Love. That’s a weird thing, right?

I've heard a man claim it's the strongest magic, capable of curing all ills. Of course, he was trying to sell me his patented love potion at the time, but it’s an interesting pitch. People profess their love everywhere: in their homes and crowded streets, to their partners, to the stars, even to that almost burnt pizza crust that tastes better than the whole pie. People love everything, including love itself.

Love makes you do things you normally would never consider. For example, going out into the town center in the middle of rush hour even though you hate crowds. However, that's not my plight. It's Lana's. I couldn't go into town because we don't want me causing another citywide incident. So, even though I should be the one trekking across the city, it's my best friend and roommate doing it instead. Just one of the bizarre ways love works.

Unfortunately, I can't really say I feel love. Not recently. I’m having a tough time feeling anything, to be fair, but love stands out. Because when you love something, it brings you joy. You look forward to it. Yet nowadays the only thing I look forward to is returning to the pit of darkness that is sleep. And gosh, I would kill for more sleep. After all, no one's here to stop me. Lana is still in town and who really knows when or if she'll be back? What would she do if I went to sleep right now? Nothing. She's powerless to stop me. Still, I don't head upstairs where I know the temptation will overwhelm me. Instead, I pull up a dining chair to the window, watching the outside world.

The city outside our tiny flat is bright and loud. The bitter heat of yesterday has dissolved into a cool, breezy afternoon, the wind taking leaves up in flight. The people walking the street have gone to take advantage of the weather, encouraging me to do the same. Therefore, I rise out of my chair and lock the front door. It's all for show, I know, but it makes me feel better, calmer. It takes the edge off the magic buzzing restlessly underneath my skin.

Resuming my seat at the window, I watch the people outside go about their day. A woman is spewing Latin curses at her son who looks like he'll burn down the whole block if that flush on his cheeks is anything to go by. Demons are terrible at the whole parenting thing. They rarely get the opportunity, and no one is eager to help them. Although, I guess it should be common knowledge that you don't command your child to return to the eighth circle of hell unless you want him to throw a tantrum. And look at that tantrum. His hair is on end now and there's a flame flickering in each hand. 

I really should go get the ward. Lana and I do not have demon spawn covered in our insurance. We have demon, not demon spawn, and that's where they get you. I have had three people tell me that Loy Insurance refused to cover them. I mean, I don't trust Loy— their marketing division is headed by a genie. It's a scam if ever I saw one. Still, better them than CHIWa. I'd rather lose my money than my soul, honestly.

Why am I thinking of CHIWa? Dang it, the kid.

I barely have enough time to duck before a fireball comes hurtling to the window. The glass shatters against the inferno. Flames lick at my face before being sucked away harmlessly into the small stone hippo sitting on the windowsill. Its eyes shine briefly before dimming and the stone reverts back to wool, leaving a knitted doll in its place. As the window repairs itself, I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful to Lana for putting up the ward.

The demon lady and her child have left by the time the soot is swept away but I don't mind. You can't really scold a kid for acting on his nature and anyway, his mother would probably yell about how witches are disrespectful. Luckily, Lana putting up the ward has left me feeling inspired.

I plop myself into the rocking chair, picking up my knitting needles and some pink wool. Two more pairs of needles rise at the call of my magic. And thank Jupiter the magic is still working. Three days without my antidepressants is pushing it, but thankfully we're still functioning. Together, we start clack-clack-clacking our way towards a new defense ward. Maybe a porcelain elephant this time. Perhaps one with ears that can hear what Mr Lungu from next door says about us.

Unsurprisingly, it isn't long before a sigh emanates from deep within my bones, sapping me of all resolve. And I say ‘unsurprisingly’ because did I really expect the motivation to last? When was the last time I felt inspired to do anything constructive? I couldn't even muster the energy for breakfast this morning; first fail of the day. First of many, apparently.

Frustrated, I toss the needles away, having only knitted two rows. They’re uneven and crummy, so it was a waste to begin with. Wards need careful stitching, not necessarily perfect as everyone thinks, just even enough to tell the magic that you care about your work. These lines are abysmal. I hold them in my hands and they unravel. Upset, I will them back into a tight ball but the wool protests, buzzing angrily until it bursts into lines of barbed wire.

Blood drips onto the floor and I panic. The drop is too sudden. If Lana doesn't come back soon, my magic might fail, and we'll get a repeat of last June. I'd rather not be trapped here for another week.

Casting a spell to heal my hands, I pick up my phone and type out a message. Feeling like an idiot, I promptly delete it. Lana knows I need my pills. How could she not? I've been badgering her about them for days even though it's not her fault the chemist ran out last week. She's doing more than I deserve by going out to get them for me. She doesn't need me bothering her every second. Gosh, I must be so annoying.

