The Magus. The alternate. One of two, but rarely one of three, and never the one itself. A rejected cornerstone, condemned to build her own Chapel. The metamorphosis come too soon, begging against the turn of the seasons, because she just had to fucking fly. Not merely one spirit: but one assigned and one created. Her staff has grown wings, become a caduceus, become pregnant with new meaning and possibility. Eight limbs and the eightfold path.
She is complete.
I remember.
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