She fumbled with the paperwork, mumbling some inane apology as she gathered the sheets, as if 'sorry' could do anything now after all this time.

"LEAVE. NOW!"

For the second time today, the door slammed shut, a woman leaving in discomfort. Street goers were staring, a free show was always welcome in Canterlot. My world was whirling though, and a dark nostalgia overcame me. I could feel all thirty-six specific points screaming now, arms burning. Anxiety and fatigue grappled within my body, nausea sweeping through like an unwelcome guest. Managing to stagger to the fridge, (thankfully out of the publics sight), I took the only recourse possible. I gorged. It was paradoxical in a way. I disliked sugar. It interfered with the ad-hoc system I’d come up with to deal with my exhaustion and the benefits fell off too quickly. Simultaneously, it was something that I needed when I was having...a struggle. I'd pay Sonata back, the girls' chocolate collection having been sacrificed with her gummies next on the menu.

I hated this. I hated it so much. The only thing I despised more right now was Cadenza and her request. I'd do it though, not for her, maybe not even for the client, but because of what she said. After all, who'd have expected the high and mighty Cadenza Mi Amore to believe in magic?

Author's Note

Thank you all for the good reception this story has received so far 😄

One of my biggest weaknesses is punctuation and specifically dialogue based punctuation. I do hope it's not too bad for any readers. As mentioned though, I'm using this story to try and improve it.

Interlude - Dinner at the Dazzlings

Today had been awesome! At least I thought so, sure my boss kinda had a weird meltdown again, but he let me go early with double pay! I'd lost the note attached to the cash as well which sucked, but it couldn't have been too important or else he'd have said something. Either way, it meant Mexican night at Casa Del Sonata...and Aria...and (ugh) Adagio.

I trudged eastwards from the city, my lame dress shoes scuffing as the thinning suburbs eventually turned to rural decay. Sure, the dilapidated shacks and ruined timber buildings were a bit spooky, but I kinda liked them. Reminded me of our home during the Civil War. Well, Mine and Adagios home. Aria had been a nurse then, she'd wanted to be "more active in the community" which was weird, but whatever. When the fighting started she'd joined up. Anyway, we tried to keep in contact, but the army moved around constantly. She used to be a lot perkier before the war, I miss that Aria.

It took a few hours, but here she was. Home. It wasn't a particularly big van, but the VW Camper was an antique, one of the first released back in the sixties. We had so much fun back then, the wind in our hair, the open road. It was amazing. Kinda necessary as well when you get run out of a town after riling everyone up and need a place to sleep. I'd named her Raidne after our Mom. The others wanted something scary, but it was too cute for that. Plus I wanted something with her name that was ours, not a stuffy book or the...statue. Starswirl had to die after that we vowed. Looking at our makeshift camp though you could see the plan had gone a bit off course.

'Redneck Chique' was what Daggy had called it once. Raidne took centre place of course, doors open to air out the funk of three perma-seventeen-year-olds sleeping together. I'd put a few colourful folding chairs we'd stolen over the years around the site, just something to make it a bit prettier. Who didn't like bright colours? Then there was the fire. The flickering glow sent a shiver through me. It was dumb, three thousand and thirty-eight years old, yet I *still* burnt myself every time. Blech. Finally, there were our trunks, we tried to live light but even so, there was some stuff you just couldn't get rid of. Cooking equipment, all-weather clothes, mementoes, that kind of stuff. Aria made a big deal about them, always buying tougher ones whenever we had spare cash. Seeing them strewn about camp haphazardly meant something had happened, an argument between my sisters no doubt. Aria was usually the tidiest of us after all.

Speaking of my sisters I could see Adagio frantically writing in a notepad, childishly sitting as far away from Aria as possible whilst still being in camp. Maybe song lyrics? The few times we took a 'serious' (ugh) approach to the whole pop star thing that had been her domain. My other sister meanwhile was furiously jabbing the fire, her stick probably an imagined knife going in Daggys back. We loved each other really, things just got, well, difficult.

"Hey all, guess who's super cute, has two thumbs, food and a ton of cash?" I beamed. The glares thrown at me were duly ignored, my smile unwavering. "Dinner will be in ten girls, just wanna get changed." I dropped the bags of groceries I'd bought on my way out of the city, eager to get out of this frumpy stuff. It just wasn't my style.

Diving into Raidne I grabbed my hoody, grey with a faded kitten on the front it began life as one of Adagios most likely. She'd taken to collecting them from any boys she'd con into a 'relationship' (aka free showers and wifi for the rest of us) and had dozens. A pair of sweatpants and boots finished the ensemble. Not particularly stylish, but comfortable and easy to clean. As I began Rummaging through our supply trunks for the cooking utensils the ever-dulcet tones of my sarcastic sister floated over.

"If we're having Mexican again I'm gonna barf."

Smiling sweetly at her, I prepped the stew pot over the fire. "You were gonna get barf if my boss hadn't had a freak-out again and paid me early," I paused, a note of worry in my voice now. "I couldn't find anything in the dumpsters this morning."

"Wait, what?" blurted Adagio, momentarily pausing in her scribbles. The dumpster diving had been her idea, we'd been pushed into it when it became apparent that no more magic meant no more free meals. It was dirty and uncomfortable, but there'd been no other option, my job could barely keep us going in gas and basic amenities as is.

Thinking back to this morning I sighed. "The fast food places are on to us Daggy, everything was covered in bleach, even the bleach!"

Growling, Adagio threw her notebook to the ground. "Why in Tartarus name are we reduced to this!" She stood and threw her pen next, Aria yelping as it bounced off her head. From the way my already grumpy sister was looking I could tell this was the start of a 'good-natured' family argument. Having enough of screaming matches today I wisely tuned them out, focusing on chopping the ingredients for the Pozole.

"Because someone thought it'd be a great idea to try and take over the world, then fight an Alicorn in a magical duel"

“At least I had an idea!”

"It was a stupid idea."

"Yeah well...well... you're an idiot."

"Cool burn Daggy."

"So," I began, desperately hoping to break the tension, "How was your day girls?"

Eh, OK," Aria grunted, idly looking at her nails and grimacing at their state. "Sewed up that hole in my pants and did some more work on the Neightreon. We've got thirty rubes at the five dollar level and one on the ten." The ancient laptop sat near her, the beach ball of doom spinning slowly on its screen. Neightreon had been a pet project for my sister and it was starting to show dividends. Playing us off as an amateur pop group we sold access to our old music to fans, claiming the stylistic inconsistencies were 'experimental'. I just hoped no one listened too closely to that performance in the forties, how we got Lois Armstrong involved I still don't know.

Poking her tongue out at Aria, my eldest sister grabbed her discarded notebook, flopping in another chair with all the grace of a walrus. “I've kept myself busy,” she mumbled cagily.

"Plotting. It's all she's been doing, 'Rainbooms this, Rainbooms that', it's kinda sad, to be honest," said Aria, eyes rolling.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the mechanical 'chop-chop-chop' sound as I worked through the vegetables. Bad with fire? Yes. Good with knives? Even bigger yes.

"I am TRYING to avenge us, avenge the loss of our power! Our status! Our..." She paused then, her voice wavering, and I could tell exactly what was eating her.

The knife stopped. "I get it Daggy, we're not immortal anymore." It hadn't been obvious initially. Sure, we couldn't sing or siphon negative energy, but we could still plan, plot, and play the long game right? Wrong. Barely two months after the Battle of the Bands Aria had a growth spurt. The first in several thousand years. It's still weird to see her towering over Adagio.

We'd panicked then, words were said, and now it was an unwritten rule. We don't talk about death. Ever.

"I refuse to die of old age in a world full of hairless apes!"

....And there goes that rule. I sighed, ignoring the bickering and eventual cat fight in the background. I loved my family, but they were...what was it Calmy said when I last talked about them? Oh yeah, 'dysfunctional' and 'co-dependent'. Not sure what that means exactly, but it sounds right. Last time I overheard him say that to someone he told them to cut ties. Now, I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even I know that's wrong.

Love is weird after all, but you never let it go.

Author's Note

Sonata isn't just Calmys secretary, she has a vibrant and...uh...interesting life too!

Whilst most stories present Sonata as purely 100% wacky, I feel there's a lot more under the surface then we see, especially considering how long they've been around.

Session 0.75

The woodland soil is thick and cloying, cold mud sticking to my cheek as I rise. Vision blurs, pain racing through my skull. I-I think my arm is broken. What hit us? US! Diamond! Where is-

The trees warp and twist, is it the concussion or is it more? I-I see her! Oh god, god no!

Rusty Iron. Red Coals. Midnight Black.

