Fermina paid us a visit to inquire after our well-being. She expressed her apologies for her earlier absence, explaining that she had been entangled in a discussion that had consumed the mansion, one she felt was not worth troubling us with at present. Her words were accompanied by high praise for Rascal's devoted attendance, which elicited a bright smile from the happy girl. Before departing, Fermina instructed Rascal to dress more formally for the evening prayer and urged Aufelia to remain in bed, assuring her that she could excuse our absence.

  “I am becoming you!” Princess loudly declared, now alone with me. “Staying in bed all day, having people fuss over me, skipping prayer, drinking vile medicine, unable to eat anything all day… What is next? A peg leg?”

  “That was a wooden prosthesis, meticulously crafted by an artisan to replicate the function of a human leg, not a ‘peg leg’ like some archetypal pirate would use,” I corrected her, feeling a twinge of offense at her careless choice of words, though I could understand her reasoning.

  “It was a peg leg, Dubart,” she countered gleefully, clearly delighted by her successful provocation. I regretted letting her see that she had struck a nerve, knowing that now she would not let the matter rest. “Just because it was shaped like a foot does not mean it was not a peg leg—it was just a fancy one. I hated it whenever you got a new one; it always had a different way of attaching, and we had to learn how to deal with it all over again.”

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  “They were improvements on…” I began, unable to resist defending myself.

  “…the design!”

  The first part of my sentence was uttered while I remained a passive observer behind Princess’s eyes, perceiving everything she did as she gazed into the mirror. Yet, the rest of my words emerged from her lips. The mirror nearly slipped from her hands, but I reflexively realized that I was in control and managed to steady it before it shattered.

  “Dubart… are you…?” Princess asked, equally startled.

  “Yes, I am in control now,” I replied, testing gentle movements to confirm the shift. “The transition becomes more seamless with each instance,” I noted. Rising from the bed, I continued, “I know how you feel about this, Princess, but may I change your attire? You must sense how famished we are. We can join your sisters for supper.”

  “Eat? How can you think about eating now?” her voice echoed inside my mind. “Don’t you feel that splitting headache and terrible aches now that you’re… moving my body?”

  “It feels no different from the rest of the day,” I responded after closing our eyes to concentrate on the sensation. “This is merely a mild headache—I can barely perceive it. The hunger, however? Never in my life as that bedridden wretch have I been this ravenous. You possess a hearty appetite, Princess.”

  “Nothing has changed for me, either,” she informed. “It still hurts; I feel like shit! And also, no, you cannot change me. Keep your—my—clothes on.”

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