I’d decided to rest in the divot left by the rounded floor, once Attar had removed all my surviving things from the area. That way, if I continued to drip throughout the night I wouldn’t end up scalding Attar with a pool. The only risk was drowning, but I wasn’t sure if I could. Not in acid at least. I didn’t have any organs, after all.

  I didn’t drown.

  We woke with the sun, both of us, as the light shone through me once again, dazzling the room into alertness.

  The divot hadn’t filled. There wasn’t even a puddle. The acid had drained through the gaps in the flagstones.

  Attar took a pull from one of my surviving waterskins while I studied what I could of my spellbook from afar. I felt no need for food or water.

  My spells which I could read from anywhere I could still read from anywhere. The runes had been refreshed with the dawn as always, my transformation hadn’t changed that. Even if I was injured I would be able to cast Greater Heal, which would give me the time to cast the regeneration spells and save myself.

  The question simply became How do I turn myself back?

  The scarf and trousers of the goddess might suffice, either worn by Attar or myself, but there was clearly a price for her presence. If we could summon her at all. Her trousers had been destroyed when I’d turned to acid. Next time I turned into a nine foot tall woman made of acid, I was going to teleport out of my clothes first. That was just common sense.

  I had no idea how dark magic worked, or how what worked would interact with everything I’d become. Did I still have the dwarf goddess’s blessing, for instance? It was difficult to tell. Her original blessing had been in part what had saved me from acid. Time was cyclical that way. Perhaps now I needed to pray to the human goddess to protect me from dwarves.

  Then again, and more seriously, the dwarf goddess had saved me from acid. And now I had a feminine shape. Did I appear as the dwarf goddess? Could she then protect and dictate my form?

  Of course it was the dwarf goddess. Saying I had a ‘feminine shape’ was like saying eating the oak and acorn was ‘filling’. You’d die! I looked like every man’s dreams and nightmares rolled into one, emphasis on the rolls. I looked like I was the mother of all, like I could birth an army without breaking a sweat and still look beautiful at its end. At least, my body did. I couldn’t see my face, but I suspect Attar would have mentioned if I had a beard. That was the only flaw in my assessment, but perhaps she’d shaved.

  I was already on my knees, but I shifted as upright as I could clasped my hands in prayer. I didn’t know the proper address to the goddess still, but I hadn’t before, and she’d answered. It was enough to prayer. Pray earnestly and with yearning.

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  I also prayed in the Language of the Gods. It couldn’t hurt.

  “SWEET, KIND PROTECTIVE GODDESS, GODDESS OF MY HEART, AS DEAR TO ME AS ANY WHO WATCH OVER ME AND MINE THANK YOU FOR ALL YOU HAVE DONE. PLEASE CONTINUE TO WATCH OVER ME, AND TO PROTECT ME AND GUIDE ME TO FREE THOSE I LOVE FROM THE WARLOCKS AND THE BLEAK FORT.

  I CANNOT STAY THIS WAY IN YOUR FORM. I BEG YOU RETURN ME TO MYSELF, TO FLESH AND BLOOD WHICH CAN READ MY SPELLS SAFELY AND WRITE THEM ANEW. MY SELF WHO CAN TRAVEL THESE HALLS AND GUIDE THOSE WHO NEEDS GUIDANCE. MY SELF WHO CAN BE WITH THOSE I LOVE AND CAN HOLD THEM CLOSE. A MAN WHO MAY ONE DAY BE A FATHER. PLEASE.”

  Prayer had always been more for myself than the gods to which I prayed. It was a way of ordering myself, a statement to myself, clearly and unambiguously, of what I truly wanted. I way of orienting myself towards heaven the same way a compass pointed north.

  Nothing happened. Nothing I nor Attar could see. Yet much happened all the same. I’d stated what I’d wanted, and now I could see the opportunities when they arose when before they’d pass me by unnoticed.

  Perhaps in some way, that was how gods answered their prayers.

  ***

  It may be that the goddess had guided my transformation, but it was I, not her who was in control of it, either through her own blessing or the twisted magic of the warlocks. Maybe all I had to do was end the spell, or try to transform myself on my own volition.

  I wasn’t sure what to focus on, so I imagined myself as I had been before I’d transformed, minus the horrific injuries.

  There!

  I felt something. Something I couldn’t quite describe, but gradually, the world grew around me, my enormous hips and prodigious breasts dripped away like an icicle, flowed away with the acid.

  It took hours, but there, as hunger gnawed at me, and my throat demanded water, and my feet burned in the pool of acid I’d shed, I was returned to myself without my injuries.

  Except for my feet of course.

  “Ahhhh!”

  I leapt towards Attar. He’d picked up my journal so the growing puddle didn’t burn it, ready at an instant’s notice to return it to me. He thrust it into my hands now and I flipped through to the correct pages.

  Regenerate II

  One for me.

  ?Regenerate?

  And one for him.

  Attar sagged without a sound. He’d been holding up well, but a whole restless night with those burns could not have easy. Just the pain in my feet was driving me crazy after a few seconds of the pain, and my skin was far tougher than his.

  I joined him by the north wall and we both slid to the ground.

  Attar chuckled. Then he began to shake and the chuckle turned into a full winded bellowing laugh. Whatever his form, whatever his memories, I couldn’t help, as always, joining in. Our laughter transcended the mockery of laughter emanating from the walls and for a moment blotted out the screams and wails echoing down the twisted halls.

  It was good to be healthy and alive. And for a moment, that was all either of us needed.