“MINE”

I don't scream this time, I just cry. It's been a while since I cried. In retrospect that's probably a bad thing. Healthy outlets are necessary, bottling leads to back sliding, and dear god is the temptation strong. To just forget everything, float away into a blissful numbness. It's hard enough with these nightmares and now Cadenza back in my life. The bedside clock glares at me, neon red announcing seven thirty pm. Great, just great.

After the confrontation at the office I shut up early. It was unprofessional of me, but then working with anyone in that state would be more than unprofessional, it'd be downright dangerous. With no Sonata (she was informed first of the decision and happily left) I made the calls personally, it was my responsibility after all. Thankfully Miss Lulamoon and Mister Sunburst took it well. Losing clients was always a possibility, but I tried to create a good rapport with anyone in my care, and it seemed to be working so far. Then came the bus ride (no Stony this time), a miserable experience with my stomach gurgling whilst the urge to sleep came on stronger with every minute. I'm frankly surprised I managed to crawl into bed, sleeping on buses isn't exactly new for me.

My home has been described as 'spartan' by the few visitors I've had. I'd agree with that. The only 'clutter' in my two up-two down consisted of a few Saddle Arabian nicknacks, several full bookcases and my locked chest. Today that emptiness felt more painful than soothing.

“L-lets get going” I mumble, trying to gee myself into motion. It's a struggle but with some effort the bedroom and stairs are conquered, by the time the coffee is ready I feel at least somewhat more human. The origami helps. It was a suggestion when I was recovering all those years ago, move your focus onto something else, something productive. My work was one element, but that was dangerous to lean on, this on the other-hand allowed me to flex my creative muscles whilst keeping my hands busy. As a hobby it wasn't exactly what you'd call 'thrilling', but I enjoyed it. It certainly made the kitchen brighter.

A facsimile of a llama smiled at me from the kitchen table as I worked on its sibling. Cranes were irritatingly tricky, this was my third attempt in the last week. No matter how many twists and folds though it always ended up wrong somehow, instructions or no instructions. After five minutes of fruitless struggle the pseudo crane and its sister are gently placed on a shelf, a dozen completed creatures surrounding them. It was always better to return to it then get flustered, a hobby is as fun as you make it after all.

“Nose the to the grindstone time.” Another encouragement, it's not necessary but some affirmation helps. Especially when the days been as stressful as this. A few clicks of my discarded briefcase, and she's here.

Picking up the tape-recorder, I smile at the few dings and scratches gracing its surface. It hadn't been pristine even before she'd got it for my birthday. Back in the day I'd been a bit of a retro geek, clothes, tech, you name it. I'd search all the second hand stores and flea markets, dive in for hours, then walk out with a single shirt. She liked that, said it showed "perseverance". I just liked older things, they all had a certain character to them, everything has a story right? I just had to find it.

Pressing the button slowly, the click begins a fresh tape-reel. My face set, it was time to uncover a new story.

"Client review, Twilight Sparkle. Request for my services by parents, Velvet Sparkle and Night Light. Preliminary notes on clients issue and background supplied with permission by former Dean of Crystal Preparatory Academy, Cadenza Mi Amore"

A brief stab of anger flared in me. Not just because of 'her' but also because of that damn school. Nearly half of my teenage clients in Canterlot came from that place. Oh, it was well recommended, and it certainly got academic results, but to get that omelette they'd broken a hell of a lot of eggs, eggs I had to repair. Begrudgingly though --and it hurt to say this-- it wasn't Cadenza's fault. No, this was down to Principal Abacus Cinch. The psychotherapist in me acknowledged that she herself was probably quite damaged, you don't wrap yourself in something as fragile as 'reputation' unless you're covering for some kind of inner pain. The biased part of me though? Well, that railed at institutionalised bullying for 'results'. I took a breath, then continued.

"Age Sixteen. Former Crystal Preparatory Academy student, transferred to Canterlot High School two months ago. Academic record is...very impressive. Straight A's in everything save for creative arts and physical education. Irrespective, looks like most colleges would kill to have her. Parents request form suggests daughters recent behaviour is frequently erratic, including moments of hallucinatory states and referring to herself as 'Midnight'. They are frightened clearly, though I have serious doubts about their suggestions of 'a split personality'."

I paused the tape, looking over the papers once more. Unofficial diagnosis were the bane of my career. The Internet had revolutionised our world, on the flip side, those with zero training had access to materials they just couldn't comprehend, and dear sweet lord could they make things difficult. I'd once spent a solid three sessions convincing Filthy Rich his wife didn't suffer from narcissism. Now, Spoilt Rich was a horrible person, no doubt, but they didn't suffer from narcissistic personality disorder as such. In the end I had to refer them to specialised marriage counsellors, they were just too dysfunctional for my training frankly. I hoped this Sparkle girls parents were willing to listen to a professional.

There was another problem as well. Cadenza had managed to give me the notes from Crystal Preps own school counsellor, but frustratingly nothing within the last few months. I needed every scrap of data possible to avoid going in blind, but I couldn't just strong-arm Canterlot High. The Dean was skirting several data protection and ethical laws as is by giving me this much free access. It was very unusual to be blunt. Then again...

"Following Cadenzas comments from earlier today there is a strong possibility supernatural forces are involved or perceived to be involved."

It still stung, her of all people coming to me. The anger had faded to bitterness now though, my logic frustratingly agreeing with her assessment. You didn't go to a plumber to fix your lighting after all. A standard psychotherapist would be quite out of their depth in these kinds of situations. Still, it had been four months since the last 'special' case and this didn't feel quite right. Something stank, and it wasn't the unwashed dishes rotting in my sink.

"I will enter with an open mind as is standard, however I've certain suspicions. Client notes from Crystal Preparatory Academy paint her as a mental health time bomb, massive obsessive compulsive issues, reclusive, anti-social with depressive and self-worth episodes. Yet nothing to indicate Dissasociative identity disorder ? Loathe as I am to make snap judgements, I'm wondering if the client finally stopped putting a brave face on things and her parents can't face up to the truth. Perhaps willing to 'other' the problem with a big incomprehensible lie then face up to the smaller truths of plain bad parenting?"

I clicked the 'stop' button with a resounding sigh. I hated saying it, but things just weren't adding up. The girl had been suffering for years, her records began within weeks of enrolment, yet she'd never seen anyone more qualified than her school counsellor? Where were the doctors? The medication? Hell, where were my peers?! I knew of two other psychotherapists in Canterlot who'd happily take another well paying Crystal Prep job. So that left two answers. Either the school had hushed it up, pressuring the girl to be silent or the parents just didn't give a damn. Either was possible in my experience. Now she was free of its stifling presence though she was going off the rails, letting out everything that had been building up like a bomb. Watching your formerly meek daughter let her hair down would certainly be a shock.

Then there was their ludicrous DiD claim, it was laughable frankly. You don't just 'develop' a severe mental health issue like that out of nowhere. The girls notes suggested an outcast, someone struggling in a toxic schooling environment, but nothing to suggest the presence of the condition. Then again there was the involvement of Cadenza and this mysterious supernatural factor I'd stupidly left unquestioned in my anger earlier. There were too many questions and not enough answers.

I had one recourse.

"Hello, is this Velvet Sparkle? Good evening, I apologise for calling so late. My name is Calmy Storms. I understand your interested in booking a session at my practice for your daughter?"

Author's Note

It has taken a bit of time, but we finally approach the first session of Twilight Sparkle!

Some of what Calmy says is correct, there is an uncomfortable amount of people using the internet for self diagnosing mental illness. This is...awkward to be blunt. Whilst there can be frustration and apathy at the speed or competency of existing mental health services, it is always best to get a diagnosis from a trained expert. Bring your concerns to bear however, it's a transactional service remember.

Session 1 (Twilight Sparkle)

The 'Therapy Room' as Sonata dubbed it, was meant to be an oasis of calm, created by following the general themes suggested by my peers and teachers in its design. Cool colours, neutral paintings, that kind of thing. I'd specifically chosen the floor though. Black linoleum covered in a complex, interweaving, golden pattern of my own design. Cost a pretty penny, but most definitely worth it in my line of work. Complementing the design were some new handcrafted wall hangings. The brushwork wasn't perfect, unfortunately, the book from Constantineighple had been a real pig to copy. Even with all this though I wasn't exactly relaxed.

The 'special' cases were hard for me but necessary. It's why I entered my field in the first place, but it never got any easier really. Echoes of the past I suppose, fear lurking under the surface, all the good stuff. Even with all the data telling me otherwise though, I had to prepare for the worst. Ever since I called Velvet Sparkle my days had consisted of a mixture of mundane client work, with more esoteric labour in my downtime. Despite the infrequency of the 'special' cases though, I'd mastered the ability to cut them off from my standard work. My clients paid good money for their therapist's attentiveness and I wouldn't sacrifice that by daydreaming on the merits of arcane formulae. I'd even slept better, a dark irony in hindsight.