A chill runs through me as the temperature drops a few degrees.

"Fine," I say. "I'm not annoying. I'm just..."

But what’s the point? Saying I’m not annoying doesn't change the fact that I am. I should accept it. I'm annoying, I’m selfish, and I spam her phone while she's doing me a favor. I'd hate to have me for a roommate.

Lana's face is a mask of horror. Looking around, I understand the concern. The living room is covered in ice and shrouded in darkness. Deadly icicles poke through the walls and various portals litter the space, all glowing brilliantly, uncontrolled. My needles have managed to craft a pair of handcuffs and a straitjacket, and now they're working on unravelling the curtains.

Lana shuts her eyes and breathes, eyes crinkling with the strain. As one, the portals collapse on themselves, but my magic retaliates, firing a jolt of energy at her. I feel it from my perch on the bathroom sink, the magic lashing out, vengeful.

With a gasp, Lana teleports into the kitchen, looking around at the damage. The goblins have torn the backdoor off its hinges and escaped, leaving ruins in their wake. Cabinets have their doors ripped off, dishes lie on the floor in piles of broken ceramic. The electrical wires exposed in the walls are a sparking fire hazard. What calls Lana’s attention, however, are the houseplants, dry and brittle on the windowsill. She cradles the leaves, cooing sadly.

"I'm sorry," I offer, causing her to jump three feet.

"Where are you?" she gasps.

"Here."

"I mean where's your body?"

"Upstairs," I say.

She groans. "Rey, I told you not to go to sleep."

"I didn't," I scoff, suddenly petulant as she runs to the staircase. "I went to take a bath. And anyway, why shouldn't I go to sleep? You know I feel terrible."

"Which is why you shouldn't. Your magic is unstable when you're like this. I'll never get to you. Now stay awake, please."

I roll my metaphysical eyes. Of course, I know my magic is unstable; that's its defining trait at this point. But Lana's acting as if I’m a child.

I jolt as my body reacts to danger. Which reminds me—

"Don't go upstairs," I say to her. She's already halfway up, even as the stairs try to throw her off. Still, she can always turn back. In fact, she should turn back right now.

"You need your meds," she huffs.

See, this is what I don't get. How come she can tell me what to do but I can't? Not going to sleep is for my own good but she's allowed to dismiss my concern?

Lana makes it up the stairs finally and yanks my bedroom door open. She's already in the room before she realizes I’m not there.

"You're not asleep."

"I told you I came to take a bath," I snap.

"Oh. I'm proud of you," she says.

"Congratulations. Anyway…"

Using my magic, I shut the door just as she reaches it. It's for her own good, unless she wants to come face to face with whatever monster is at the door.

She pounds her fist on the wood once before teleporting herself out of the room and onto the landing. She's a lot better than I am at teleportation, and she's not all that great so what does that say about me?

"Don't do that," she shivers. "I can feel it getting colder, don’t you dare put yourself down. You have great qualities." Oh, here we go. "My wards are only effective because you make the best conduits out of anyone I know. Your knitting is amazing."

Couldn't even knit two rows today though.

Her lips turn blue as frozen stalagmites rip through the floorboards. Still, she pushes forward. It's impressive, really, how she perseveres amid all the hardship, only freezing when she crosses the landing.

"Rey," she calls, and the tremor in her voice has nothing to do with the cold. "Rey, there's a Nyau."

"Is that what that was?" Ancient Spirits of the dead come to beat the crap out of me and escort my soul to the afterlife.

"Don't be a jerk Rey, get rid of it."

"I didn't bring it."

"Your portals did."

"It was an accident."

"This is serious. If it sees me, it'll come after me."

"Do we even know if the legends are true? For all we know, it could be harmless."

"I don't want to find out!" she shrieks.

"I don’t think it’s seen you yet. You can still run."

"I'm trying to help you," she says, conjuring a fan to hide her face when the Nyau glances her way.

"I’m trying to help you too." I say as it takes a step towards her, forcing her to take one back.

"You know what," she says, backing away. "I can't do this. Your pills are downstairs." With that, she takes off running.

I guess that finally did it.

I could follow her, see where she goes, but I’m not in the mood to see someone I love leave my life for good because of something I did, even if I didn't mean it. They always say I shouldn't blame myself. It's not my fault, they argue, I can't control it. But I don't see anyone else here.

I return to my body, bones heavier than lead. The emptiness in my chest culminates in a deep sigh that never escapes, just sits there, pulling me under its weight.

I flee from it, crawling into the deepest recesses of my mind, and reach out for the darkness, the numbness. Sadly, it never comes. I can still feel how muted the world has become, still see my magic rend the walls. I want to scream, but the sound will be swallowed up by the unforgiving universe. Nothing exists. Not me, not Lana, not our flat. And the absence of everything hurts more than any wound.

