So, showing up for therapy in Hearstwhile is weird. Nothing like what I was expecting. For one thing, it was just a matter of showing up at the address printed on the card and saying "Uh, I was given this address?..." and then being ushered inside.

  And storming back out fifteen minutes later. I threw open the front door, marched out onto the sidewalk, straight into a glowing white portal, and into the void. From there I stepped out onto another street, this one tree-lined with a smell of newly-laid mulch, a street with narrow two-story townhouses all in long rows. I found the address and banged on the door.

  Professor Ryichsur stood in his doorway wearing baggy trews and a smock. "N- Lady Harigold?"

  "That doctor is a quack," I said, handing him back the business card. "If he managed to help you through tough times then it was either pure dumb luck on his part or you did all the heavy lifting yourself. I apologize but I stood it as long as I could before I had to walk out." Five more minutes in there and I would have imploded the place.

  "Sorry, a quack?" he blurted, staring at me.

  Oh. Earth idiom. I usually work really hard to screen those out of my conversation. I have mixed results, overall. But usually people can make out most of what I'm trying to say, even if I slip a little. But this was a bridge too far apparently. There's just no reference for the professor to connect "bad doctor" to "the sound ducks make".

  And now that I've got that... why the fuck do people say that?

  "I just mean that he's a terrible, unreasonable, and vastly unqualified excuse for a treatment professional," I corrected myself. This is why I'm always so careful with my words, so I don't accidentally say something that could reveal my origins.

  Ryichsur looked over his shoulder and fidgeted anxiously. "Sorry, I've got something baking, it should be out in a - could you come inside?"

  I walked in, and he scurried back to his kitchen to check the scones. I opened the curtains to get some light into the place. No matter the world, no matter the era: Bachelor Chic is universal. And no, keeping curtains drawn so it stays dim does not help conceal the cluttered conditions! Now that Skyside is well-lit and beaming, I find myself wanting to let that light in everywhere. That's my light.

  Not just dim in here, it's stuffy too. The townhouse is warm, probably from baking. I flick the windows open to get some circulation and help it along with a steady breeze curved from magic. Pages ruffle on a handful of manuscripts laid open, but I leave those alone. He's really into books, but not just that. This room is full of tables and desks that are stacked with books, and bookshelves that are stacked with everything else. Knickknacks and gewgaws, souvenirs and samples. Models, mockups, diagrams, diplomas, rolled scrolls and rolls of copper wiring. Half-built inventions and half-dissected machines. All of it looked very cluttered, but it was even- it wasn't concentrated on the usual "I'll just set this down for a second and forget about it for five weeks" places, so even though there was no order I was ready to discern, I was still ready to give him the benefit of the doubt that there really was a system in place for all this crap.

  The professor comes back a minute later with oven mitts on. "Er, sorry about that reception, the timing on this recipe is very particular," he said, wincing back from the light in his own living room. "How did you find my home?"

  "Earlier this week you pulled the page with teacher information for me," I pointed out. "Schedules and contact information."

  "Oh."

  "Seriously? That counselor? How did you come away from that feeling better?"

  He tugged off the oven mitts. "At the time I just needed someone to talk to. And Doctor Ghite-"

  "Let you have a word in edgewise?"

  "Ah, that," the professor said, nodding. "He does get better with a little time, once he's gotten used-"

  "I don't need a counselor that is all right once you get used to him!" I scolded. "Gods, if you went to that man for help and you didn't snap entirely, then you were always more resilient than you gave yourself credit for. How did you even get referred to him?"

  He chuckled, a little embarrassed, and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well, not exactly a friend but-"

  "Good!" I declared, pacing in the living room. "If someone refers a doc like that, it'd be kind of hard to stay friends after that!" Which leaves the statement hanging in the air: it's gonna be real hard to stay friends with you after this.

  He blinked in surprise. "Was he really that bad?"

  "He was diagnosing me with 'female hysteria' before I said anything but 'hello'," I snarled. "Look, 'Fesser, for your sake I didn't bounce him off the walls, and I'll tell you I've clobbered people for much less!"

  He looked shocked, still, but he managed to find some room for amusement as well. "Good thing you didn't drub him down, his feeble old bones would never have taken it," he said, still taken aback. "Still, I'm shocked the old coot would say something like that!"

  "I was a little blown away too," I said, "Such a shame he didn't feel like mending his attitude any when I introduced myself. Maybe it's entitled or arrogant of me but most people will walk back at least some degree of discourtesy for a princess whose killed that many people singlehandedly. If not the loyalty, then the fear." I was still seething. I was pacing. I was practically gnashing my teeth.