Like a flash the door opened and shut, its harsh click signalling a familiar, subtle, shift in the air pressure of the room. It was expected, but the feeling still threw me every time.

Meeting Twilight Sparkle, the first word that came to my mind was 'fragile'. With a rail-thin physique and a natural petiteness that enhanced this to an almost unhealthy state, she looked as if a strong breeze could knock her down. Yet part of her parents' notes said she'd flipped an oak table during an 'episode', something that required three waiters to right. The next word was 'victim', it was almost an addition to the first really. Not only did Miss Sparkle appear physically weak, but there was her dress sense. I'll admit to not being 'down with the youth' when it came to sartorial eloquence, but even I knew she was dressing a tad...young. Between the mary janes, the puffy shirt, and the bow tie, well it was as if a child had picked her outfit for her. Not to mention the coke bottle glasses. I respect everyone's individuality, and officially can't judge anyone's actions or lifestyle choices. Realistically though, I remember the horrors of high school, and she looked like a prime target. Throw in her ludicrous intelligence and you had an outsider, someone who was sold the lie that they could be whoever, or whatever, they wanted with zero repercussions from their peers. The paperwork had spoken for itself. A lamb to the slaughter.

Furthermore, she was nervous, shifting and fidgeting in her seat every few seconds, with eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. Her parents should have damn well explained the situation to her, I'd highlighted how too many sessions with my younger clientele fall apart in the first five minutes if their family dumps them at my practice's doorstep. Those concerns increased however when she paused at the wall hangings for a few seconds too long. That was...worrisome. Still, there was only one way forward.

“Hello Miss Sparkle.” I pause for a second, allowing time to smile while I asses the basics. Equal seat and height spacing? Check. Non-threatening body posture? Check. Coffee table with tissues, water, glasses and generic plastic flowers as a natural barrier? Check. “My name is Calmy Storm, I'll be your psychotherapist for this session, are you ok with that?” She nods swiftly, an audible gulp hanging in the air. Why is she so frightened?

“Good. I have a general rule, 'If you don't want to be here, you don't have to'. This process is all about communication after all, in my experience those most reluctant to engage tend to be the most unready for the healing process, unfortunately.”

“I guess...”

She's speaking into her navel, her voice barely a whisper. It's clear she's not here willingly, but there's something else at play. Maybe her parents threatened her? No, no, I need to focus on facts, not theories. They come once the puzzle starts to fit together.

“So Miss Sparkle-,”

“Twilight!” she practically yells at me. There's a beat before her posture softens, some kind of realisation kicking in. “I-I prefer to be called Twilight, please.” Shame crosses the girl's face momentarily before melting back into the nervous indifference of someone in a new and unhappy experience. I was very familiar with that look.

“That's fine Twilight. So, how are things going for you, right now that is?” A simple icebreaker, but you can't just start where you think you need to be, especially if the client isn't willing. It's almost like a videogame, fighting the final boss early isn't ideal until you've gone through all the sidequests.

She's cagey now, looking for some kind of hidden meaning. One of the few benefits of working with conventionally smart clients. They tend to be high IQ and poor EQ, trying to out-think me as if this is a trap, rather than a genuine attempt at outreach. It takes a minute of fidgeting, but she finally settles on an answer.

“Things are...ok, right now.” it's slow and measured, testing the waters to see if there's a bomb. Hopefully, this wasn't how the entire session would pan out. I was a patient man, but it did get tiresome being seen as a threat for a whole hour. Then again she wasn't suggesting violence, so it was going better than the last 'special' case so far.

“Ok? That's good.”

There's silence between us. I don't push. It's an option but this is an odd case, in more ways than one. The quiet is a surprisingly good tool as well. Whilst nominally allowing for reflection, it tends to throw first-timers off. They have certain expectations of what my job entails, mostly inaccurate.

“Aren't you going to say anything? Ask any questions?”

Case in point.

I smile again, trying to keep a calm atmosphere for the rattled girl. She's not angry, but confused and unsure of herself. The clock behind me creaks in a certain way and I know for a fact we've been here fifteen minutes now. Well, that's a record. Usually, they only take five minutes of silence.

“What questions would you like me to ask, Twilight?” I say, aware of how irritated people felt when asked. It's not a goad but a valid question, I'm no mind reader after all. “My job is to help you and so far...well so far I know nothing about you.” A lie, but a necessary one. It wasn't the standard practice of course but this whole thing was bizarre, incentivising some openness from her could help smooth this interaction over. Or blow up in my face.

“You could ask!” she snaps back, no discomfort with her anger this time.

Settling in my chair the sigh forms unconsciously, “Twilight. I could ask you a million questions about your life, I've little doubt it'll all be interesting. Your parents said you're a very clever young woman with a lot of prospects ahead of you after all,” my hands' steeple, it's time to get serious, “But they're also worried about you, hence why you're here. Now if you don't want to talk to me about your problems that's fine, but your body language, your tone, it all suggests you're upset and it's not just because your here-”

“Age six.”

An eyebrow raises slowly, I can't appear too surprised. She's actually opening up.

“That's the first time I really remember being bullied, I think it goes back further but that's the earliest I know for certain. Even eidetic memory has limitations.” Twilight gazes at the floor, her voice still, almost monotone. It's a breakthrough, but I have a feeling it's a painful one for her. “My brother admits he didn't react well to a new child in the household, you'd probably say he felt like he was being replaced. He apologised when we were older, and said he was a brat. The first memory of a bully is still my brother though, tormenting me for simply existing.”

I consider interjecting, but before I can the floodgates open.

It's long. She occasionally pauses to sip from a freshly poured glass of water, but besides that, it's a never-ending rollercoaster from well-meaning but clueless parents to the grim social Darwinism of crystal preparatory school. A girl who was knocked down at every attempt to stand up, who retreated into her books to avoid the cruel world, where every interaction with her peers highlighted her crippling failure. I attempt to take notes initially but give up, it's a year-by-year playbook of someone's life, with every flaw, error and faux pas chiselled down with ruthless efficiency. By her early teens, we hit the mental health issues, the depression, the self-loathing, the obsessiveness. A brief mention of self-harm is casually peppered with a vague impression of intermittent bulimia and body dysmorphia, the relaxed nature of it all unsettling me. She's earnest, but it feels too much. There's more, but it all starts to blend, the few friends she mentions are never spoken in a positive light, it's always the harm she caused them, disturbingly. When the girl finally stops tears are forming on the edge of her eyes and she looks to be one loud noise away from having a panic attack.

Pausing to consider my next words carefully I slide the open box of tissues across the table, this is a monumental amount of trauma that needs to be treated with care, people have made rash decisions with only a third of what's been described to me.

“Well Twilight, first of all, I'd like to thank you. It takes an awful lot of courage to be that open and forthright during your first session.”

She nods, tears already escaping as the sobs begin. The girl has been carrying this weight for god knows how long. I'd definitely need to talk to her parents later though, we're honestly lucky to catch her now before things got worse. The split personality ridiculousness though was clearly as I initially assessed, self-diagnosis of a damaged teen lashing out. She probably preferred a new name out of spite, then again she did react oddly to just 'Miss Sparkle'. Curious.

Beginning to scribble notes, I idly noticed her removing those abominable glasses, the sobs continuing lightly, now into a bundle of tissues. Text runs across the notebook as my attention wavers, vague memories of specialists flooding my mind. We'd need some outside experts that could help us here, maybe a few. This was quickly turning into more than a one-man job.

“Next I'd like to book you in for more sessions, and perhaps see if we can talk to your general practitioner, have a look into some medication to deal with the depression first of all before we start...”

Reading glasses make a very distinctive noise when damaged, especially when crushed. Watching the self-described 'ten-pound weakling' do so was practically alien. The ruined mass of plastic and metal was dropped from her hand, lens shards scattering across the floor. Now, when the tissues were pulled away from her face, my assessment of Twilight Sparkle quickly changed. The first words that had come to mind initially had been 'fragile' and 'victim'. Now the word was singular and terrifying.

“Demon.”

“Midnight actually,” her eyes now framed by aquamarine flame, “but I'll take that as a compliment.”

Author's Note

Yes, it's a tad dark, but then again that is what the tag is for.

I envision Twilight having a pretty poor childhood as you see, at least in this universe. Calmy also didn't necessarily follow full protocol, not even mentioning the ethical limitations of his work.

Session 1 (Twilight Sparkle?)

