Love Crafted

You stare at your summoner, at Abigail, for a few long moments.

She wants to know what you are. That’s rather simple, isn’t it. You’re you. You’re the only you around and there aren’t any other yous that you know of. If there were other yous, you’d have eaten them already.

“I’m me,” you tell her. “I’m the Dream That Rests Eternal In The Spaces Between Spaces, In The Moments Between Times. I like taking naps where I can’t be bothered.” The last part you add to explain because Abigail is starting to look even more confused.

She kneels down so that she’s at the same height as you. “You’re not just some magical creature, are you. You’re not a mimic.”

You don’t know what a mimic is, but you doubt any could mimic you. “I’m me. I told you that already.”

She laughs, once. It sounds wrong, not like a happy laugh at all. “Yeah, you’re you,” she agrees to the obvious. “But what are you? You’re not human, you’re not the sort of creature I’ve read about in my bestiaries. Daphne didn’t recognize you. Familiars are supposed to compliment the summoner, so I want to know — have to know — what you are.”

“That’s silly,” you tell her. If you could distill the essence of what you are and what you’re able to do in a few words you would, but people are more than just a race and some attributes, and you’re more people than most. “But I can tell you, if you want. I just need to give you the knowledge.”

“Give me the knowledge?” Abigail repeats.

You nod. “Yup. It’s easy. I just need to put it in your head. But I won’t do it for free,” You warn her while waving a finger between the two of you. “It’s a lot of work, and I guess I should make sure you stay mostly sane because you wouldn’t like it otherwise. So I need to be paid for it.”

“Paid,” she repeats. She looks over her shoulder towards the counter where the cash machine sits. “I have some money,” she says.

“I don’t care about that stuff,” you tell her. Money is for trading for services and stuff. You can do everything already and if you want to eat something no one will stop you. No, what you want is a whole lot less tangible. “I want cuddles and headpats and love.”

Abigail blinks slowly, then her lips curve up and she presses a hand over her mouth to hide a giggle.

“It’s not funny!” you say.

She just giggles harder. “Oh, Dreamer. I might not know what you are, but you’re not a bad person. I’m happy that you’re my Familiar. You’re so much better than a cat or an owl.”

Well, yes, you are in fact better than either of those. “Obviously,” you say. “So, one cuddle for one knowledge. But not just a small cuddle, a good one.”

“Alright,” Abigail says as she gets her giggles under control. “One cuddle for one knowledge.” She reaches her arms out and waits in the optimal hugging position.

You grin as you collapse against her chest and wrap your own arms around her. Abigail ‘oofs’ at the impact, but she grips you right back. Then she starts rubbing a hand up and down your back, sending warm tingles up your spine.

“You know,” she says. “I never really thanked you for being my familiar. So, thanks, I guess. It’s a little weird. I don’t think most mages bother, but you’re more... you than other familiars, so I guess it’s only fair.”

Oh yeah, this is the good stuff. Coming to this mortal realm was obviously the right decision if this was the kind of reward you’d be getting. Hugs and compliments and snacks within tentacle grasping range. There was little more you could ask for.

You reach a hand up and press it to the back of Abigail’s head. “Close your eyes,” you tell her.

The eyes are the windows to one’s soul. It’s why you have tentacles to feel things instead of eyes all over. Windows go both ways, after all. “Mmm, okay,” Abigail says into your shoulder.

She’s ready then. You pat-pat the back of her head.

The human brain is a squishy thing. It’s very fragile and kinda poorly made. You need to be very careful as you slip your tentacles through her skull and into the meaty bits.

You root around for a bit and find the metaphorical off switch. With a flick, Abigail goes loose in your grasp, her breathing stops, her heart beats one last time and shudders to a stop. The hug isn’t as nice now that she’s dead.

Sighing, you let her down onto the floor, keeping her steady with a whole lot of tentacles while a whole lot more phase into her head. Mortals are so squishy and easy to break, but you’re starting to think that they’re fun anyway.

You find the bits of Abigail’s mind that deal with remembering things, there are a few of them, and they’re kinda small. You compare that to all the knowledge of who you are that you wanted to cram in there, the infinite eons spent in the great darkness, the long naps tucked away in corners where space met time at odd angles. The kerfuffles with Great Old Ones and Elder Gods.

It won’t fit.

Shrugging, you get rid of all the boring parts, keeping only the more fun memories of who and what you are, then you trim that back even more. It wouldn’t do for your summoner to know everything about you. Plus there are some embarrassing things that even you’d rather not remember.

Once everything is nice and neat, you notice that your brain spike is still bigger than the room you’re in. That won’t fit in her head, not unless you make her head bigger on the inside... a thought for later.

You cut out all you knowledge of things you can do. She wanted to know about you, not learn how to do the things you can do. Some more trimming and you’re left with a bundle of fleshy nerves that should fit in her head just like a tiny, cute little tumour.

You pat it into place, tongue stuck between your teeth as you focus.

And done!

You poke her brain so that it starts up again, then zap her heart back into beating. She was only dead for a minute, so she’s probably fine.

Abigail gasps and sits up straight. Her apron squishes against her knees as she brings them up to her chest and starts to breathe really fast.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Her head whips around towards you. “You’re a god,” she whispers.

You blink. That’s silly. She’s being silly.

“But... you can’t be. There aren’t any gods,” she says next. “The inquisition, if they find out.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course there are gods. Don’t go telling the Elder Gods that they don’t exist, or they’ll make you stop existing. But I’m not one of them. I’m Dreamer.”

She wipes away the drops of blood pouring out of her nose with the back of one hand. She doesn’t seem to notice, which is handy because you’re pretty sure that’s not supposed to be happening.

“I gave canned food to a god.”

You sigh. She’s being extra silly. Clearly this didn’t work out the way you wanted.