  Ryichsur looked entirely surprised. "Thyler Ghite blew off a dame of the realm and a princess? I would've thought he would have genuflected if his knees could take it!"

  "His knees seemed fine to me," I puffed. "And it's pronounced Theeler."

  "Wait."

  I paused, turned to face him. I waited.

  "Theeler?"

  "Yes?"

  "His dipshit son Theeler took over the practice?!" By the way, quack is an Earth idiom. But dipshit translates directly.

  I had a lightbulb. "Ah. I think I'm beginning to see the disconnect. Little round-cheeked guy about fifty years old?"

  Ryichsur shook his head. "Gaunt as could be, almost cadaverous. And closer to eighty years of age, by now."

  I sat down on the windowsill. "I almost threw him down the stairs."

  "Theeler? An assisted descent would probably do him a world of good," the professor said. "Scone?" He held a baked good out to me, a peace offering.

  "Thank you," I said, and accepted a saucer plate with a sugar-dusted scone. "So, if I had gotten the correct Doctor Ghite, what would he have had to tell me?"

  Ryichsur hooked a bar stool and sat down. "Well, early on when I was consulting him, he had a lot to say about how I was responding to unreasonably high expectations that were being demanded of me."

  I nodded. "I'm supposed to save the world."

  "See, that's a great example of unreasonably high expectations," he said, and paused. "Um, what... is it you're supposed to save it from?"

  "I really shouldn't say. The worst case scenario is that you'd believe me."

  He paused. "That could not be more horrifying in its implications."

  "Tell me about it, I'm the one living with this by myself. So what does one do with unreasonable expectations and demands?" I asked, running a warm breeze deeper through the space to freshen it up some, running the stuffy air from the rest of the townhouse back up and out through the open window. I looked down at my half-finished snack. "That's a good scone," I added.

  "Well, first run a few questions just to eliminate them from consideration," the professor said, and paused to bite, chew and swallow from his own scone. "First, is the job really as big as you've been pressing yourself?"

  "Bigger, if anything," I replied.

  "Next: is this really something you have to be doing?"

  "There is not a single alternative," I affirmed.

  "And last for this array: is there anything you could be doing to make this easier that you have not done already?"

  "Potentially yes but with a high chance of backfiring if I try," I answered. Yeah, I could probably lean on Nathan a lot harder than I have been. Do I know how he will react? Now that I know he is actively deceiving me about his plans and priorities and that even after our talks he is still ignoring the portions of the main quest-line if they don't keenly contribute to the girls he's trying to rizz up? I don't know.

  The professor nodded decisively. "Good. I really was quite certain that would be the case, but it would be negligent to not at least spend a few seconds on such matters. You've got an uncommon amount of common sense, but even the quite brilliant can become consumed by large ideas and neglect to pay attention to foundational procedures. The greatest and smartest ever have had to catch themselves making grave errors from small assumptions. It merited a few seconds of our attention, even if I felt I should trust you to know the simplest answers already."

  Little does he know. Most of my fuckups come from simple straightforward oversights. The two things fucking me up this week? I forgot that my brother the spy would be acting like a spy- and that the reason my soul is loosely attached is the usual reason why a soul would be loosely attached. Most of my problems become extremely obvious when just a smidgen of hindsight is applied. It would be arrogant of me to assume that this trend would not continue. My next problems are likely to be obvious in retrospect as well.

  "Very well. Then after that: you need to make your own emotional and psychological well-being a part of your plans, going forward," the professor said. "Steps to take care of your own well-being are not separate from steps to solve your all-consuming duty. In my case, that meant that I would pick people my own age to assist me with projects and work, building a study group around me of people who could grasp the basics of the philosophical work I was doing but also had the mentality and socialization appropriate to their age, so that I would not isolate entirely with adults that had something to teach me. This took weight off my shoulders, advanced my studies and research, and also helped integrate me into my own age group. After a time, I became more capable of interacting with people my own age, both because they were aging up to my level but also that I had more practice being young. Find a method of advancing your goals and fulfilling your duty that also prioritizes your well-being."

  "Cheerful thought," I said.

  He gestured with his scone. "So, my problem specifically was that I was caught between my role as a child and my role as a prodigy, and I had to find a way to reconcile them. What would you need to resolve to help yourself?"

  "I don't have a clean answer to that," I said. "And I'm not sure I'll get one soon. I can't really discuss my problems with anyone." Well, anyone but Gysmo. But dumping madness onto the Madman isn't really the same thing. It helps a little bit that I can just verbalize the problem, and see someone's eyes while I do it. But the fact that he is never going to have feedback or commentary relevant to what I tell him? It takes a lot of the potential benefit out.