Calm. It's a funny word, short, soft, almost like a marshmallow. It's not something you associate with the millions of autonomic impulses running throughout your body. Something so fragile sounding shouldn't be able to combat my amygdala, the chunk of grey matter currently screaming like a wounded beast. Yet it does. It pushes me past the adrenalin surging through my system, through the overwhelming desire to escape. The breathing slows, and the mantra begins. It's a magic of its own really and I bless Amira every time I use it, the old bag deserved no less.

So...Cadenza was right. Magic. Or more clearly possession. Not my forte, but as I watched the girl in front of me it was clear someone was running the good ship Twilight Sparkle and it certainly wasn't her. The little things stood out the most, 'Twilight's' posture, the way she moved, the unsettling look of glee as she inspected her wounded hand, blood slowly dripping to the floor. No, this was certainly not the traumatised girl I'd been speaking to. So, let us start this again. Clean sweep, new client.

“H-hello, Twilight?”

The thing's eyes snapped away from the mess of bloodied glass and mangled flesh, pinprick pupils focusing on me. Hope held out for scant few seconds. I knew a serious mistake had been made when it smiled though. A mouth should only go so far after all. Within a heartbeat an unseen force had ensnared me, my whole body squeezed by an invisible, vice-like grip. Screaming seemed the obvious response, but no. Stay calm. Remember the desert, the words, the training. A memory surfaces as I'm dragged towards 'Twilight' by this force, the table between us floating to the side with ease. It's an old woman, she snarls with a mouth full of gums, glaring at me with contempt. Yet her face softens briefly, wrinkles shifting in a way I'd yet to see then despite living with her for years. Purple hair streaked with grey dances in the wind, her mouth opens once more. A whisper crosses from memory to reality.

“You are stronger than you think Calmy.”

I centre myself as we come face to face, the...thing staring at me like a lepidopterist with a new set of needles. Despite the impending threat I couldn't help but notice its witch-flame adornment gave off a pleasant sense of coolness, the aquamarine fire presumably chill to the touch. Not only that, but a layer of frost was beginning to form on an ornament around the girl's neck, some kind of pendant perhaps? Filing that away for later, unable as I was to move right now, I sat there, awaiting my fate with what dignity was left available for me.

“Read. My. Lips.” the creature snarls, borrowed voice tinged with an edge of hysteria, “My name...is...MIDNIGHT!” A single flourish and I'm rocketed back to my former position, the chair legs screeching like a wounded bobcat.

“Duly noted.”

Realistically I should keep her talking, try to assess the situation, and then make my move. That would be the sensible thing to do. On the other hand, this thing was wearing Twilight like a suit and could have crushed me like a can for getting its name wrong. Sensible was out.

I activate the wards.

A brief flash of pain in my inner ear indicated the start. Runes of defence imbued through blood and ritual, old when the world was young. Runes of containment, solid as the earth and just as strong. If this was a cartoon I'd pull a heroic pose, golden light would emanate from all around us, maybe ethereal chains would bind whatever this 'Midnight' was and I'd make a speech. This was reality though. Just one man, a monster, and a few (spent) aces up my sleeve.

The breath catches in my throat, did it work? The girl seemed quite serene, yet responses tended to vary. In the past, I'd seen people vomit, foam at the mouth, and even scream in dead languages. It was never an immediate process, yet by the thirty-second mark a dark certainty dawned on me, something had happened and it wasn't good. The wards were designed in tandem, first to eject any supernatural presence, then to hold it in place. They'd done neither, yet by the hollow feeling in my skull I knew instinctively they were spent. The impossible stared me in the face. I hadn't failed. They had.

Like a cat had found the cream very much unguarded, the sitting 'Twilight' smirked. She knew. Dear sweet lord she knew!

“If you're going to try and use runic wards against me Mister Storm, I'd suggest something with a bit more... bite, next time.” She drawled, flashing a predatory grin to emphasise her point.

I was dead. There was no escape, not if the creature's telekinetic grip was any indication. She could crush me like a bug before I even reached the door, probably like the challenge as well. Then there was the matter of Sonata. She was just some dumb kid who needed a bit of cash, a dumb kid I'd endangered. Who knew what this thing possessing Twilight would do? Clear Skies had quit after the last 'special case', and I'd warned her about the more unique aspects of my job! That poor girl out there was clueless though and it was all my damn fault. Just another drop in the ocean of lives ruined at the hands of Calmy Storm. Heh, maybe Cadenza was right all those years ago, maybe I was a murderer.

Escaping my thoughts I study ' Twilight', the thing now inspecting my wall hangings with idle interest. I knew she'd pegged the runes but did nothing. I knew the story was suspect but let my hubris tell me otherwise. I deserved everything to come.

Sucking in a breath, my blood cooled, this was it then.

“Midnight,” I addressed the thing inside Twilight Sparkle, intent on not angering it any more than necessary, “When you kill me, can you...can you leave the girl outside, please? She doesn't know about any of this, she's no threat to you.” My voice cracks, it's hard to keep the tears in but I've done it for years. I'm ready to die.

What I wasn't ready for was the laugh. Beginning as an unhinged titter, rapid and sharp like a barrage of needles, it slowly evolved into a full-throated maniacal shriek, as if a supervillain had stepped from the pages of a bad comic book.

“Oh Mister Storm I'm not going to kill you,” the girl wheezed, dropping back into her chair with all the grace of a potato sack, “I just don't think it's particularly fair my other self gets all the session time, don't you?”

Author's Note

Thank you for your patience everyone.

Please let me know how you feel about this chapter, it's the one I was most concerned about for several reasons. Firstly I've been having difficulty initially envisioning the next series of steps after the last chapters reveal, I have an ending in mind and arguably we're ending act one, but it's act two that has been stumping me somewhat. Secondly, I've been worried about the reception to the fantasy elements of this urban fantasy, since so far we've mostly had mundane therapy work and introspective character drama. I don't want Calmy to be seen as some ridiculous Harry Dresden Esque OC with amazing magic unrelated to the equestrian source. There's enough of those floating about and it has never been my intention for him to join their ranks.

Any constructive criticism is welcome, thank you.

End of Session 1 (Midnight Sparkle)

I like the rain. Not in a fun 'listen to it drum on your windows' kind of way. No, I like walking in it. There's a kind of...cleansing feeling to the experience. Millions of droplets freeing me briefly from life's entanglements, the stress, the worry, all of it. It was almost like purification. A sullen, angry man had entered. Out left a calm, clear-headed one. Fortune must have favoured me, after a day like today I'd never been so thankful for a heavy downpour.

The wind whips around my jacket as I briefly glance at the watch adorning my wrist, its digital clock-face telling me seven pm in blinking lights, one hour after closing and two hours since my last session had finished. We'd run over time significantly, but there had been quite a lot to unpack with little room for the more mundane things in life, like time boundaries or non-threatening behaviour. My heart jolted briefly as a bus backfired, the vehicle zipping down the Canterlot streets with drenched occupants sitting miserably inside. Another reason for my impromptu shower was this evening's destination. For reasons beyond my understanding all transport links had snubbed it, no bus, no train, even the private taxi companies treated it as off-limits. I had theories of course, but they were just that, theories.

As the paving slabs of Hasufel street fall behind me I become increasingly aware of Canterlots inhabitants, the poor souls desperately trying to run from a little water. No one likes to be cold, but sometimes I question whether we overreact.

00000

“Are you sure this isn't poisoned?” the thing-called-Midnight-wearing-Twilights-skin said, eyeing the jug of unfiltered tap water with a wariness I'd only seen in combat veterans.

“Why would it be?” I shrugged, feeling significantly calmer since the girl had begun to unwind. She'd already revealed she wasn't a demon, ghost, or any other 'spooky' creature (her words not mine) while promising to try and keep a lid on that temper of hers. After that previous display, I expressed firmly how violent telekinetic outbursts were off the table if she wanted my help. Whilst I had no reason to believe Midnight, she also had no real need to lie or even tell me anything frankly. Yes, the girl may have lacked Twilights politeness, but she made up for it in robust openness and honesty, so far never needing cajoling or prompting.

“Well, if those weak runes of yours were accurate, you attempted to isolate and paralyse me. Can't blame a girl for being paranoid,” an awkward pause filled the air before (taking my ongoing silence as an affirmation) Midnight snatched the jug, greedily gulping the contents in a single draught. “Oh god, you cannot believe how good that was!” she crowed, slamming the jug on the table, unparalleled delight on her face from the now tepid water.

“Erm-”

“I'm stuck here with this nebbish wreck of a core who thinks tea and energy drinks are the only viable hydration out there. Do you know when she sleeps? Never! That's when. I've probably got the start of a heart condition thanks to her.”

“Well-” I began, before something she said hit me. “Wait, did you say 'core'?”

