They didn’t teach witches about the old magics anymore. A modern witch—modern by what measure he wasn’t exactly sure, time was difficult to parse—only knew of three: mischief, untamed, and practical. And that was really only two kinds of magic. Practical magic was just a tiny off-shoot of the Universe’s own power, a gift to the mortal world because sims were her beloved creation.
He understood why she did it—she wanted to ensure they could care for themselves. He did something similar for supernaturals. Changing the first sim into something otherworldly had been an exciting project, but the care and feeding? The development? Not his interest. He turned that over to other gods and magics.
The witches were somewhat of an exception. They went to Faba, but he did join her for visits as a Sage. Witches always fascinated him, and he loved hearing Mischief’s plans for what they would become. The Universe approved. After all, magic being close by in case things went wrong in the mortal world was a good thing as far as she was concerned.
But he was getting off-topic—a thing that was easy to do because he had great swaths of time to think and no parameters by which he must organize those thoughts or rein them in. Parameters were for creatures with names and identities. He might have had a name when he chose this form, intentions too. But they had fallen away, whispers of what might have been before his imprisonment.
Nine centuries would have passed quickly enough, but time had bent around itself, and so he had been in this state for nine centuries times a thousand. Magic could go mad in a situation like that. Not that the was anything he could do about it—the madness part. And besides, there was the issue of the sorceress.
She might not have called herself that. Penny Pizzazz thought she was a witch, and he couldn’t blame her for it. How could she know? Faba and Morgyn kept secrets, and Penny—what a lovely name that was…Did she realize how lovely? If he could have a name, he’d choose Penny too. In fact, that would be his name. It was better than Transmutation, which was more about what he did, not who he was. Of course, he’d have to explain that to Penny—the sorceress Penny, not him Penny and…
This was going to be a problem.
Maybe he should choose a different name? Having two Pennys could get confusing to think about in his head. He already had to sort things using a series of doors and rooms. Memories blended with fantasy and feelings, creating a strange and sometimes mystifying effect. He grew confused so quickly, and…wait…why was he thinking about this again?
Ah, because he needed a name. A new one. A name would help things feel less…squishy. It would help with the things he wanted to do after he broke free. Those things were not squishy. On the contrary, they were very solid, and he could summarize them in a sentence: take the worlds apart, build something new in their place.
He liked building things. Building things involved change, and that’s what he was good at: pulling things apart, rewriting the inner workings cell by cell.
What would he find if he pulled the sorceress apart and whispered a few new instructions?
She probably wouldn’t like it, and Solis would frown on him using his power like that.
He opened a door in his mind to examine the origins of that word and promptly closed it. It wasn’t a word, it was a name, and he didn’t want to see it. That name made him think of vengeance and lust and destruction and yearning, and he didn’t have any space for that here. Not when he had to get free.
He plans for after he got free. Solid plans. That’s where the sorceress came in. She would help him get free, though they’d have to talk, and he was woefully out of practice.
Maybe there was a way to make their communication easier? He’d have to think on that. And only think, not eat. He couldn’t eat her, much as he was tempted. He’d eaten the last sorceress, and now he regretted it.
“Penny,” he whispered. “Wake up.”