  There was powdered sugar trickling from the professor's hand. He tried to catch it with his saucer. "That sounds like a real source of conflict by itself. What would it take for you to resolve that?"

  "One person who I could count on to listen, and never tell anyone what they heard, and who would not panic, or act rashly, and could comment at least a little. Who would listen, and think about it, and help me work things out."

  He set his empty plate aside, a single clack on the top of the end table. "For most people that would be a fairly simple thing to ask. But I suppose it scales with the magnitude of the secrets you're keeping." He looked rather thoughtful.

  "Thank you for not immediately insisting that I confide in you," I said.

  He shrugged. "You're clearly having an issue of trust with that. I've not done much to earn your trust. If I insisted you confide in me right now, it would not be because I care to help you resolve your problems but because it would salve my pride to be trusted by Lady Natalie Harigold." He stood, and set the stool back to the side. "So, aside from demanding you entrust me with the secrets you would never speak to anyone else, how can I help? I had originally thought that giving you Thyler Ghite's card would resolve all difficulties, but nothing could ever be as simple as that."

  Tell me about it. Maybe there's some self-awareness. Sometimes I think the people of Hearstwhile are as aware as I am that nothing in their world is ever resolved without one-to-three completely unnecessary obstacles.

  He idly shuffled some papers away from the edge of a desk, straightening them somewhat. "Instead I sent you to Theeler Ghite, and for that I owe you more than an apology. Is there anyone else in your life right now who's working to make sure that you're all right? Someone who inquires after your well-being and understands that you're under a lot of pressure?"

  I hovered my crumb-dabbed saucer over to stack on top of his. "There's a healer that gets mad at me whenever I come in with more injuries," I said. "And I have some friends that will ask after me, but they're pretty used to me being capable and competent." And a brother who understands that I'm under pressure, but does not understand his role in applying that pressure.

  "Makes sense," he said. "Most people your age are treading water just living their own lives. It can be hard to find someone who has the availability to reach out for another as well. Well, until you find a better alternative, I'm the guy who will be nudging you to see if you're holding on. And I'll try to find someone for you who's more Thyler than Theeler. But, as I said: I'm not here to demand your trust. Aside from having a confessor to help with your burdensome secrets, what would aid your emotional tapestry?"

  "A steady supply of acceptable targets," I said frankly. "When the stress gets high, nothing else helps except to lash out." And if I keep attacking the blind monsters in the caverns, I'm going to provoke them to attack early. I'm trying to blunt their assault on the surface world, not to worsen it. So even those creatures are not truly the acceptable targets I need.

  But the professor was nodding along. "Stands to reason. You're isolated, without much of a support network. You have repeatedly been attacked by institutions larger than yourself. You carry big secrets and have big pressures. You are a high-profile individual who can not allow herself any real vices or indulgences. Under those circumstances, you'd have to develop either a severe overflow of anger, or an inward-facing violence, or both. Of the two, an aggressive temper that you can aim at enemies is a far better solution. As opposed to embracing pain and danger of pain in some misguided sense of sacrifice, or worse yet a subconscious hope that if you can get yourself killed then you won't need to keep working so hard."

  I froze, deer vs headlights. Is that what everyone thinks when they accuse me of having a martyr's complex or a death wish? Is that a shoe that fits me? I feel panic right now, is it revulsion at that idea or just the fear of being seen?

  [ Quest Checkpoint Complete: Come for the Therapy, Stay for the Tea. 10 XP. Advancement : the Professor ]

  He was still talking as he set books in order along a shelf. Nervous tidying. Clearly it's been a while since he's seen this room through the eyes of a visitor. "That is actually particularly apt for child prodigies. Like I was, maybe you. Thyler Ghite made a point of addressing that with me. At the time I was embracing a lot of self-destructive behaviors. Some that did small amounts of harm over a long term, and others that had a very real chance of getting me killed much sooner than that. People under a lot of pressure often embrace those behaviors- maybe to reduce the stress, but also maybe to court the chance that if the worst should happen, we can find a little peace. The most dangerous kind of pressure is the one that makes us chase that possibility."

  "Uh, that's a big heavy subject to hit me with," I said. Why yes, I do wander into pitch-black caverns of murderous monsters to massacre them, and if anything goes wrong, anything at all, I would be eaten alive and nobody would ever know what happened to me. All it takes is one variable I don't account for, and I'm gone. "So, let's shelve that, yes? We were discussing acceptable targets."

  Targets that are not likely to try to murder me back. Also: what the fuck!? A quest checkpoint? Do I have a quest line for going to therapy?!

  "Well," he said, pausing, and glanced over his shoulder at me. "Have you considered a side-job in demolitions?"