She smiled that unsettling grin again, placing the now blood-smeared jug back on the table. Glass was thankfully easy to clean, her hand not so much if she continued to push the shards of Twilight's spectacles in deeper. I'd need to do something about that.

“Come on Calmy, can I call you Calmy? Anyway, think a bit Calmy. You're the seasoned professional. Twilight's idiot parents weren't exactly subtle around her, even that jock of a brother had to get his little girlfriend involved.” A striped carnation levitated from the table, hovering in front of an exuberant Midnight, petals slowly being plucked one by one. “Poor old Twily, she never realised time passed when I switched in 'till they noticed. I suppose that's what I get for being greedy, but we'd never really experienced what being drunk was like and she'd pissed me off that day. Telling Shimmer all about our science project like that, who the hell does that demon think she is? Our friend? Hah.”

I was struggling to take the rant in, but the last part certainly matched. All the documents said Midnight's first manifestation was Velvet Sparkle finding her daughter slumped over the dinner table at three in the morning, four bottles deep in the family's wine collection. Both of us wrote it off as teenage high jinks, but it did seem odd for a girl noted to have trouble with root beer moving on to heavy drinking so quickly.

00000

It's reaching seven thirty pm now, the rain has slackened and the city's shadows have both literally and metaphorically lengthened. What little glare the street lamps give off merely illuminate the monsters now, my footsteps speeding up as I pass through Diomedes street. Now, Canterlot is not exactly a hellhole, crime rates are reasonably low for an American city, with fraud and violent crime at an all-time low. Having said that, like every city there are places and people you don't want to know. Unfortunately, they're indelibly scarred into my memory.

On my way into the heart of the city, I've passed eight bars, five off licensees and the homes of twenty different drug dealers, with their respective wares ranging from laughable to levels where people die from dropping a decimal point. It's why I prefer the bus. You avoid the areas, avoid the neon signs in your brain and most definitely avoid the serpent whispering in your ear. This journey though, well, there's a term for it. It's a bit pretentious, but it fits so well I can't help it.

It's my own personal katabasis.

00000

“So,” Midnight continued, the balding flower being tossed for another, “despite our differences, Twiggles and I share a deep respect for knowledge, failure to plan is planning for failure as the saying goes. We both took turns researching 'the problem'. In her case out of fear, me...well curiosity is an answer I suppose? As per usual, however, I was the more tenacious one. She only searched what fit her narrow definitions, I on the other hand spread a wider net, even if it felt ridiculous taking those flesh sacks she calls parents' ideas into account.”

There was a growing pit in my stomach as suspicions began to coalesce. Midnight obviously loved the sound of her own voice and was dragging this out much longer than necessary, but if it ingratiated her to me then it was imperative. Despite the girl's promise against any violent action, if I was correct I'd need all the help I could get to keep things from spiralling out of control, especially taking the telekinesis into account.

“My results were most...enlightening. They certainly bore more fruit than the dweebs I can tell you that much.” She leant forward, a sombre look etched on a face far too young to look so serious. “It's such a chore sitting in her skull Calmy, she's so pathetic and sad. Like a puppy intent on chasing its tail in a minefield. 'Am I too fat?', 'Am I too thin?', 'Am I gay?', 'Are the boys looking at me?' 'Do my friends actually like me?'. As if any of that really matters in the grand scheme of things, wouldn't you agree Calmy?”

A lie would be easy, make the upcoming transitions easier. That's not how this works though. With a heavy heart and my calmest tone ready, I sigh.

“I think Twilight's feelings are valid Midnight, she's a young woman with a keen intellect but a lot of baggage. You're smart enough to understand she's very much reacting to her environment, and from what I know it was a rather harsh one to begin with. She has trust issues, issues with her body image and a hundred and one other problems, both mundane and more, well, let's just say 'esoteric' and leave it at that eh?”

“Perhaps.” she replied begrudgingly, teeth gritted.

“Secondly Midnight,” I gesture to the girl with my pen “Whilst I respect your need for individuality and your frustrations with Twilight, I think we can both agree, leaving that wound on your palm open is a bad idea. Even if you feel justified, by harming Twilight you're still harming yourself in the long run, right?”

“But-” the girl growled, an emerging snarl evaporating as she stared at the mess of her hand. A few experimental flexes (and pain-induced winces) later and the room's tissue supply was put to good use. Despite her earlier joy in the damage she'd caused, several makeshift bandages were hastily applied moments after telekinetically removed glass shards flew into the soon-to-be-bleached water jug.

“So, you said your results were enlightening?”

00000

Katabasis, it's a fun word. In essence, it's part of the broader 'mytheme', every myth is a story, right? Well, all those stories start somewhere. The Power Ponies and the PCU didn't just come from nowhere after all. They were based on stories and stories have power. Katabasis seems fairly simple, it's about the hero delving into the underworld. Oh, it can be for anything, gold, love, power. There's always a reason, but it's the act of stepping into the unknown for something greater and returning that really gives it strength.

The funny thing is it's true.

Al'amr – altalab recorded that the start of mankind's supernatural knowledge began with ancient sorcerer kings descending into the depths of the earth. These men communed with something beyond our understanding and returned, gorged with power and wisdom. Debate raged to this day as to what the 'thing' they spoke to was. Of course, not everyone thought it was prudent to know. Amira spat on the scholars, they were 'scribblers arguing over the unknowable, too cowardly to check and too weak to try' in her eyes. She wasn't wrong.

Seven thousand years and we'd been reduced to scraps. Gone were the days of Atlantis and Mu, replaced with ruins and sea slime. Considering the nature of Al'amr – altalab though that was probably for the best. As was my departure, magic...it couldn't solve our problems. Not all of them.

00000

The girl clapped her hands eagerly, a twitch of pain slowing the action to a halt. She was on her third flower now, a flurry of petals already surrounding her.

“Yes, well, the princess of the pop quiz focused only on magic. She was oh-so-sure it was a curse or some other horse-related ridiculousness-”

Ok, that stood out.

“'Horse-related ridiculousness'?”

“Oh, she didn't tell you?” A light blossomed in her eyes at my confused expression .“How rich! Let us put a pin in that for now Calmy, spoilers etcetera. As I was saying, she focused on magic. I took medical. It didn't take long to figure it out. I mean, I'm not a professional, but we are geniuses, technically speaking. So I was fairly confident in my diagnosis, so much, in fact, I wrote my core a nice little note for the first time ever. Hell, I even left the webpages open and everything.”

With my heart hammering and a mouth dryer than an ashtray, I pressed forwards. The coin was in the air. From the girl's manic expression, I felt I knew the answer, but held hope that my guess was in error.

“Your diagnosis Midnight?”

She sat ramrod straight, mock adjusting the aquamarine witch-fire glasses in the very picture of a 'professional', even as her once steady tone became a spiteful parody of the girl who had walked in here.

“Taking into consideration the patients history, memory loss, emotional outbursts, mental instability, associated conditions and distinctive manifestations of unique personalities, the patient can reliably be diagnosed as suffering from D.i.D or Dissociative identity disorder.” she paused momentarily, her starchy exterior cracking as she broke into hysterical laughter “We're bug-fucking nuts doc!”

Letting her laugh seemed the most logical step. I'd gotten heads, but there was no real winner here. Whatever joy that she could ring out of this I wouldn't take from her, even if it wasn't the healthiest reaction. Not ignoring whatever magic weirdness she'd become embroiled in, this was life-changing in a way many couldn't begin to fathom.

“D-d-d-do you, haha, do you think her parents will disown her Calmy?” She was slapping the coffee table now, wheezing desperately to keep what little oxygen she had from this manic turn, tears of laughter running down her face. “Throw the craz-NO NO NO NO NO NO!”

The change was lightning quick. Fists slammed into wood, futile rage being vented the best way available. A voice more used to teasing and sneering lost its edge, tears of joy rapidly transmuted into rivers of anguish. I'd seen this kind of thing a few times, but it was still unnerving. With Midnight gone, Twilight looked out, the death of her future broadcast for all to see.

“I. AM. NOT. CRAZY.” each word punctuated by another table strike. I could see the impromptu bandages beginning to stain with fresh blood. A thin voice escapes the choking mess of coughs and tears though, ”She's...she's lying Mister Storm, I know she is!”

You'd have to be made of stone to not feel anything, but I do my best to keep a neutral tone, even if every part of me is screaming to console this girl. This whole thing will definitely stretch the boundaries of my professionalism, but I'm her only option.

“I'm-I'm sorry Twilight, but I think Midnight may be right, consid-”

“NO!” she screams once more, a finger now pointed in accusation, “Your wrong! You don't know her, you...you don't know me! She's not real, she's some kind of magic parasite or curse or something, she's not real!”

