I can feel the small pins holding the paper onto my back. I wonder if it’s crooked. It’s probably crooked. It is crooked, I know it is. I wish I could straighten it, but I cannot fix it by myself.

  I do not like that they pinned it on at all. At least the shirt weave can be fixed once I get my hands on a needle. It’s better that they used pins rather than tree gum, which would have left a patch of discoloration on the fabric.

  I want to look presentable. Even if the crowd does not know I am the Holy Imanjar of the Deity of Lonely Souls today, it may come to be common knowledge ter. If I do good work as Sect Leader, I can bring honor to my Master.

  I feel energy move within me. Master strokes my soul to calm me.

  I will do anything for Master.

  I feel ashamed of myself. I am forever like a young child in front of Master. Even my thoughts are simplistic, I know. Somehow, I can never quite grasp the substance of things. Even now, I am worrying about superfluous matters.

  I remove my consciousness from within myself and make an effort to look outward.

  My fellow contestants move around me like spinning tops. They bump into each other, flinging off sparks. They converse and dance around one another in a game of social pary soon to be physical.

  All of life dwells within them, the fire of the moment lighting their faces and driving out the shadow of death.

  I feel pale and transparent in comparison, like a paper cutout.

  The chattering of the crowd ebbs and flows like the tide. I see the woman who came with me seated in the stands above. She seems to be avoiding her own bit of conversation. Her aggressive aura surrounds herself in a protective shell, like a porcupine’s quills.

  Another human seems to be attempting to weasel between the quills with her own slithering aura.

  A rge canine lies between. We make eye contact. I look away.

  The game of death is beginning. The humans in uniform are herding us into our respective groups, arranged by number.

  I do not belong here. I do not belong anywhere. I want to go back to the temple.

  The roar of the crowd seems to belong to a furious beast desperate to consume me. The lights swinging in the nterns dazzle my eyes, and the world around me seems to swim.

  I want to go home. I want to be with Master.

  Master.

  I have to do this for Master.

  In this moment, I feel myself come together.

  I became the Sect Master to prove my ability to Master, to prove that I deserve my wish. I may feel broken and shattered and torn, but all I need to do is continue onward.

  My soul flows within my body, holding this vessel together. Strands of soul intertwine with my nerves and my muscle, tightening my mind’s grasp over myself, pulling at my flesh like puppet strings.

  As long as my mind is strong enough, I will not fall.

  How foolish to worry over garments and pins! How foolish to worry over appearance. Now, I will show of what I am made.

  I am myself, insignificant as the mayfly. I am myself, as notable as the dragon.

  I sharpen my gaze, and move forward. My back tinges with an ache from holding myself taut. My earlier spar with the tiger-like woman left swelling and blood pools under my skin. Now that I am back together, I remember to feel the pain.

  The wounded areas hold a warmth reminiscent of life within them. They are precious to me.

  The woman’s devotion to battle stirs my own spirit.

  Blood pulses and flows to my limbs. My legs shake imperceptibly with jittering excitement. I flex my fingers, forming a fist and spying my hand by turn.

  I am here, I am real, I chant to myself. My breath puffs out ward. My lungs infte with air.

  I am alive.

  I breathe out. I breathe in. I feel joy in the simple moment.

  I startle at the sudden blowing of a horn. In reflecting on my realness, I had once again withdrawn into myself.

  The brawl begins. Keep the white ribbon, I whisper to myself.

  Now I am the real one, the rest around me flimsy existences on a false stage. I am the light, they are the shadow.

  I do not need to lower myself to the level of these greedy creatures lunging at each other. I neatly dodge and sidestep each human body that comes my way.

  Filing fists miss my twisting abdomen. Grasping cws are left empty as I pull away my wrist.

  They do not deserve to touch me, and I have no reason to touch them. I feel dizzy with the lights, but this time in a way that causes bubbles of ughter to rise up within me and escape from my lips.

  My very vision seems bright with joy. I dance around the sweaty, desperate, writhing forms. Any pity I feel for them is gone as I enjoy my own being.

  Is this what the fae of legends felt when dancing with the mortals and then abandoning them at dawn? I feel my face split into a grin and my eyes turn to slits.

  Jump, dodge, twist.

  They cannot touch me! I feel their intense auras as they target me. Their malice betrays their movements long before they are made.

  I come to a stand still. They no longer chase. They have turned to maul each other, growling and fighting and grasping at one another.

  My sudden feelings of joy are gone. I no longer hold their attention. Something feels to scratch at my chest from the inside. They do not care about me. I am nothing to them.

  I double over, clutching myself. I am real, I am real. I do not need them to chase me.

  I feel concern, but not from my Master. I gnce up at the stands where the tigress sits. Her face is hard and her aura even more prickly.

  She points to her wrist. Ribbon. She mimicked pulling off a ribbon.

  Should I go collect the ribbons of others? I gnce over at the messy brawl occurring beside me. I do not want to touch them.

  Maybe I do not have to. I could let them fight each other, let myself be the st person standing when the end bell rings out. But then I would be standing to the side like always. I would be doing nothing and letting the world pass me by.

  Life is disgusting. It is blood and pus and all manner of bodily fluids. It is the crunching bones and ripping flesh. But as much as I may hate the thought of it, I am part of it until I can join my Master’s side as an equal.

  In order to strengthen my connection to My Master, I must first delve into the depths of this messy world. Only in this way can I be useful to them.

  I would rather be dirty than useless.

  I nod in the general direction of the audience, and plunge into the writhing mass of bodies.

  As I do so, I feel the burning warmth of my Master’s pride and approval.