The water overflows the bathtub, falling to the floor with an almost-sound. The room blurs, colors draining into muted greys. Is this what my mind looks like? Drab and dreary and grey? No wonder my magic is such a disappointment. It's cold and bleak, as I am.

The Nyau claws at the door, seeking entry, seeking to take me. But nothing it could do can compare to the damage my own mind inflicts.

Still, I don't want it to come in. But I don't fortify the ward either. I just hope it goes away. 

The scratching grows louder, water soaks the floor, and the tears fall. I should feel something. Fear, perhaps, because an Ancient threatens to take my soul; concern for the wooden floorboards that are susceptible to rot; disgust, absolute disgust because I haven't showered in two weeks and everyone says I’m vile for it. Gosh, I should care that I drove away the one person who came back to me even when my magic was manifesting her greatest fears.

I want to be sad. Although I don't deserve it, really. Because sadness would mean feeling something that isn't the emptiness. And I deserve to be empty.

How did this even happen? I was fine last week. I can’t recall the feeling, but I know I was happy. I know I looked forward to watching Mighty Magiswords even though Lana said it was silly. I know my baby blanket was so soft it made me giggle, and I know I loved the pepperoni pizza from Luyando's. Where did all that go?

My head hurts, pressure mounting as the hopelessness builds, until it explodes, shattering the windows and breaking down the door. I struggle to breathe as a new portal opens, this one a vortex above me, sucking everything into the ceiling. The Nyau at the door is pulled in, screeching an old language as it is swept up. I meet its eyes momentarily and my essence shakes within me. Fortunately, it is swallowed up quickly.

Unfortunately, I’m about to meet it again. As shards of glass fly through the room, I find myself present enough to shield my face, but not enough to grab hold of something. I'm pulled up into the air, snagging on something just as I’m about to disappear through the vortex.

Finally, after what has felt like centuries, my heart beats as I realize I have an anchor. Something keeping me tethered to the flat.

Splinters of glass graze my face, the water from the bath drenches me. All the chaos threatens to distract and pull me in, but I manage to focus, summoning just enough energy to teleport myself downstairs, where my anchor calls to me.

The fall to the kitchen floor is a painful one. But I made it, so that’s a win.

The kitchen is bright, colors solid and plants green again, but already I can see everything greying at the edges, my magic draining the world. Lana sits at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea, her magic dancing all around the room and tidying up my mess. There's barely enough time for the shock to register because on the table sits a plastic container and I rush for it, the anchor pulling me along. I clutch the pill bottle in my hands desperately, choking out a sob. I just want to feel again and they're here. And maybe I’m a screw up, but I can finally feel like a screw up and not like I'm watching from the side-lines as a stranger lives my life.

A glass of water floats up to me and I grab it, taking down two pills. Tears flow unchecked, and my body crumples. Heaving sobs rack through me. The light is too bright, the floor too hard, the weather too calm. Everything overwhelms me. So, I hold my anchor close, folding myself around it. It presses painfully into my chest but all that matters is that it's here.

I wake up aching but feeling myself come back to the forefront of my mind. I’m in my bed. It's soft and the blanket smells of fabric softener. My room is bleak, but is regaining some color, mostly blue and white. Also, my head hurts. It's been hurting for a while, now that I think of it. Did I just get used to that? I should get that checked. Most importantly, however, my magic finally feels settled within my bones. It is no longer the itching, foreign thing of the past few days.

Despite the throb in my skull, I get out of bed and begin my descent to the kitchen. The landing is a maze of icy daggers. I wave a hand and they melt away, leaving a mess of puddles behind. I'll have to come back and clean it up once I feel better.

Padding down the stairs, I try to fix as much damage as I can. The shredded wallpaper knits itself back together under my touch, but the wall remains torn apart. The floor is still freezing under my bare feet but at least it's stopped moaning. The living room is flooded and covered with tangled thread. The needles are still.

I make it to the kitchen and try not to be surprised. Lana is there, talking to one of the plants. When it spots me, it turns away with a huff.

"You'll have to make it up to them," Lana says, facing me.

"I'll bet." I move to touch one of the leaves and suddenly the succulent becomes a thorny bramble.

Lana grimaces. "You really have to make it up to them."

"Yeah," I say around the finger in my mouth. The tang of blood makes me want to gag, and the look of pity Lana levels me makes my face heat in shame. "I thought you left.”

"I wouldn't just leave you," she frowns.

And I feel stupid because I always do this, and she always says she'll be there for me forever. It's just...

"I feel insecure sometimes," I mumble.

"Oh, I know," she laughs. "But I need you to trust me enough to know I won't just abandon you. Like you would never abandon me."