The same grip from earlier surrounds me, it's much lighter though, the difference between a clamp and a clothes peg. Twilight probably doesn't even realise she's doing it. As the girl begins to edge her way to the door (staring at me like the kind of dog you know won't bite if you just watch him) my eye jumps to the pendant, now a clear purple, the frost having dissipated. Some kind of focusing tool maybe? Keeping my mind on the present (and with some difficulty) I raise my hands in surrender. Sometimes you've got to lose to win.

“Please, please stop.” I can hear it in my voice, but there's no way to hold back my frantic tone now. “I know you don't believe any of this. I understand that, I really do. But no matter what you believe, I will help you. If you want it that is.”

The girl reaches behind her, one hand flailing for a door handle while the other remains poised. I feel the projected force tighten briefly, not enough to hurt or even move me, but enough to send a warning.

“Why, because of my parents' money!?”

“No Twilight”, I breathe deeply, flashes of memories in my mind's eye “because as hard as it is to believe, I was in your position once. Young, alone, confused. This whole thing is hard, the first step is always the worst, but it gets easier. You can trust me on that.”

That was it. That was all I had. She'd either leave, never to return. Or I'd have a magically charged client with two personalities that hate each other, more secrets than a small nation, a ton of pre-existing issues and the unenviable task of getting some harmony going between them. Amira did say I was an idiot.

Twilight slowly lowered her finger, the pressure easing from me like a dial being notched down. With a quiet breath escaping the teen, she contemplated the floor for a few seconds, weighing her options before a mumble rang through the silent room.

“I'll... I'll think about it.”

Smiles were a rarity at the end of a first session. Today felt like I'd earnt one.

“That's all I ask Twilight, thank you.”

00000

I was here.

Like David I stare at my Golaith, with fear in my heart and sling in hand. The building had always loomed, pictures suggested this began from the day it had been built and inevitably it would continue its reign of intimidation as its last bricks were shattered into so much powder. At least that was if my guess was correct. Clearly, it wasn't the best choice for its intended purpose, but beggars couldn't be choosers and we were certainly beggars.

I joined my fellow wretches inside, our committee behind closed doors and with various shapes and sizes in attendance. Some faces I recognised, others were new. The familiar look haunted the newest and I felt for them, this would be hard no doubt. The first time always was. The hardest some said. Nervous small talk is frittered away, recycled lines heard week in and week out, some kind of solace, some grip on normality being important. A clock chimes and in walks Serenity Prim, she's short and dumpy, with a no-nonsense bun that clashes against the soft smile and even softer eyes.

The ball is mine first. It's certainly better than the stick, feels less silly holding it too. My twelve seated compatriots are staring intently at me, years ago I'd have surely vomited from the attention. Now it just feels numb, which is crazy really. This a place of healing, I'm a healer, this should..should mean nothing to me right? With a deep breath, I say the magic words and begin.

“My name is Calmy Storm, and I'm an addict.”

Author's Note

No notes this time, it's a bit of a spiel, so check out the blog post.

Interlude - Date with a Dazzling

Stablebook Messenger Group

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Hey there stud 😉 How's it going?

Idonthaveyourps518 – Umm...it's ok dear.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – 'Dear'?

Idonthaveyourps518 – Sorry, sorry! I'm not used to this kind of thing, am I going too fast?

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Oh far from it lover boy, it's just sweet to see is all.

Idonthaveyourps518 – Really?

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Trust a girl, babe. It's rare to be called anything but 'tits' this early in a relationship.

Idonthaveyourps518 – That's repugnant! I'd never do that to you. You're...special to me.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Awwww, do go on 😊

Idonthaveyourps518 – Yes you're pretty, probably the prettiest girl I've ever seen. Heck, I still don't understand why you even messaged me, but there's more to beauty than just what's on the surface. You're kind, generous, open, friendly-

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Don't forget funny and loyal 😉

Idonthaveyourps518 – Yeah! I honestly don't know anyone who'd tough out the stuff your family's going through.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – It's not easy 😢

Idonthaveyourps518 – No, yet you still have time for a dweeb like me.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Oh honey you're not a dweeb. Not to me 😘

Idonthaveyourps518 – ….thank you.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – For what? Telling the truth?

Idonthaveyourps518 – No, for being with me. I know you think I'm some kind of 'super chad' but I'm not an idiot. You're talking to the chief geek of CHS, a joke, forever alone in the computer lab. Even with things getting better around here I'm still on the edge of everyone's social circles. Outside of school? Even more of a nobody. These last few months have been some of the happiest I can remember.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – …..

Idonthaveyourps518 – Cheese and crackers I screwed it all up didn't I? I'm so sorry, just forget everything I said A-

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – No. It was just a lot to take in.

Idonthaveyourps518 – I can understand if you don't want to meet up later. 😔

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Don't be foolish! You were just being honest, why should we cancel our date over something like that?

Idonthaveyourps518 – I just thought I scared you, sounding weird and needy.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – You, needy? Please, I'm the needy one. Except what I need right now is you, sexy 💋

Idonthaveyourps518 –

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Don't worry your pretty little head about tonight though cutie, I'll be there.

Idonthaveyourps518 – I finished the thing we were talking about last night btw.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – That quickly!?

Idonthaveyourps518 – Well programming is my special calling in life. That and being a monster in Hocus pocus: The Get Together. Crushed Shining Armour again this week.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – That's nice babe, but the program?

Idonthaveyourps518 – Oh yeah, that. It was an interesting puzzle, took a bit of tinkering. Not sure how it'll help your sister though. I mean it's kinda dubious legally speaking. Using a localised wifi router to link every cell phones audio recording settings to always on, then to your private server with a built-in search function? Seems a bit much just to catch incriminating evidence.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – It's absolutely necessary, I won't have my poor sister being exploited by that tyrant anymore!

Idonthaveyourps518 – Couldn't she just quit?

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – No, I know what kind of man Calmy Storms is, he'd destroy any chance she has of getting another job. These people talk after all. A viper like him poisons everything it touches.

Idonthaveyourps518 – Just please be careful dear, I know I can't stop you but I think this guy might be trouble.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – What do you mean?

Idonthaveyourps518 – Well I did some digging after you told me about your sister's problems, nothing too serious, your basic snooping for anything weird or incriminating. This guy Calmy? He was arrested seventeen years ago.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – What!

Idonthaveyourps518 – Yeah, I found some articles by the Storming Stallion at the butt end of a few search engines. The problem is they cheaped out on their website, every link's dead.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Godammit!

Idonthaveyourps518 – It's not all bad news. The brief descriptions mention he was arrested in late September for *something*, the first link literally says 'Local man arrested'. Not the most descriptive. The next few are quite similar, 'Local man this' and 'Local man' that. The last two at least give us names. 'Calmy Storm exonerated over Rose family case'.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – So he got away with it?

Idonthaveyourps518 – Uhhh maybe? I mean we don't even know what 'it' is. Might be something as mundane as vand-

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – That settles it then. I need that program now babe, please!

Idonthaveyourps518 – Should have hit your e-mail around ten minutes ago.

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – You already sent it?

Idonthaveyourps518 – I like to surprise my girlfriend now and then 😉

MorelikeoDISHYus35 – Oho, someone's getting brave... I'll have to reward you tonight. Maybe that dress you like?

“ADAGIO, GET YOUR FUZZY BUTT OFF THE LAPTOP! I NEED TO EARN THIS FAMILY SOME REAL MONEY!!!” thundered the voice of my personal pain in the ass, her fists hammering on the side of our home with a grating tinny noise.

Softly sighing I finished up. A wink here, a flirt there, it was all too easy. Toga, Tunic, T-shirt, different time, same reaction. Men never changed. Shifting in the nest of bundled sheets I was wrapped in, a grin broke through my growing irritation. Aria may be a nuisance, but the day was going well. Very well indeed.

“Poor, poor, Micro Chips,” the laptop clicked shut, “you're sweet but oh so gullible.”

Author's Note

This was a surprisingly fun chapter to write. Getting to the format though took a bit. Originally there was a full dinner date planned out, but I scrapped it. Couldn't quite get the feeling I wanted. Then it morphed into an Aria chapter which seeded a few bits for the tentatively dubbed 'Nightingale' spin-off one shot, but it still didn't work. So I decided something a bit different was in order, inspired by a few fics which have experimented with the concept of text and instant messaging as an aspect of the story.

When you think about it though it's not that far fetched. Consider that Dracula is written as a series of letters going back and forth. This style could be considered an evolution of that.

Either way, thank you for continuing to follow the story.

Session 1.5

Family, it's an integral part of the human condition. Whil-

“Ain't nothin', ain't nothin', ain't nothin'!”

-st not at the base of Maslows hierarchy of needs, it's still an important element. We all have a family, whether it be by blood or choice. Humans are naturally a social species you understand, we need people, it's quite literally-

“Ok, that's the last set down. Pussy stuff.”

-hardwired into us. Your family heavily influences the first interactions you have with the surrounding world, they lift you when you fall, feed you when you're hungry, and even when the relationship is strained it's suggested that the electrochemical reaction for 'love' activates at the sight of family members. That-

“You gonna stare at the wall all day like some kinda droolin' retard Calmy, or you gonna pass me those plates?”

-said, you don't necessarily need to get on all the time.

At five foot two, you wouldn't notice much. One hundred and eighty pounds? Well, it was a little bit off but nothing too unusual for a modern woman. It's when you hit the twenty-inch biceps that Thunder 'Fun' Storm stood out like a hippo on a horse farm. To say my sister was built was an insult. She was 'carved like a greek statue' and would ensure the offender committed it to memory. Often by being used as an impromptu barbell. She had a weirdly popular love life.

“You know I don't like that kind of talk Fun,” I mumble to my baby sister, arms shaking as the hundred-pound weight attempted to break free from the drag I'd foolishly begun.

Lifting it would seem the obvious choice, but considering my lower back had only ceased aching a month ago from the last attempt at 'workout assistant' I'd taken the slower route. The burning in my arms (thankfully unrelated to those thirty-six marks) screamed at me to drop the plates. Yet if I stopped she'd nag me again, intent on 'bulking me up'. Decisions, decisions.

“Sorry bro, s'just force of habit, locker room stuff you know?”

Sitting there on her bench, the barely concealed grin indicated it was a bit more than just 'locker room stuff'.

My sister wasn't a bad person, she was just insensitive. Maddeningly so, sometimes to the point where it almost made me question whether it was all just a game to her. Another way to needle a world that didn't approve. Hell, I'd seen her work with disabled teens before, she ran them a weekly slot at the local gym for god's sake! I refrain from letting this mystification be known, Fun would inevitably crow about 'confusing her headshrinker bro' for years.

Inches away from the bench, sweat forming on my brow, she halted the plate. A single muscular leg doing what my entire body couldn't.

“Don't worry 'bout it bro,” Fun says to me, a soft look in her eyes that reminds me of the little girl I stopped bullies pushing into the mud. “S'enough for today anyway, go too hard too fast and you break something, least in my experience.”

I practically collapse to the floor. It's a nice floor. One of the better floors I've collapsed onto in fact. Funs gym-slash-garage was honestly outfitted better than some of the hotels I'd visited. Spacious, loaded with more equipment than I could name, mini fridge, the works. You could see where her paycheque went and it was clear the Golden Horseshoe paid well.

“You work with a lotta kids right bro, like teenagers?” she grunts, placing the barbell plate back onto its designated rack with the ease of familiarity.

Some men might feel emasculated, I was just glad she'd set the plate initially on the floor for easy reach. Grabbing it from that height would've broken something in me, I'm sure of it. Remembering her question though I mumble an affirmative, wincing as a wave of effort-induced nausea rushed through my body. I wasn't out of shape though. That would require me to have been in shape, to begin with.

“Cool.” she paused momentarily, reaching for a towel hanging off the squat rack. “If you ever see some punk with rainbow hair, you tell that idiot I ain't teachin' her 'how to lift like a badass'. Kids got the entirely wrong attitude.”

Flexing her back, the mountain of muscle that was my sister let out a bitter sigh, rubbing her face with the neon pink towel. I wonder briefly if I should say something. Working with family wasn't prohibited but it tended to...not end well. Objectivity and harsh truths don't necessarily mesh with the weave of lies we generate to keep the peace in a familial unit.

“It ain't about being a badass, it's about proving you got what it takes, both to yourself and the hunk of metal saying 'you can't lift me'.” she continued, finishing her quick rub down.

The towel (unceremoniously flung into a corner) was followed by a swiftly drained can of something from the mini-fridge. Taking into account the bright colours and excessive use of the word 'protein' covering it I'd guess a work out drink? Then again Fun had always had bizarre tastes in food, could be some Japanese abomination like that melon-coffee thing she'd forced on me last time. Yes, the irony was palpable, but I didn't choose the crap I ate. It was that or collapse. The food ended up cheaper than all the bandages.

“You hungry bro?”

Still, who was I to turn down a free meal?

00000

Cooking is an art form I've been told. If that's true then my sister is a decorated maestro in the brutalist movement. Or maybe minimalism? It's been a while since I've needed to see Steel Scryer, the guy's made excellent progress. I still miss his little rants about art though, made up for the unsettling nightmares he described in detail. On my plate though was something approaching one of his protoplasmic dream terrors.

I could just about make out the egg. It was a reassuring sight amongst the mountains of steamed white flesh and tear-inducing hot sauce. This was a meal that didn't so much say 'Have a good time' as scream 'YOU WILL BE FULL AND ENJOY IT'. Well, Fun certainly was.

“So,” she began, wolfing down her significantly larger plate with wild abandon, “what's the problem huh?”

Nervously poking at the jiggling monstrosity with a fork, I barely register a stern look that would make Mom proud. Is this what it's like to be one of my clients?

“C'mon bro, out with it. Ever since you got back you only turn up when you got a problem.” she jabs in my direction lightly with her sauce-stained fork “I get you wanted some privacy after...what happened. Didn't say nothing when you left. Not even when Mom and Dad split up and moved away.”

The wince is almost involuntary. They always had some cracks, but it's still hard to divorce myself from the feeling it was all my fault. The news, the accusations, the stress. Whatever cracks existed must have grown to chasms overnight.

A sour look was thrown at me, hurt dripping from her voice. “Kinda expected a bit more 'family time' when you got back from wherever the hell you went though. Not just 'hey sis can I borrow some cash' or 'hey sis can I crash the night?”

“I'm trying to get my life back on track!” I bristle. It's silly and dumb. She can't even begin to understand the facts, let alone comment on them. Still, it cuts deep.

I realise how much I screwed up by within seconds, a look emerging that I'd seen way too many times in the past. This was neatly highlighted by Fun stabbing her fork into the nightmarish meal, a quivering lily white hunk of meat holding it in place.

“Ok Bro, your little sis can get that. What she don't get though is this. Why IS it always problems with you?” she hisses, fists clenched, “You never write, never call, never text. Whenever there's a problem though you hoof it to the 'burbs for good 'ol Funs help. So what's the deal huh?”

Groaning from our combined weight (and no doubt the punishment endured in the past if Funs portion sizes said anything) I lean over, grasping her hand in mine.

“I-I trust you Fun. That's why.” I watch as an angry bull softens, the look many a bully learnt to fear melting away “When everything happened I..well I ran. There's no excuse. I just ran away. You stayed though. You did something even Mom and Dad couldn't.”

She shrugged in indifference, “You get used to telling reporters to eat shit after a while.”

“Well I couldn't, and that's something you'll always be good at Fun." a sigh escapes me. "You endure. I just don't want to strain you too much with all my crap. I have a hard enough time keeping it together. You don't need to deal with all my B.S. more than you do.”

It's a bitter admission on my part. She can see past the veneer of a well-put-together therapist but I refuse to burden her with all the knowledge. A struggling junkie for a brother isn't what she'd want, let alone the existence of the supernatural. Despite this, Fun squeezes with a gentleness belying her size, a sad, sweet smile on her face now.

“Bro-Calmy,” she stumbles, “you're not a strain. I mean you're not perfect. You're an anti-social, scrawny, goof, who'd wear a suit to a beach trip. But you're not a strain. So c'mon, what's up?"

I'm a psychotherapist with over a thousand hours of client interactions under my belt. I'm a student of Al'amr – altalab, the last bastion of magic on earth. I'm an addict who fell off the horse and climbed back up twice now. With blood, sweat, and tears I've fought demons both external and internal....

“I don't know if I'm qualified to help someone.”

...yet I've never felt so utterly useless in my life.

Author's Note

Lots of notes everyone, check the blog to see them before reviewing.

Session 1.75

The feel of paper on fingertips is exquisite, isn't it? It's something we often forget in this ever-advancing world of ours. A screen may be more efficient, but it's certainly not as tactile. It's something I learnt to appreciate the hard way, three years in a place where the most advanced piece of technology is a rotary phone tends to bring things into perspective. Perspective. Funny thing that, it's just what I needed last night and Fun delivered in spades. That and more protein than a steakhouse.

It's why my office was currently snowed under in papers, reports, notes, and several doorstoppers that could only be called 'books' if your idea of a great read was 'The Myth of Sanity: Divided Consciousness and the Promise of Awareness'. Some of it was from my peers, requested before Twilight's first session. Others had been bought on a whim or were essential during my training. Yes, I may have laughed at her parents' assessment, but let it never be said Calmy Storm wasn't prepared.

I had to be, I was all she had after all.

Fun really solidified it. Whilst there was no way to be truly open with my sister regarding the 'finer' details, she had a way of getting to the core of a problem that I honestly envied at times. Dissociative identity disorder isn't something you just casually treat, it's an incredibly complex mental health disorder with more layers than an onion. Whilst the basics had been covered in a few extended modules I'd taken for extra credits, the general consensus was always 'If you want to treat this, you'll be specialising only in this' and that just didn't jive with my goals at the time. So when a new patient turns up, scared, confused, alone, and wrapped up in the arcane...well who else could she turn to?

That brought the 'Snake' once more to the fore, he had fun. A lot of it in fact. I think one big fear everyone in my profession has is damaging someone, we're here to help not harm at the end of the day. Fun set us both straight though. When in doubt, knuckle it out. So with all the perseverance of my sister at a rack of weights, I hit the books.

Calling myself a 'professional' in DiD right now would be rather hasty, but progress had definitely been made.

“Boss?” a familiar voice tentatively enquired from the open threshold.

Drawn from my labyrinth of ink and paper, I couldn't help but smile at Sonata. Bless the kid she'd brought me some food!

“C'mon in,” I say, a quick gesture of invitation bringing the girl closer. Despite being so young she had a rather old-fashioned sense of etiquette when it came to entering my office or the therapy room. Made me feel a little uncomfortable at times, to be frank, like I was in some kind of movie from the fifties or dealing with a vampire.

Which was crazy really, everyone knew they'd gone extinct in the sixteen hundreds.

“You've been working super hard all morning, so I thought a pick-me-up might help. Then I remembered you're kinda anti coffee...and tea....and beer...” she rambled, a box of chilled crimson berries in her hands, “But then I remembered you said these perked you up last time!”

“Beer is a pick me up to you?” I take the proffered fruit, an eyebrow raised at my sixteen-year-old secretary.

“Oh no, no! Not for me,” she replied, looking all the more like the guilty kid she should be, rather than a young carer forced into work. “Just...uh...well...Dagi and Aria, they both get kinda stressed out and don't deal with stuff well.”

There's an awkward silence as the berries are swiftly depleted. A kind of pregnant expectation almost. She probably expects a lecture, some kind of after-school special thing about the horrors of teen drinking. I'd be a raging hypocrite if I didn't say anything, but I'm not an idiot. These three are struggling more than anyone their age should be. I've just got to word it carefully...

“Don't ever drink alcohol-based hand sanitiser, the proofing is wrong and you'll end up in hospital.”

Great job Calmy. You're really good at connecting with the youth of today, aren't you?

“So what are you reading boss?” she asked, gesturing to the ocean of white on my desk whilst thankfully changing the topic.

When it came to Sonata I'd learnt long ago to be careful in indulging her. Ignoring client/patient confidentiality for a second, there was the simple fact that she...well...wasn't the brightest. I never expected a great deal from a sixteen-year-old, especially one abandoning their education for financial reasons, but she was a little below even those not-so-lofty heights. Sweet as sugar (sometimes to an irritating extent) and far more competent at her job than I'd initially assumed, yes. However, at times she could be shockingly dim. Take her general knowledge, complete and utter car crash. You'd think she'd never been to a middle school! This led to many of her queries evolving into mini-lectures, with myself as the dope having to explain the basics before we circled back to the start again.

So I leant on old faithful.

“It's related to a client, so-” I began, a passable imitation of sad indignation on my face

“-you can't tell me any more, s'ok boss. I get it.” she finished, quick as a whip with an even faster smile on her face.

Shards of guilt stabbed at my heart as she turned to leave though. The kid probably had a non-existent social circle between work and her mother. Even something as simple as a conversation could be integral in staving off the grinding pressures of life. No, I totally wasn't projecting.

“Hey, uh Sonata?” she froze mid-step, oddly tense. “... how's your family doing?”

Hurricane Dusk hit with more sound than fury. Also a lot of motion. A hell of a lot of motion! I'd never really noticed how animated she was before, yet in the space of three minutes she'd gone through sitting, standing, pacing, crouching and every vantage point surrounding me possible. It was easier to follow that than her conversation amazingly. If I didn't know better I'd say my secretary didn't need oxygen.

“-butAdagioohdontgetmestartedonAdagiowe're alltryingourbestwellIknowIamandAriakindaisbutshe'sbeenreallymopeylatelywellmorethenusualyouknowbutAdagioohIcouldslapherallshedoesismoochandarguei'mtryingmybestouthereyouknowanditsnoteasyshewontstoptreatingmelikesomedumbkidoraslavewellwho'sthedumbkidnowhuhAdagiothat'swho!”

Finally pausing for breath, the teen seemed different to me, a rawness on display that was rarely shown. She was a bubbly airhead popped, weighed down by responsibilities her peers could barely fathom. It was different...more 'real' almost. I almost missed the staccato beat rising from the desk, a tangled nest of thoughts being led on by the drumming of fingers, my fingers.

Maybe she could handle the truth?

Midnights first 'visit' had highlighted my failures, but I was still reluctant. I'd like to say it was wariness, concern for dragging someone so young into this world of spooks and sorcery. What it really boiled down to though was trust. My name was already etched onto a lot of people's shit lists for leaving Saddle Arabia with 'The True Reflection'. Knowledge was sacred and a westerner hadn't exactly been welcomed with open arms to begin with. Could I trust this teen to keep quiet?

“Do you know what my job title means Sonata?” I say, heart in mouth as the die was cast.

“You help people with mental health problems boss,” she responds, with significantly less snark than expected for someone her age, especially when given such an easy target.

“Good,” the swivel chair squeaks torturously, used bearings moving long after their expiration date “That's the 'psychotherapy' part. Let's focus on the 'para' part though. What do you think that is, what it means?”

Sure I'm being cryptic, who doesn't love being the Obi-Wan though?

A whole minute passes as the girl desperately looks for an answer in the room's décor surreptitiously. It fails miserably. Only the blind would miss her eyes batting around like a ping pong ball, left-right-left-right. Despite my attempts at 'wise mentor' though, a chuckle slips out. I'm only human after all.

A strained and cautious “Parachutes?” eventually escapes from Sonata, hope beaming eternal from her eager face.

Normally my blood pressure would rise slightly, but when you set a trap you can't be annoyed that something gets caught. Most clients usually ignored the title and the few who questioned it eventually rationalised themselves an answer, often something of the 'woo woo' variety. Sure I work with magic, but herbs and crystals? Come on!

“No Sonata, not parachutes.” I respond, desperately trying to remember what was said to Cloud Kicker the last time 'the talk' came up. “The word 'para' has several definitions, one is 'alongside' which fits to a degree, but I prefer 'abnormal'.” She seems to be paying attention, always a good thing when dealing with teens. “Now, this will probably sound insane to you, it certainly did to me when I was told and I was a lot older than you when I learnt the truth.”

“Which is...?”

Ah, there's the snark. Better late than never. Time to cut to the chase.

“Magic is real.” I breathe in the stale air permeating the room “Or to be more exact magic is real and we deal non-exclusively with clientele who have had...bad interactions with it.” Unfettered visions slash at me. Pause. Push the memories away. Lock them in the box for later. “Sometimes baggage isn't the only thing our clients bring in, you understand?” Silence and doubt start to pick at my confidence. Was this going south?

“I can....I can show you, here!” the desk creaks under my weight as a report on DiD in the elderly frantically becomes a makeshift canvas, sharpie-drawn runes appearing on the paper with undue haste. They weren't neat and the materials hadn't been prepared, so the spells longevity was suspect at best. Maybe a few minutes if I was right? It was now or never though.

As the sheet was proffered to Sonata, my nerves began fraying. Had that spell been a poor choice? Sure it was simple, there's a reason it's the first thing we learnt after all. Yet it could also be recreated with modern technology and a bit of snooping if you were smart enough. You just needed to know their favourite son-

“Mother?”

Eyes screwed shut, my secretary swayed to an unheard tune, the runic paper held like a drowning man's lifeline. It was comforting to see, as odd as that sounded. Magic had more often been a negative force in my life than a positive, so seeing it bring joy was always encouraging. Perhaps all those years hadn't been wasted? Then again, I knew quite a few people who'd say the same about my college education. That Calmy Storm would never amount to anything. A poor son, a terrible partner, failed sorcerer, useless therapist.

As always, you just needed to trust yourself.

Author's Note

Another set of long notes, click here.